A public place, my greatest fear. I shouldn’t have come, but shoulds live in the past, I live in the present, so brave, and a bit stupid, I attended the local fireworks display. Too many people, in a barren field surrounded by unlit forest, uncomfortable, and I needed to pee, again. The baby tapped on my bladder and forced me to piss every two minutes. While the fireworks looked stellar against the black sky, the organizers didn’t provide enough washrooms, two in total, and when you have to go, you have to go. No time for thirty-minute-long lines.

I snuck behind some bushes, pulled my pants down, and squatted. The cool night air tickled my exposed vagina. I smelled and tasted the sulfur and gunpowder in the air. The shadows around me blocked out the rest of the world. People chatted while glass clinked in the distance. Foul cigarette smoke wafted from the crowd, and a couple of ladies screamed with laughter.

My stream hit the dry ground. Ammonia with a faint onion odor. I love the taste of onions and don’t mind the smell. My body warmed with embarrassment. The burnt hamburger from the food stand made my mouth bitter and dry. Someone else peed near me.

A handsome man, dark features in deep shadows, held his penis and pissed on a tree. The spray splashed and ran down the bark, which darkened the wood. Shivers ran up and down my spine, fear of exposure, and the cool night air. My mouth watered with the idea of a drink, a sip, a taste, of pee to wash away the horrible hamburger taste. Pee? A first for me.

Unsteady, the man rocked on his feet. The stream fascinated me in the bright moonlight, with reds, greens, yellows, and blues from the fireworks above us. The bang echoed in the forest, sulfur and burnt metallic smells rained down. Ammonia in the air, from my pee, and the fireworks. Sweat rolled down my back.

I shifted to better watch while my stream splashed on the forest floor. He hummed ‘Chasing Waterfalls’. More sweat, from fear and excitement, streamed down my neck and spine. My pee’s aroma filled my mind, and I wanted, needed, to taste his stream. No idea why. Pregnancy causes crazy cravings, like pickles and ice cream, which I tried and hated, but now my stomach growled to fill it with his urine.

He leaned his hand on the tree while he drew circles with his stream on the tree. He had a slight belly, much smaller than mine, but cute, like a pillow around his waist for someone to lie her head on and sleep. Others, far away, ood’d and awed as the explosive lights dazzled in the sky. My breasts ached with future milk while my clit grew engorged and excited. I wondered at his taste, sweet like apple juice, our sour like apple vinegar. The idea that it must have an apple flavor would not leave me. Piss doesn’t smell like apples, so why would it taste like apples? But I couldn’t push that idea away. To know his flavor, sweet or sour.