Some fetishes are out there, more common than you think, but you don’t hear much about them because there aren’t very many enthusiasts who are ready and willing to “own” the fetish when it comes to public declarations. The terrible beauty of the internet is that you don’t need “very many”, you only need one. In this case, Bitchy Jones:

I really don’t like the term piss play. Or anything ‘play’, really. Sometimes the infantilisation of kink makes me feel slightly bilious.

But, face facts – “piss play? is a whole lot nicer than any of the other terms we could dredge up and puke over. This post will not be talking about anything *golden*, anything *nectar*, or frankly anything that makes it sound *nice*. It is not nice. That is the point. It is dirtybadwrong.

Which is nice in a way. But the other kind of nice, not the nectar kind of nice.

I love piss.

Just the thing. In and of itself. The hot, the salt, the colour, the smell. God, I love the smell. I love the way it works like perfume and the scent of it changes as it dries on your skin. The way it kaleidoscopes through different notes. It starts off light and nothing, then fruit, green apples I’d say if I was so inclined – and then it just gets darker and harder and nastier until it’s just dirty back streets and bad, bad things.

Everywhere you shouldn’t go. Everything you shouldn’t say. Everyone your mother warned you about.

And that’s just the apéritif.

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