Are you reluctant to explore fetishes? You shouldn’t be. Open your mind a little, and you just might discover that you’re kinkier than you think.
The year was 2010. I was in the Monteverde Cloud Forest of Costa Rica on assignment for a popular travel magazine when I met this young, feisty tica by the name of Victoria. We shared some laughs, hiked through the vastness of the reserve—careful not to get our faces chewed off by a hungry monkey—and watched the sun go down, perhaps wishing that we had met under different circumstances, maybe on the beach. The humidity is vicious in that part of the country, so genitalia, after a while, becomes a sweaty, sloppy mess. While the jungle is a beautiful place, it’s not the most seductive destination. However, we followed our pheromones all the way back to the boutique treehouse the magazine had booked for me, and the two of us spent the rest of the night getting soused and boning like animals.
It was sometime during round three when Victoria began to let her freak flag fly. Perhaps noticing that I was exhausted, she climbed on top for a few moments before hollering something incomprehensible. Victoria, still a bit drunk, forgot she could speak English and was expressing ecstasy in her native tongue, but a crucial detail was getting lost in translation. “Mico…miar,” Victoria howled, fingering my lips while hovering above my chest. Suddenly, I had a eureka moment. She wanted to pee on me. And not just on me, but in my mouth. “No fucking way!” I shouted. “That’s disgusting.”
I had never experienced such a private exchange of bodily fluids before, and up to that point was totally unaware of my aversion to micturating behaviors. After all, I was a journalist, not a toilet. Still, despite my knee-jerk reaction, looking up at her sweaty body, I couldn’t help but become spiritually moved to take a splash.
“Okay, what the hell,” I said. “In the spirit of pura vida, juice me.”