It's Better To Be Pissed In, Than Pissed Off
During the next six weeks, Eric and I continued on as we had been: Having sex after school, and also during most of the day on weekends—sometimes involving role play, sometimes not. Misha, Brandon and Greg occasionally joined us—typically during the week: They had girlfriends to be with, their own homework to do, other friends they wanted to hang out with, and parents who wanted to see them more than just for a few minutes per day—and more than just once per week, for that matter.
Using the fact that he had his dick balls-deep down my throat while he was throat-fucking me as cover, Greg would occasionally empty his bladder down my throat—but always “on the down low.” None of the others ever suspected, as far as I know. Greg and I had a private conversation about his doing that the day following the first time that he had done it, in which I gave him permission to continue the practice: Serving as his urinal really turned me on, for some reason.
I gave some serious thought to asking Eric whether he might be interested in also pissing down my throat, but ultimately decided against it: I feared that Eric would be grossed out by it and/or that it might result in Eric realizing what Greg had been doing (I didn’t want there to be any rift between those two.)
We all had an absolute blast during Easter Week (Easter Sunday fell on April 14 that year): Vacation from school gave all five of us much more time to have orgies, and to do other things, such as playing pool in my apartment complex’s rec center, going to movies, and visiting with our families, and with our other respective friends.
Of course, Eric and I continued doing our homework together, working out using Eric’s gym equipment, and sleeping together every night.
I eagerly awaited the results of my SAT test, which finally arrived on Saturday, May 11 1974. This was back when the processing of the SAT test results was totally manual, which is why it took 6 weeks for the results to show up in my mailbox. When I realized what the envelope in my mailbox contained, I rushed inside, informed Eric of what had arrived, and tore the envelope open: 800 on the verbal, 760 on the math. Eric took one look at those numbers, and immediately said, “Call my father. He needs to know.” So that’s what I did; Eric’s parents would both be home on a Saturday afternoon.
Liam (Eric’s father) was disappointed that I hadn’t scored 800 on the math section, but said that the overall scores were high enough that—in addition to the information I had provided on my applications to the university, including the essays I had written as part of the applications (one for admission, and one for a scholarship), and also along with his recommendation strongly in favor of my admission—my chances of getting admitted were very good. I asked him how my SAT scores compared to the average. He said my scores were very, very high, but that they were also typical of the scores achieved by those who got admitted—with full scholarships—to this particular university [which I shall not name, for privacy reasons; it’s one well-known world-wide, very high status.] He added that that was why he was personally shepherding my application for admittance through the system.
I asked him about my odds for getting the scholarship. He said that that, given my grades, SAT scores, and financial situation, the scholarship was essentially guaranteed. He asked that I bring the SAT test results with me on Sunday evening, so that he would have them when he went to work (as a full professor at the university) on Monday.
When the call had ended, I had to explain to Eric what his father had said—Eric had only been able to hear my side of the conversation. [I’m not even sure whether anything like “speaker phones” even existed back then. My family certainly did not have one, nor do I recall ever having even seen one until the 1980s, when they were used in meetings at work.] Eric was surprised that my SAT scores didn’t just outright guarantee admission: He had scored 724 verbal and 588 math. The fact that Eric had already been admitted bolstered my confidence that I would also be admitted—especially given the fact that his father would obviously have been engaged in a “full court press” to get his son admitted. I found out later that the situation was not so simple as that: The children of full professors got special consideration, and Eric’s parents were paying his tuition. Those requesting a scholarship had to meet a higher standard to actually receive one—especially with respect to financial need.
The following day was Mother’s Day (Sunday, May 12, 1974,) so Eric and I waited for my mother to get home that evening, so we could spend some “quality time” with her. She was practically Eric’s godmother, by that point.
We then trekked to Eric’s house, so that we could spend quality time with Eric’s mother: She had informally become my adoptive mother. I also handed the document that verified my SAT results to Eric’s father, Liam.
It was the next Thursday evening, when Liam got home from the University, that we finally got the news we had all been waiting for: I had been admitted to the University, and had received a full scholarship. The Svalberg’s took us all out to dinner at a very high-class French restaurant to celebrate. I believe that that was my first time ever having had a meal at a French restaurant. Of course, I had been aware of the reputation of French cuisine—I’d been studying French in high school for almost 4 years by that point—but that’s not the same as actually having experienced the real thing. C’était formidable! (It was superb!)
When Eric and I retired to the sleeping bag on the floor of his bedroom that evening, and we took each other into the others’ arms, we both cried: Our shared dream of going to college together—and of living together, with full privacy, while doing so—would soon be a reality. But first, we would have to get through the final weeks of high school, high school graduation, and then Summer vacation. The latter, of course, could arguably be expected to be even better than college life.
The next day (Friday, a school day,) we informed Brandon, Greg and Misha of the fact that I had been admitted to the University with a full scholarship. We had already informed them of my SAT scores the previous Monday. All three of them congratulated me, but also let it be known that they had never been in much doubt about the outcome. As a courtesy, I also stopped by my high school counselor’s office to give him the news.
That was the Friday that Eric took me to the mall downtown after school, instead of heading to my apartment. On the street where the bookstore had a rear entrance there was this shop that sold unusual wares…things that most parents would not approve of. I didn’t have the terminology at the time, but I do now: BDSM supplies, among other sex- and drug-related things. Eric bought some restraints for immobilizing a sexual partner. They were for enhancing our role playing, he explained. I was both intimidated and intrigued. The restraints reminded me of some of the scenes from the book, "Captive of Gor,” that Eric had had me read more than 2 months ago [see “I Submit,” Chapter 5.]
Eric then treated me to desert at an ice cream parlor at the mall, after which we walked to my apartment. Soon afterwards, we headed to the apartment complex’s rec room to play pool. By this time—under my tutelage—Eric’s skill level had greatly improved.
The next day—Saturday, May 18 1974—was the day that the restraints that Eric had purchased the previous day got used for the first time. Since it was a weekend day, we were at my apartment, having slept on the floor in my room overnight. The role-playing scenario we used involved our being college-student room-mates. The back-story of the scenario was that Eric had gotten me so drunk that I passed out; on waking up, I found myself in the restraints, totally nude. Of course, in real life, I had taken off all of my clothes, and let Eric put me in the restraints, before we actually started up the role-playing scenario.
To start the scene, Eric proceeded to gloat about finally having me fully under his control; that I couldn’t resist whatever he wanted to do. That’s when I realized—quite viscerally—that the restraints really did make the role playing seem more real; that they really did enhance the sexual tension and excitement.
So then, Eric took off his clothes, and started to tease me with his almost-11-inch dick: He slapped my face with it, dribbled pre-cum on my face and lips, chastised me for being a closet faggot who couldn’t keep my eyes off of his bulge, and told me that he was going to punish me for it. The similarities to the actual events of three months ago did not escape my notice [see “Shame And Punishment,” Chapter 1.]
He positioned his dick at my lips, and said, “Open up, bitch! From now on, your mouth is not your mouth—it’s my pussy!”
I decided to play hard to get: I kept my mouth closed. I was also sporting a very engorged hard on.
Eric grabbed me by the balls, and told me that I was at his mercy, and that he’d hurt me if I didn’t submit. Realizing that, in real life—even before Eric had made me aware of my actual sexual orientation—that that threat would have convinced me to do what was being requested, I opened my mouth for him. He pushed his dick to my tongue, and ordered me to insert my tongue into his piss slit. Once I had done that, he pushed his dick forward, so that my tongue went deeper into his piss slit. He then pumped his dick in and out, so that my tongue was repeatedly penetrating a few inches into his piss slit. He kept that up for a few minutes.
Then he surprised me: He sat on my face, and ordered me to eat his ass. I obeyed. He had me keep that up for maybe 15 to 20 minutes. I liked eating ass, but was pretending to myself that I did not, in an attempt to experience what the role-playing scenario was intended to make me feel.
His next trick was to plunge his dick all the way down my throat, and keep it there for almost a minute, before withdrawing and giving me about 10 seconds to breathe. Then he forced his dick balls deep down my throat for a second time. And that’s when he surprised me again: He began pissing!
I was massively turned on. I was also quite glad that he had been the one to take the initiative to introduce pissing into our sex play: It meant that I didn’t have to take the risk of suggesting it. So, it was a win-win situation. On the other hand, I did wonder why he had been willing to do it without even asking me whether it would be OK. Did he know that Greg had already been doing the same for weeks? Did the use of the restraints embolden and/or incite him, giving him courage that he hadn’t had before? Or was it just his preternatural ability to accurately read me, to magically know what I wanted?
It took him three roughly-one-minute balls-deep dives down my throat for him to empty his bladder. After he was done pissing, he face fucked me as he normally would have. Then he performed his “warm up” procedure for anal sex, and then power-fucked my ass for the next two hours.
It was the best sex I had ever had up to that point. When it was all over, he helped me out of the restraints, stood me up, embraced me, and started passionately kissing me. That prevented conversation.
Then he picked me up, carried me into the bathroom, and got both of us into the shower. The sound of the shower also made conversation difficult. So it wasn’t until we had gotten out of the shower, and had started to dry ourselves off, that I asked him about why he hadn’t asked permission to make me drink his piss.
He stopped drying himself, and gave me a very guilty, but also contrite and apologetic, look. It took maybe 10 or 15 seconds before he said, “It just seemed to be something that felt right to do at the time, and something that I thought you’d be OK with. Was I wrong? ‘Cause if I was, then I’m very, very sorry.”
I just looked at him. Then, after a pause of maybe 5 seconds, I smiled, and said, “Actually, Eric, I had been fretting for weeks about how to ask whether you’d be into doing that.” The look of relief on his face was priceless. And that reply got me another embrace, and more passionate kissing.
We made ourselves presentable in public, and set out for the apartment complex’s rec center to play some pool.
Later that night, after we had gone to bed (on the floor of my bedroom, in the sleeping bag,) I asked Eric what he thought of the idea of introducing Greg, Brandon and Misha to the concept of pissing down my throat. Initially, he gave me a surprised took. But it quickly morphed into a smile, and he replied, “Sure. If you’re OK with that, then so am I.”
So that’s how Greg was able to stop hiding what he had been doing for weeks, and how Misha and Brandon got introduced to piss play. As far as I know, Greg never did let anyone know that he had already been pissing down my throat for weeks already. I didn’t, either.
