The supplementary co-ed bathroom at the far end of Janice’s dorm floor was the next best thing to a private hotel room. Phil loved slipping in there with Janice for late-night sex in the stall nearest the door–the stall that featured a bathtub instead of a toilet. They’d yet to be disturbed here.

"Mmm, your fingers feel so good," Janice said at 1 a.m. on a Thursday night, as Phil teased the slick lips of her pussy with his warm, soapy digits.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open. And through the gap between the stall door’s hinges, Phil and Janice were able to see who had entered, catching a fleeting glimpse of her as she walked by: chestnut hair, a yummy midriff, and tight, round jeans.

"Oh, wow," said Phil in his lover’s ear. "It’s that hot chick from our French lit class." He and Janice had talked about her before. Janice liked hearing Phil talk about the women he found attractive.

As he spoke, they heard a stall door slam. Feet appeared in the cubicle next to them.

"Whoa–her jeans are down," Phil whispered. A moment later, as a pretty splashing noise reverberated off the tile walls, he continued: "Oh my god, she’s peeing."

"Duh, Phil," hissed Janice, her voice evidently holding back laughter.
"What did you think went on in here?"

"I know, I know . . . but, wow, without any pomp or circumstance . . ."

"You thought girls made a speech first?"

The lovely tinkling sound continued.

"It just seems too good to be true. That women come in here and they actually pull their pants down and piss, just like that. They really do it." Somehow a part of him had expected the world around him to fade to black rather than really showing him this.

"Phil, you goofball–it’s what she came in here to do."

"Oh, fuck, yeah. I know, I know," he repeated blissfully.

The peeing music finally abated, and the woman in the next stall sighed sexily. Then she giggled. "It sounds from the whispers like there are two of you in that tub," she called out. "I hope I didn’t disturb you."

"Not at all," groaned Phil, as Janice pulled firmly on his hard, hard cock.

The moment that I walked into the den and saw Jocelyn squatting on a plastic tarp in the middle of the room, pissing furiously through her lime panties–while she and the other women laughed uproariously and Steve Martin blithely continued his shtick on the 27" screen–I knew that this was not your average party.

"What in the world is going on in here?" I blurted, my eyes riveted on Jocelyn’s thick cascade.

"I *told* you this was ‘Laugh Till You Pee Night,’" said my friend Tina. Tina was rocking in an armchair, and she was wearing only a T-shirt, underpants, and tiny crew socks–which rubbed together as she intertwined her ankles. "You said you weren’t interested."

"I didn’t know you meant it literally," I said.

"Shh!" said another voice, from the couch–Caroline’s. I looked in that direction and, in the dim light afforded by the TV, I saw a couple of pairs of bare legs crossing and uncrossing. On the coffee table in front of Caroline and Denise, a population of empty beer bottles flickered their part of the story.

"I just thought you were going to watch some comedies," I persisted.

Jocelyn had finally finished peeing. She stood up, smiling radiantly, and smoothed her hands over her soaked panties. "Hi, Ted," she said, acknowledging me nonchalantly before seating herself on a beach towel. She now turned her attention back to the movie, and I could see that she was beginning to gently stroke herself through the dampness.

I had thought myself lucky this May when I’d found out that the house Tina and I had arranged to rent for the summer was going to be populated with what I deemed to be four of the most gorgeous women on campus–Tina and her three best friends. The reality, though, was that none of them seemed particularly interested in interacting with me. So, aside from my casual friendship with Tina, I’d developed a habit of keeping to myself. This was why I’d turned down her invitation to join them for what I thought would be a run-of-the-mill movie night.

I swallowed. "Do you girls do this often?" I asked Tina.

"Quiet!" said Denise.

Suddenly, the TV went dead. No power failure, no unplugged cord . . . just an appliance deciding to konk out forever.

"It’s not going to come back," Tina reported a minute later after fussing with the controls, her body dancing the whole time.

"Now what do we do?" asked Caroline from the couch, amidst a continuing flurry of crossing and re-crossing legs. "I’ve been looking forward to this all week!"

"I know. Same here," Tina replied. As she paced the room, I observed that her delicate minuet was approaching the scale of a tango. "I’m just about ready to do it, too."

"I’m not going to wet myself to a dead TV," said Denise. "I mean, what would be the point of *that*?" And with this remark she stood up from the couch, clutching herself, obviously ready to call it a night and head for a bathroom.

It took me only another instant to assess the situation and respond appropriately.

"I know some jokes," I said.