Next | Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

I burst into the washroom and slam the door shut behind me. I’m clenching my legs together so hard that I can barely walk. I waddle over to the toilet, grimacing a bit as I do.

My dick is on fire.

This is going to be a photo finish!

I never thought that holding in pee could hurt this bad. I’m physically shaking, and silently reminding myself over and over to not piss in my pants.

This is what happens when you allow a “no bathroom breaks” clause in a drinking game.

I lift up the toilet seat and reach down for my fly. I fumble around a bit in drunkeness and in haste, unable to find it. I try to maintain my composure, but I quickly lose it. I start frantically fumbling and pulling at the seam.

“Where the fuck is the fly?!”

Still pinching my legs together, balancing on the tips of my toes, I look down and realize very quickly that there is no fly.

“Son of a…” I trail off.

The realization that I have no fly on this goddamned costume nearly makes me collapse right there. The suit is a one piece spandex costume. There’s only one zipper, and it’s on my back.

This will be my end.

It’s Halloween, and I am at a party. People are all dancing to the Monster Mash and eating jello-o brain shots. Neo is making out with a surgeon. Princess Leia is mixing drinks while a vampire chats her up. Richie Rich, the Mad Hatter, Satan, and a Kitty are all debating the intricacies of online dating. One of the Ghostbusters is passed out already, and people have drawn penises on his face in black marker. And locked in the can, struggling to free his penis so that he might urinate in a toilet rather than his own pants, is me—Spiderman.

Desperate, and frustrated, I begin to hysterically strive for the zipper, spinning in circles like a drunken dog, chasing his own tail or floor-dragging over-sized penis. The zipper is just out of reach and I’m frantically trying to get at it. I’m knocking over rolls of toilet paper and candles. I hit the tooth brushes and soap off the counter. I knock towels down and the garbage over. I’m trashing this place, but I don’t care.

Adding to the desperation, little driblets of pee start making their way out.

This is why superheroes never piss in comics.

I’m cursing and screaming and yelling and panicking.

Outside the party goes on. People are having their drinks and playing their games. People are chatting and flirting and looking real funny in their costumes. People are having a gay old, all around, drunken Halloween experience. Meanwhile, having finally worked the zipper down enough to have some give, I am in the middle of an Incredible Hulk moment, screaming as I pull the suit off!

“YAAAAAAARG!”

I struggle the suit down to my knees, hunch over the toilet, and piss. I piss and piss and piss. It feels like a hot explosion of utter, thankful, relief.

My legs are shaking and I’m holding my hold body up by leaning against the wall with my forearm. I’m wavering a bit as I pee. I can’t tell if it’s from being drunk, from being dizzy, or from the unbridled pleasure of finally relieving myself. Maybe all three.

As I urinate, I literally moan out loud, as if I’m having an orgasm. It feels so good.

“Oh thank god…” I mutter to myself.

Little do I know, my adventures in the bathroom are just beginning.

Next | Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

64 people like this post.
Unlike