The Shower Patrol
Copyright 2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story refers to male-on-male urination. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
As Mark is pulling into the "station" at about 9:15 PM, having completed his CPR course down at the community center, he notices the house seems awfully quiet. When he raises the garage door, his suspicions are confirmed. There is only one set of bunker gear,--boots, trousers, coat,--on the wall. His own. Shit. The rest of the patrol is making a run, and he is missing it.
Of course, he understands. When the alarm rang, they had to answer it promptly. They obviously couldn't wait for the probie to get back. It's just he wishes so much to be there with them. Oh well. At least the other six men won't be gone long. The team is efficient. They'll be back in just a few minutes. He goes in the kitchen and puts on a pot a coffee. And makes sure there's cold brewski in the fridge. The guys will be thirsty when they get back. Their empty tanks will need refilling.
While Mr. Coffee does its job, Mark goes upstairs to take a quick shower. There he begins thinking about the call he is missing. As he thinks, he pumps his nozzle. Of course, he gets a true sense of fulfillment from the community service this patrol performs, but it is more than that. He actually gets turned on every time he goes out with them.
As predicted, while he is drying off, he hears the garage door open, and the "engine" pull in. Then the muffled joking and boisterous laughter of six guys who have completed another mission. He hears Pisser yapping his head off and pictures him racing around from man to man, as each one hoses off his bunker gear and hangs it in place, ready for the next run.
Soon the door opens to the kitchen and Mark hears Kirk yell out, "Hey, Effingee! Get your sorry ass down here." During his one year probation, no one at the "station" calls him Mark. Kirk calls him FNG--fuckin' new guy. Barney and Ron call him the Boot, and to everyone else he is simply the Probie. Well, Wayne doesn't say much of anything. He's the one with the LDH [large diameter hose].
Mark quickly pulls on some comfortable sweats and slides down the pole. He goes into the kitchen, grabs a six-pack from the fridge and throws one to each guy in the den. Then he sets up a tray of coffee cups and brings it and the carafe in. He can't wait to hear the tale of the evening's run. He wants to know every fuckin' detail.
"It was old man Miller!"
"No shit! That's three times this week!"
"Yeah, he's a frequent flyer, all right!"
"Was he out on the patio?"
"Yep! Wearing a new pair of jeans, satin shirt, leather vest, suede shoes. Expect some of those things are totally ruined now! But we don't give a shit. Apparently, neither does he! We're just there to do our job. Aw, don't look so sad, Effingee! You'll be around for the next run."
"I hope so!" Mark dropped his ass onto the couch between Amahl and Jeremiah. Pisser jumped up on Amahl's lap and laid his head in the probie's crotch to get his ears scratched. Mark listened excitedly as the guys described the scene. Miller, in his fancy duds, getting hosed by the patrol from every angle. Even Pisser helped out.
.oOo.
It was three months ago that Mark called on the classified. At 23, he'd just been evicted. His landlord didn't like him bringing girls home at wee hours of the morning. On the phone, the new digs sounded adequate and the price was right. He drove over and Kirk, the owner of the house, gave him the cook's tour.
"Kitchen. Everyone in the house takes a turn cooking dinner once a week. Breakfast is on your own. Dining room. Den. Flat screen TV. Cable." Mark thought the house was great. The decor was all man, real testosterone, with a firefighting theme in the den. There were fireman posters, a fire axe over one doorway, a pike pole over another, on the wall over the bar one of those sexy fire department calendars with bare chested hunks in boots and helmets, a large nozzle propped on the coffee table, several mugs, ash trays, and plaques with the Maltese Cross, and in one corner even a fire pole coming down from the second floor.
When they got upstairs, Mark saw the top of pole at the end of the hall. "This here is my bedroom, me and my partner Wayne. I trust you don't have any issues with gays. Amahl and Jeremiah have the bedroom next door. They're gay also, well bi, I guess, but they're not a couple." Kirk took him down the hall. "You'll bunk in here with Barney and Ron. And you three share this bath. Don't worry, they're straight like you."
"Uh, I see another bedroom across the hall."
"Guest room. If you bring anyone home, try to use that room as a courtesy to your bunkmates. Unless, of course, someone beats you to it. Saturday nights, you have to get your dibs in early."
"Hell, this is great. I can move in tomorrow if that's ok with you."
"Well, first I'd like you to come by this evening, meet the other guys."
"Oh sure, I understand."
"Also, there some others things about the house that will need some explaining."
That evening, Mark shared a delicious beef stew, courtesy of Barney, with the rest of the lodgers. After dinner, they settled into the den with cigars and beers. He met Pisser, the four-year old dalmatian. Ron went over to the computer to visit a chat room. The others started explaining the setup to Mark.
"We always call this house the 'station' and ourselves the 'patrol.'"
"Are you some sort of volunteer firemen?"
"No, although Wayne is an EMT with the town ambulance corps. No, the kind of fires we extinguish are a different variety. You see, Mark, ..."
Just then they were interrupted by Ron. "Guy down at the rest stop on Route 36. Come on, Patrol, we gotta run." Everyone jumped into action, including Pisser. They ran to the garage, where Mark saw six rubber coats hanging, six pairs of trousers under them, and six pairs of boots. Like experts, they donned these in only seconds and jumped into the van,--which they called the "engine,"--Amahl at the wheel. Mark found himself in the second seat between Barney and Jeremiah,--the only one in the car with no protective gear. They pulled out and headed toward the highway.
"Who needs water?" Ron asked, passing out Deer Park bottles. Most of the men began swigging. Jeremiah handed one to Mark.
"Oh, that's OK, I'm not thirsty."
"Drink it, man. The whole bottle." Mark did as Jeremiah told him.
"You see, Mark, the patrol performs a service to guys in our community with very special needs. We do it free of charge, just happy to be of some help to our fellow man. This guy Ron met in the chat room tonight told him he needed help. So of course, Ron told him he'd be right over."
By now, the "engine" was on 36, heading south. More bottles of water were passed around. Mark accepted one, but was now wishing he'd used the john back at the "station."
Amahl pulled into the rest stop. There were no overhead lights. Plenty of trees. So the area was dark. He stopped behind the one other car and flashed his lights three times. Mark didn't see any fire, or any other situation of distress. The "patrol" began climbing out and Ron walked up the car's driver's window. Mark heard some of the conversation.
"I thought you'd be alone?"
"These are my buddies. Believe me, you'll get good service. More than you bargained for. Come on, climb out. We're ready."
The man opened his door. He looked about 45, dressed in a suit and tie. He wore glasses. Very nerdy. He looked at the rest of the guys in their protective clothing, all except Mark and Pisser. He walked over toward the trees and knelt down, then removed his glasses and put them in his inside jacket pocket. "OK, give it to me."
Kirk gave the order, "Surround and drown." The patrol formed a circle around Mr. Nerd. Mark stood between Wayne and Barney. Then he saw them all open their flies and pull out their dicks. What the hell, he whispered to himself. Barney nodded to him to unzip. Then they all opened up and began showering Mr. Nerd with piss. His head. Face. Clothes. Every inch from receding hairline to wingtips. By now Mark's bladder was about to burst so of course he joined them, aiming at the stranger. So did Pisser, lifting his leg and pointing right at the man's crotch.
After several final dick shakes, the patrol's bladders were completely empty and they began stowing their hoses, zipping up and returning to the engine, leaving Mr. Nerd soaking inside a golden pond. "Thanks a lot," he called out as he started to masturbate.
Amahl pulled away. "Fuckin Shit!" Mark yelled as they got back on the highway. "He actually wanted us to piss on him!"
"Yep, Mark, and he's not alone. There are men all over this city who get their jollies this way. They want someone, preferably a stranger, or strangers, to give them a golden shower. We're just glad we can oblige."
Mark detected a faint smell of urine in the engine and realized piss was dripping off the patrol's protective trousers and boots on to the floor. When guys are pissing in a circle, some is bound to splash where it wasn't intended. Then Mark looked at his own jeans cuffs and sneakers. "Sorry, Buddy," said Barney, "that's what happens. You better buy yourself some bunker gear. That is, if you're going to join our patrol."
"Hell, yeah! This is the most fun I've had since I left the frat house!" He high-fived the rest of the patrol, except for Amahl who kept his hands on the wheel.
"Welcome aboard."
.oOo.
In the last three months on the patrol, Mark has learned a lot. One thing he learned about himself is that pissing on a fellow human being is a real turnon. So he willingly accepted his probie rank and the duties that came with it which included scrubbing down the floors and seats of the engine after every run, washing and waxing the engine every Saturday, picking up Pisser's shit in the back yard, and always being around to get the rest of the patrol whatever they ask for, from a Bud Light to a Blow Job. Pretty much the same duties he had as a freshman rushing IOK.
Of course Mark was curious how the patrol got started on their quest to paint the world yellow. "Well, about three years ago, we were renting Ron a room," Kirk explained. "One evening he brought a lovely young lady home, someone he met at a bar. The next morning, he told us she was a sex therapist. Sometime during the night, she had described one of her clients whose fantasy was to be taken by a group of men into the woods, made to strip and kneel, and then get urinated on by all of them. Ron was amazed, but we told him we were familiar with the golden shower fetish. It's not our thing, but it is common enough in the gay community, especially in the BDSM subculture. Ron asked Wayne and me if we wanted to do it. He was mainly looking for an excuse to see the lady again. We said, sure, the client wanted help, and it was harmless enough. Ron asked two of his straight buddies to join us, so we'd have enough guys to fulfill the man's fantasy. Barney and another guy named Joe.! The therapist told her client to go to the nature preserve at night and wait beside the parking lot. We drove up and parked and sure enough there was this dude, looked about fifty, big beer belly, but neatly dressed, just standing there under a light. As we approached, he started shaking like a leaf. 'You Clyde?' He nodded. We grabbed his elbows and walked him into the woods. When we got to a clearing, we told him to strip. Very slowly and nervously, he took off his clothes, piling them neatly on a smooth rock. Then we told him to kneel. We got in a circle around him, opened our flies, and peed on him. Joe had drunk a bit of beer that night, so when the rest of us were done, he went over and pissed on the pile of clothes. We left Clyde there. We never heard from him again, but the therapist told Ron it was a real breakthrough in his treatment. Barney said he got a real charge out of urinating on another human being. He said we should do it more often. Joe said it wasn't hi! s thing. Soon after that, Barney moved in with Ron and the patrol was established. Actually, Barney turned out to be a real shower junkie. Couldn't do it often enough.
"Of course, we leaned a lot from our first few missions. We realized we needed protective clothes. We learned we really had to tank up before setting out. It's embarrassing when you unzip and you can't piss a drop. And we learned to be very professional. No joking around or laughing at the target. Just turn on the hose, douse and then leave."
Since joining the patrol, Mark has had an average of 4 or 5 runs a week.
.oOo.
"So, how did Miller like it tonight? Did he cry as usual?"
"Shit, of course, Effingee! He always whimpers like a baby when he gets his bath. He'll probably be calling us again in a few days. Hold it, that's my cell." Kirk looks at the text message on his phone. "You're in luck, Effingee. We got another run to make before you scrub out the engine."
"Allll Right!!! Fuck, yeah!!!" They don their gear,--Mark's was the only dry set,--and pull out. "Where are we going?"
"It's Tony. He's got another subbie and he wants us to give him his initiation."
Amahl drives over to Tony's house on the north side of town. A pleasant suburban community. They pull into the drive and knock on the kitchen door. Tony's wife opens. "Hi, Marie, Tony called."
"Yeah, they're down in the basement. Hi, Mark. You still on probation?" Mark nods. "Here, I made you guys a big pitcher of lemonade. Take a glass from the counter."
"Thanks, Marie, you're a doll."
They each swig a glassful while Marie fills a cereal bowl with water and sets it on the floor for Pisser. "You don't think I'd forget you, now, Sweetie."
The patrolmen down their drinks and then begin heading downstairs. "Marie, you going to come along and watch this time?"
"No, guys. This is Tony's thing. Besides, I want to watch 'Dancing with the Stars.' You guys have fun."
"Hi, Tony!" Tony's basement is set up as a BDSM chamber. A St. Andrew's Cross, chains, a sling, whips, etc. Tony is decked out in leather--boots, chaps, harness, hood--and a mail codpiece. He carries a whip.
"Hi, Men." Tony turns to some pathetic creature chained to the far wall. "You see these guys, Turd Face. These are real men. Something you will never be."
The patrol walks over to the chained thing. It's totally naked. Sitting bare assed on the concrete floor. Its legs are spread, both ankles shackled to the floor. Its arms are pulled over its head. It has a ball gag in its mouth. Two clamps on its tits. Plastic clothespins on its scrotum. It is probably about 35, bald and shaven of all body hair.
Pisser goes over to it, and sniffs its crotch. It now looks terrified. Pisser raises his leg and gives it a faceful of dog piss.
"OK, Turd Face. You see what the dog thinks of you. You're less than a fuckin' canine. OK, guys, give it all you got."
"Surround and drown." The patrol forms a semicircle around it and opens their flies. "You joining us, Tony?"
"No, I already marked my territory. Besides, I don't trust your aim. I don't want to ruin my leathers."
"Ha, ha, OK." The patrol lets loose and douses it with all they have. Before they stow their hoses this time, Jeremiah walks over to it, pulls the gag out of its mouth and pulls its head back. "Lick me dry, you Scum." One by one, each patrol member gets his last few drops licked off by the helpless creature. Finally, Kirk holds Pisser up so it can lick his dick as well. Then he replaces its gag. As it sits in the yellow pool, its dick is now rock hard.
"OK, Tony, our job is done here." The patrol zips up, except that is for Mark who is wanking himself as he heads up the stairs.
Tony calls out, "Hey, I can't thank you guys enough."
"No problem, we're glad to help." In the kitchen, they thank Marie for her hospitality, and head back to the station.
"Another mission accomplished, Team!"
Please let me know how you liked this story. Thank you. Herb_Cat@mailcity.com