THE OUTHOUSE by BillyG
I spent several years of my adolescence in a cultural
and economic backwater called Sullivan County in northern
Pennsylvania. With no substantive economic basis for
survival, it limped along with the rest of Appalachia,
beautiful and impoverished. Elephants went there to die.
If we define "normal" as "usual," then it was
certainly normal for many of the farms to have no
electricity and quite often, no running water. That, in
turn, translates quite rapidly into no bathrooms. The
so-called "backhouse" or "outhouse" was common in that part
of the woods. It was as if the westward migration had
eddied around that part of the country, leaving it as an
island firmly entrenched in the technology and values of
the turn of the century. Those of you who saw the motion
"Deliverance" might have an idea of our culture.
While most folks were poor by our current standards,
we never knew it and more importantly, we never felt
impoverished. For the most part, we had a good time. You'd
smile at our notion of a good time, but for us, it was
hot! Saturday night. A dance! Often at the Grange Hall.
Hard cider and soft women. Man, we used to strut!
There was a well-to-do farmer not far from us, a big
Swede with two good-looking daughters. Most of the my age were sniffing around them, trying to "make
out." Both the sisters were strikingly attractive. Both
big--about five feet ten or so, maybe 150 pounds--Amazonian
we might say now. One was and the other a brunette.
I was dating the and was in lust, but I would not
have thrown her out of bed. (She was big enough,
however, to have thrown ME out of bed!)
One night I double dated with some guy. I can't
remember him, but I certainly remember everything else.
We'd been drinking beer on the way to the dance at the
Grange Hall, arriving there filled with ourselves and
needing to take a leak. We were directed into a field
where there was reported to be an outhouse. All four of us
went at the same time. We found a rickety structure with
back-to-back privies, one for the and one for the
women.
It was a warm summer night and the dance music floated
down through the grove, faintly heard. Without negotiating
anything (what's to negotiate?) we all stepped inside at
the same time. Suddenly it became very quiet.
Through the wide gaps in the barn-like construction of
this privy, the lights from the dance hall cast soft
shadows. Through these same gaps I could hear the girl's
excited breathing just inches away. Suddenly we all seemed
to realize the same thing at the same time. To all intents
and purposes, we were about to in the audible presence
of each other...maybe. But who was to go first?
Whoever the yahoo I was with mumbled, "Fuck it," and
whipped out his dick and let loose. The sound of his
stream hitting the privy pit sounded like a gun shot. "See
you back at the Hall," he said and left. Then it became
quiet again.
Did they think we were both gone? Would they wait and
see if I left? There I was, standing there, holding my
dick in my hand, wondering what to do next. At age sixteen
I was inexperienced and a slow thinker. Now, all these
years later, I'm experienced and a slow thinker.
Fortunately, they perceived no quandary, for I heard them
giggle and one whispered, "You first."
I was so close and it was so acoustically transparent
I could hear my date answer, "Oh, all right. I'm about to
bust." I heard the rustle of her clothes and the
whispering sound of her being pulled down, then a
tinkle, rapidly followed by the unmistakable erotic hissing
of a peeing. I got louder and more forceful, hitting
the water in the privy with astonishing force. She must
have been straining, for suddenly she broke wind. They both
laughed.
"God, there's no paper," my date complained.
"Quit bitching," said her sister, "you never wipe out
in the anyway."
"This ain't no barn," whined my date.
Looked a lot like a to me.
"Move your butt, Joanne. It's my turn," said my
date's sister, Pauline.
I thought I'd gone to heaven. I loved to hear and here I was, about to listen in on one of the most
attractive in the country. Would she tinkle? Would
she hiss? I was picturing in my and horny mind the
dark curls of her pussy.
Pauline said, "Oh, Jesus, I feel like a race horse,"
and she let loose.
"You sound like one too," said Joanne. "No, actually
you sound like a double-cunted cow on a flat rock!
No contest. You win!"
Sometime later I learned they often had contests. Duration. Distance. Things like that. Think
about it a moment. Can you imagine a horny kid like me,
walking around with an ingrown hard on and a fascination
for peeing, meeting to lusty like this?
After Pauline's torrent, it was silent again and then
suddenly, in a louder voice, she said, "Well, Billy. We're
waiting. You gonna or just hold it?"
In an uncharacteristic moment of honesty, I replied,
"Cripes. How my gonna take a leak with a hard on like
this?"
As it turned out, they both viewed an erection as
visible proof of a compliment.
Joanne laughed and called over, "Oh goodie. Billy's
got a bo-ner. We're gonna have a good time tonight."
And that was the start of an intense and wonderfully
erotic summer that ended only when Pauline some
dude even bigger than her father.
END
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