Sex Negative is the Cut’s series on the messy, clumsy, unromantic reality of boning.
When I was 21, I dated an older guy (he was 30) for a couple of months. One night, I stayed over at his house, and the next morning, I woke up and really had to pee. I was so comfortable and I really didn’t want to move, so I just lay there, trying to convince myself I didn’t need to go that badly. Then my boyfriend woke up.
He initiated sex quickly and I didn’t stop him, because when you’re 21, the thought of telling a 30-year-old man that he needs to calm down while you go to the bathroom is impossibly humiliating (also, having sex when you have to pee feels kinda good?). Plus, sex with him was always very basic: missionary and quick, so I figured he’d finish up in a couple minutes and I’d go to the bathroom after.
Things were going fine for the first minute or two — I kept holding it in and hoping we’d be done soon. But then, suddenly, I was peeing everywhere. I don’t know how it happened! There was no physical warning; there was only a moment in which I wasn’t pissing the bed, and the moment in which I was. I starfished out for a moment in pure panic at what I had just done, and attempted to cover the wet with my body. But then we both leapt up because, well, I had just peed on us.
There were a few moments of silent standoff while we both hovered over the newly soaked bed, and during that time, I wondered if it was possible that I had ejaculated. I had never done it before, but I had heard that squirting felt a lot like peeing and I wanted to believe that was what happened. Then I realized the pressure on my bladder that I’d felt all morning was gone. And that seemed like a pretty good clue.
Eventually, my boyfriend broke the silence and asked the $64,000 question. I did not consciously decide to lie but it seemed like the only option: I told him I had squirted, but somehow this 30-year-old man had not heard of female ejaculation. I tried to explain it to him, but he just wasn’t convinced (I guess if someone who just pissed all over you tries to explain what squirting is, it might sound like a lie). Eventually, he gave up, probably because I looked like I was about to cry, which gave me the opportunity to excuse myself to take a shower and hose what was definitely urine off of my body.
As I was walking to the bathroom, though, I caught him looking skeptically at the large wet spot on his bed, bent over like the Sherlock Holmes of bodily fluids. He dabbed two fingers in it, and then brought those two fingers to his nose for a sniff. I would have been happier to be dead.
Thankfully, he never brought it up to me again, but that might be because we only dated for two more weeks after that.