Megan, 40, a successful lawyer

Megan had been on the urine diet for a year and couldn't be happier with the results. She was 5'8" and 98 pounds now, able to maintain this seemingly impossible but highly desirable size through religious adherence to the consumption of 2 liters of hot male urine each day, without any fail whatsoever. Additionally, her jet black hair was now absolutely shimmering, her skin blemishes had all gone away, and people routinely mistook her for a fresh law school graduate even though she was middle-aged. With her near-skeletal frame she looked perfect in her business attire purchased from the most expensive department store in the city.

Actually getting 2 liters of acceptable urine each day was the only challenge, especially for a professional woman living the single life. Most coffeehouses would serve up a glass of steaming piss instead of a cup of joe, but supply was frustratingly limited even if you could pay for it. It seemed most women were on the urine diet these days, especially in upscale neighborhoods like hers. She knew some women went to fast food restaurants and asked for piss, but she was above that.

On a cold December morning she stood in line at her local owned, artisanal, ethically sourced, fair trade coffeehouse and approached the counter finally, wearing her black pencil skirt and a white blouse under her jacket. She frowned at the female barista. "Do you have any male urine?" she asked.

The college-aged girl sighed. "I'll check," she said, then casually unzipped her male co-workers pants behind her, some pimply guy about the barista's age, and fished out the boy's cock. He was chugging water, obviously used to making himself pee as much as possible to maximize profit. He started to pee into the cup as his co-worker held his dick, tapping him for urine like he was just another piece of equipment next to the espresso machine and french press.

The barista offered the glass to Megan and run up the price as $14.98, at 8 cents per milliliter plus sales tax. "That's not even 200ml!" Megan complained.

"Would you like mine too?" the short, large-breasted blond barista said, "I've got a full tank."

"No thanks," Megan said in disgust. It was impossible to maintain her perfect body with low-grade urine mixed in, she needed all male piss. She paid with her credit card then drank the paltry amount of pee as she stepped back and stood to drink the hot urine, not even bothering to sit down for so small a drink. She drank down the urine so easily, it was like water to her now. Or even a drink she actually liked. Urine was like any other beverage and there were grades of it. Male baristas always had good urine, warranting the relatively steep price compared to the urine of say, a burger place worker. Any dude working at a hip coffeehouse could be trusted to be on a no-processed food diet as sure as you could predict he'd have gauged ear piercings.

The female barista filled the next order, casually lifting her top to squeeze breast milk into the coffee of the man after her. The health impact of this was not as empirically proven as urine was for females, but many men swore by it. Lactation was all but a job requirement for female baristas these days. Meg watched the haughty barista squeeze her milk into the coffee cup, then swallowed the last of her urine, tossed the cup, and marched out to her SUV.

She had to hurry or she was going to be late for work.