Piss, and Other Things We’re Taught to Hide

Filth, Power, Choice

There’s a kind of honesty that only comes when you’re kneeling, lips parted, eyes upturned, and he asks you: “Do you want it?”
And you say yes. Not out of degradation. But devotion.

Piss isn’t just taboo. It’s coded with every lesson about cleanliness, shame, and control we’ve been taught to swallow. But what if we let it drip, spill, stream? What if we chose filth, on purpose?

What if filth was freedom?

Taught to Clench

As a child, I was told to hold it in. Don’t fidget. Don’t be gross. Don’t let your body betray you.

Piss became the symbol of losing control. Wetting yourself in school? Social death. Dirtying the sheets as a teen? Shame so thick I stripped the bed in silence before sunrise.

Even in boot camp, there was humiliation coded into sweat and smell. We were trained to be dry, contained, obedient. I still remember a guy who pissed himself during drill—and how the air changed around him. He was never seen the same again.

And yet.

Years later, on my knees in a private room in Berlin, a man held my face in his hands. His cock dripped warm on my cheek. And I felt… blessed.

Taboo Is a Mirror

Let’s be clear—piss play isn’t for everyone. But it is for some of us.

And it’s not about liking urine for its own sake. Not always. Sometimes it’s about what it symbolizes: surrender. Filth. The crumbling of the last clean line. The undoing of the body’s final fortress.

Sometimes, it’s about being trusted with someone’s filth. Or choosing to wear your own.

For the submissive, it can be worship. For the dominant, a gift. For lovers of any gender, it can be ritual—consensual desecration that leads, paradoxically, to a kind of holiness.

In the draft of the third book in the tethered series Lina asks Nico to piss on her the night after she buried her father. She needed to be ruined, she said. “I didn’t want to feel sacred—I wanted to feel dirty, like death.”

And when Nico cupped her jaw, whispered “Are you sure?”, and she said yes, it wasn’t about pain or humiliation.

It was about choice.

The Power of Choosing Filth

That’s what this essay is really about: autonomy.

You can be clean every day of your life and never be free.
You can choose filth—and claim it as yours. Not because someone made you. Because you wanted it.

We are taught to repress, to sanitize, to close our legs and tighten our lips and pretend our desire is manageable. Marketable. Smell-less.

But the body doesn’t lie. And kink—especially taboo kink—asks the question that society won’t:

What would you do if no one was watching?

What would you ask for if you believed you were allowed?

When You Stop Hiding

I’ve written scenes where characters beg to be pissed on, or ask to do it in return. Not for shock value. But because it felt true.

Because some of us are still healing from the moment we learned our bodies were unacceptable.

Because letting someone see you, soaked and shaking, is its own kind of love.

Because piss is just another form of water—and we have always baptized each other in what the world calls dirty.