Urinal

Hidden in a men’s bathroom stall at the Rave Cinema was Lisa, an 8-year-old girl. She kept her feet propped on the toilet and sat on her knees with her hands over her mouth, struggling to hold her laughter in as she watched men come and go through the crack between the door and wall.

Fatherless, Lisa watched with wide eyes as the men stood and pissed. There were so many ways they went about it. Some examples of the male species held their hand against the wall and shoved their pelvis into the urinal. Then there were the ones who put their hand on their back. She felt a tingle rush through her when a little boy pulled his pants down to his ankles, exposing his pale butt cheeks, and leaned in and pissed without having to hold his penis.

It wasn’t until Mark, a 40-year-old who had a little too much to drink during the film, came bursting in, that Lisa became worried about her mom looking for her. Fidgeting with a loose shoe lace, she giggled as Mark let out a fart with both his hands wrapped around his penis.

Mark turned his head and stared in Lisa’s direction. Confused, he finished his piss, zipped himself up, and walked up to the stall door. He knocked and heard another giggle. He peeked underneath the door but didn’t see a pair of feet. He then peered through the crack and saw a startled Lisa, who shrieked as their eyes met.

“What the hell,” Mark said.

Just then a woman yelled into the bathroom. “Lisa, are you in there?”

Lisa burst through the door, rushing past Mark and out of the men’s room. Mark stood there in disbelief, not sure if he had seen a girl or ghost.

Outside the bathroom, Lilly’s mom grabbed Lisa’s arm. “How could you be so thoughtless?” She pulled Lisa away. “And knock that smirk off your face.”

Lisa kept smirking as they walked out of the theater.

That night while getting ready for bed the emboldened little girl stood in front of the toilet, pajama pants around her ankles, and let a few drops of urine dribble down her legs into a small puddle on the floor. Not to be deterred, she leaned in further and pushed as hard as she could. The puddle grew wider and not a drop made it into the bowl. Just as she felt on the verge of giving up she put her hands on her hips, arched her back and thrust out her pelvis. She pushed as hard as a a little girl could be expected to and heard a tiny ploop. The stream had made it into the pool of clear water, now interrupted by a yellow dye spreading its wings.

Just then she heard her mom yell up from downstairs, “Lisa, what’s taking you so long!”

“Coming mom!” she yelled back. She let out a squeak of a fart while bending over to pull up her pajama pants and then promptly flushed the toilet. She couldn’t stop giggling as she laid in bed.

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About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
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