February 1, 2021
Urine is sterile. That’s said a lot in Z and my apartment. “Urine is sterile.” It is also a popular topic for us, urine is something we think about often.
People don’t come into contact with a lot of urine throughout their lives. We’ve designed systems to stay as disconnected from it as possible. We flush it away into sewage, let it be absorbed by diapers, wipe it away with toilet paper. Urine might be sterile, but it is not something we like to spend much time around.
My negative relationship with pee has been a habit I need to break since Z and I started living together. I’ve started going to the bathroom with the door open, perhaps in solidarity with Z, who pees in front of me often.
Z’s peeing process:
1) Disrobe the weenie. The bathroom may be cold, or you may be in the van, in the dead of winter, in a snowstorm, but do not skip this step. It’s very important.
2) Get toilet paper. This is the one I usually forget, and we have not yet learned our lesson and stored emergency TP where I can reach it.
3) The dick scoop. A delicate art. According to Z, I’ve nearly mastered this, truly a great compliment.
4) Wait. Z can sometimes be pee shy. Make sure you are in a comfortable position. Not too bent over. Better yet, bend at the knees.
5) Remove collection device and wipe pee away. Be very careful, this is the step where things can get wet.
6) Dispose of urine and clean up. One day I will find a use for the pee I collect from Z. That day will be one to celebrate, but that day has not yet arrived.
Z’s favorite thing to shop for is urinals. According to him, they are generally poorly designed. I personally have always thought that penises themselves were poorly designed. This low hanging fruit always seemed an easy target to me for any low to the ground predators or even the occasional innocuous root or bush. Penises, I used to joke, were very lucky to have made it through the rigorous process of evolution.
It is very strange to watch the dingaling/ding-dong/weenie/pecker/dick of your sexual partner pee. It is even stranger to collect that pee in a plastic basin, dry the pecker, and flush the pee down the toilet. This, I’m sure, is not a revelation, it makes perfect sense, yet I have not quite figured out how to handle this strangeness. However, despite some men’s wishes I’m sure, in my relationships I have always loved the man, not the dingaling. This has been helpful to me in separating the love maker from the pee maker.
Occasionally I amuse myself by imagining the lone urinal designer, working at his desk. What does he wear? What does he look like? What decorations sit on his desk as he wracks his brain over the perfect shape of plastic with which I scoop Z’s ding-dong and collect his pee. This man is a hero, a terrible hero who is doing a terrible job. That may sound harsh, but Z and I do have a plethora of suggestions for any urinal designer who wants them.