Page 135 of Consummation

The limo comes to a stop in front of our destination.

“It’s a surprise,” I say. “Stay here, baby. I’m gonna set something up for us—it’ll just take a minute. While I’m doing that, you freshen up—put on some lip gloss, wipe your chin, whatever—and when you hear blaring music, come out of the limo and stand next to me, okay?”

“What?” she asks. “Come stand next to you?”

“Yeah, baby, when you hear blaring music, that’s your cue to come out of the limo and stand next to me.” I stroke her hair. “Freshen up your makeup, babe—make yourself extra pretty—I want you looking like a man-eater when you step out of the car, okay? And the minute you hear the music, come out and stand next to me.”

“Okay,” she says. She grabs her makeup bag out of her duffel. “Your wish is my command, sir.”

I grab Kat’s face and kiss her. “See you soon, my love,” I say.

“Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Um. I’m really sorry, but I have to pee—like, really, really bad. Is this gonna take long, whatever it is? I’m about to explode.”

I chuckle. Damn. I didn’t think about Kat’s constant need to pee these days when I planned this mini-porno-rom-com. I peek out the window of the car. There are definitely plenty of bushes in The Asshole’s manicured landscaping, including some fairly large bushes along the side of the house.

“Okay, Party Girl—come with me,” I say. “We’ll find a place for you to pop a squat.”

Kat laughs. “I’m dressed in a Carolina Herrera gown, diamonds, and Manolo Blahniks—and you’re asking me to ‘pop a squat’ behind a bush?”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“Well, no. I just didn’t want you to think I’m low-class.”

“Babe, you’re the classiest broad I know. Now, come on. Let’s go take a classy piss behind a bush.”

Thirty-Eight

Josh

“Sir, do you want—?” the driver begins when Kat and I emerge from the backseat of the limo looking for a place to relieve Kat’s bursting bladder.

The driver’s standing at the back of the car, exactly as instructed, getting ready to set up two speakers currently nestled in the trunk of the car.

“Hang on,” I say, putting up my hand and cutting him off. “My baby-momma needs to take a quick piss before we begin. Await further instruction.”

The driver smirks. “Yes, sir.”

Kat and I creep around the side of the large house and quickly find a suitable bush—and while I keep a lookout, she hikes up her red dress around her hips, squats her tight little ass down, and pisses like a racehorse.

“Ah,” she says as a loud stream of urine blasts out of her. “Delicious.”

I laugh. “Delicious?”

“Yes,delicious. When I have to pee really, really bad and finally get to go, it feels semi-orgasmic. Same muscles releasing, actually.Delicious.”

“Only you, Kat,” I say, zipping down my fly and taking a quick whiz myself.

“Wow, we’re a classy pair, aren’t we?” she says. She stands almost upright, still hiking her elegant gown up, and shakes her pelvis furiously like a wet dog after a bath.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

“Shaking the extra pee off my cooch. That’s what I do when Idon’t have toilet paper—the pee-pee-shake. It’s not just me, trust me—every girl who’s ever gone on a pub crawl or painted her fingernails and then realized she has to pee has resorted to the pee-pee-shake.” She straightens up.

“You good now?”

---