Aqua Aureus

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I never thought I'd admit something out loud that's so embarrassing, let alone write an entire novel about it. I had no way of knowing where it would lead me. It all started with a trip to a metaphysical store that had just opened, and I happened to find a deck of oracle cards that would change my life forever. They almost took my life from me too, all because of an obsession with something that turned me into someone I didn't recognize anymore.I discovered that the dream world was a very real place, and those cards were my key. I ended up on a journey of self-acceptance and discovered a lot about my kinks and the fetish that used to haunt me. The strange and otherworldly denizens of the dream world were more than eager to indulge me. It became my addiction. The waking world became less and less desirable, and I was willing to risk everything to dream forever - to keep seeking that blissful release.

This book contains explicit erotica and focuses on kink and fetish play without sex. Fetishes, kinks, and subject matter covered are discussed in the author's note, which is included in book previews.

Content warnings; discussions about major depression and its symptoms, bullying, manipulation, and overuse of sleeping pills.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
This book has erotic content and is for readers 18+
Kinks in this chapter; mild urolagnia.

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D BE WRITING any of this down, nor did I ever think I’d admit something so… strange publicly.I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let me start again, properly this time.Hello, I’m Dream. That’s not my real name, but it will do for now. I’m an agender AMAB person, meaning I was assigned male at birth but I don’t really identify with any gender. I’m on the asexual spectrum, although it’s complicated. I’m twenty-eight.I write erotica, although I’ve lacked inspiration lately. Since it started raining in my city my depression has worsened, and it’s been partly at fault for my writer’s block. It hasn’t stopped raining for a while now. Well, not completely. It drizzles often, and at others, it falls softly with a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. The newscasters aren’t sure when the clouds will clear.This morning, it was no different. I slid out of my foldout bed, crossed my efficiency apartment into the kitchenette, opened the refrigerator, stared, and then closed it again. My black striped shirt drooped off of me because of the weight loss, and I realized I hadn’t eaten in about a day.I scarfed down a banana and slipped into the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror, a pale face stared back at me with messy, short black hair that nearly reached my shoulders. I brushed it away from my face and noticed the same emptiness in my dark brown eyes that was always present. It had been for the past few years, never brightening. Never reflecting anything but the void in my stomach.My psychiatrist said it was major depression. My past wasn’t the greatest, and I knew that was a likely cause, but it wasn’t extremely traumatic or anything. Just… not right. Not how things should have been. I was punished for things that left their mark, but not in a way you’d expect.It left me with…Anyway. I turned to use the toilet and as soon as I opened the lid and lifted the seat, I realized another issue. My old brown cotton pajama pants were baggy, but there was no hiding the tent that had formed in them. It wasn’t that I’d had any pleasant dreams to cause it, I mostly had nightmares and didn’t have a reason to have any sort of dream that would excite me. I wasn’t excited by your average sexual fantasy anyway, but...Always. Always in the morning after having slept for nine or ten hours without waking. After drinking too much water before bed. My bladder was so full, and I could even…Ashamed, I took a few deep breaths and tried to pee. It only made matters worse when it started to flow......for some reason.I ended up back in the living room and stood in the middle of it, the only light the nightstand’s lamp by the foldout couch. I glanced at the door and scratched my head.
I could leave. I could just step outside to get some fresh air and check the rain, and while I was at it, I could go on a little walk to stretch my legs.I moved toward the door but stopped in front of it. My sleeve drooped over my hand as I lifted it and pressed it against the wooden surface.The little bit of energy I’d gained fizzled out. No, I didn’t really want to. I didn’t care, to be honest. I might run into the neighbors or the mailman, and whenever that happened before, I just remained mostly silent. I had nothing to say to them, no stories about life to talk about other than, “So… still raining, huh?”To be fair, I preferred isolation anyway. So I returned to it. Thankfully by then, the problem in my pants had calmed down and I sat on the edge of the foldout bed to start up my game console.

“Proud of you, Dream,” my friend said. He moved his manual wheelchair up to a table across from me.We’ll call him Star, since he’s into astrology and magic and things like that.I grew shy and settled with watching him sip his latte. He had long, flowing brown hair and often wore many silver necklaces, beaded bracelets, and silver rings. All related to whatever occult things he’d picked up in his studies that he vibed with. His eyes were a lighter brown than mine, almost amber.Star adjusted his large, silver round glasses and looked back at me. “Really, I am. And you should be proud of yourself too. It’s really hard for you to get out these days.”I shook my head and blew the steam away from my hot chocolate. “I just don’t like to. You know, I’ve told you I’m not a fan of people.”“Right.” Star sighed but smiled anyway. “Maybe it’s something you have to get used to again? You’ve been isolating for so long.”“Really, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I said quietly. I shrank back in my chair and sipped the hot drink, my black sleeves protecting my hands from the burn of the paper cup. “I like being alone. It gives me time to write, which is my main source of income anyway.”Star raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, and when’s the last time you wrote anything? It’s been a while since you’ve sent me something to read.”I grew warm and looked down at the table. “Well, I’ve thought about starting something new…”“Dream…” Star smiled sadly. “It’s the depression, isn’t it? It’s zapping your inspiration.”“Probably, but it’s not so bad. It’s comforting in a weird way.”Star’s eyebrows creased with concern. “Depression, comforting?”I nodded and took another sip of my hot chocolate. “Yeah. I mean, I’m still doing virtual therapy appointments weekly, and I’m mostly honest with my therapist about how I’m feeling, but there’s a strange comfort in being just… melancholic?” I groaned. “Gods, sorry. That’s a cringe artist thing, but it’s true. Like, I don’t want to die or anything…”“But you’ve still given up on life,” Star said. “You always wrote such fun stories. People love them. You can do it again.”I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if I could go back to writing what I once did. Before I’d started talking about my past in therapy a year ago, I had a lot of fun coming up with creative scenarios for erotica that didn’t involve sex.It was still titillating. People seemed to like it, and I made enough on it to move down to part time work. I’d managed to do pretty well for a while working full time, and I’d been able to save up. My apartment wasn’t the fanciest, of course. It was a little efficiency in a poorer area, but it allowed me to live comfortably without worrying about bills.But now, it was a matter of time before my savings would run out. I’d lost my job at the beginning of the year as my depression worsened. I just stopped waking up on time, and eventually, I started missing days. I’d lay in bed and stare at my phone as it rang, and the eventual voicemail would ping. My last paycheck arrived not long after that in the mail because I just couldn’t bring myself to go in.I needed my writing more than ever. And while I’d be okay for a bit because I didn’t spent much extra on frivolous things, my savings would run out eventually, and if I wanted to support myself, I’d have to start writing a lot more.“Hey, Dream?” Star asked. He pointed behind him. “Why don’t you go with me to the new metaphysics shop that just opened last month?”I looked through the glass behind him, and I stared at a bay window that had been painted purple. Golden stars danced around a store sign that read, The Crystal Shelf.“Sure.” I stood with my cup and grabbed Star’s as he wheeled out from behind the table. “I shouldn’t spend anymore money today, though.”As we made our way outside, Star waved a hand. “I got you. Might make you feel better to have a little magic in your life right now.”We crossed the wet street, thankful the rain had slowed to a very light drizzle. We finished our drinks before stepping inside, and I threw the cups away. When we crossed the threshold, a whimsical and musky incense welcomed us warmly into the store.“I’ll have to ask what this is,” Star said as he breathed in deeply. “This would be so nice to meditate with.”I browsed the shelves as Star went off on his own toward a table of crystals. A kind Black genderqueer person approached to ask if there was anything I needed, but I shook my head and quickly busied myself with the shelves full of card decks.Tarot cards, I’d heard of those. There were also ones called oracle cards, which seemed to have their own system unique to the author and artist. I’d seen Star use them before, but I’d never considered trying them myself.My fingers brushed across the faces of the boxes, some large and some small. I paused on a medium-sized box with a painted illustration on the front.I grabbed it and looked at the back. The painted images focused heavily on shadows and empty rooms, and some had figures in them that were abstract, a bit like Giorgio de Chirico’s Metaphysical art, except with a pastel flair. The pictures spoke to me just like the popular liminal space images did online, and the interesting figures reminded me of dreamlike characters.I realized the deck had some erotic elements to it, and I glanced around to make sure no one was behind me. No one close to me knew I wrote erotica, other than my therapist and Star, who liked reading that kind of stuff.Online, my author name was a pen name as well. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of it or thought it was wrong in any way, I just didn’t want people around me to look at me and know that I wrote that kind of stuff, if that makes sense. I worried they’d look at me differently, especially since I’m asexual, and most around me already struggled to understand that. It was just too tiring to repeatedly explain that asexuality was a spectrum.I looked at the cards again. The box was plastic wrapped so I couldn’t see the rest of the cards, but something about them really spoke to me. Something stirred in me, and I realized that maybe the cards were an answer. Maybe they could help me with my writer’s block.I tucked them under my arm and approached Star, who was browsing the books. “Hey, uh, I found something. It’s a little pricey though, so you can absolutely say no and it’s fine.”Star chuckled. “Give it here. Lemme see.” He turned the box over in his hands, glanced at the $30 price tag, and then handed them back. “No problem. I think they’ll be good for you. And with oracle cards especially, you can kind of just go with the flow while reading. They’re not like tarot, which have a pretty specific system.”“I thought they might help me write again. Might be fun to see what happens.” I smiled. At least I had something to look forward to, and my depression lifted for just a little bit that day.

As soon as I got home and said goodbye to Star, I ripped open the plastic and lifted the top off of the oracle card deck. I brought them to my nose to take in the fresh scent of paper, although they had a newly sliced wood smell that I loved even more.I flipped through the deck, ignoring the book for later. While not all of the cards were erotic, a decent amount were. Some of the figures resembled people, others were abstract and only resembled the idea of a person, or some were statues. The environments they resided in were heavily shadowed, just like the preview images on the box. The rooms were largely barren, and the very basic town squares were devoid of people, other than the occasional dreamlike human figures that were sometimes depicted as nude, or assumed to be.The theme, according to the box’s description, was to do with dreams. The cards were meant to be used before bed to inspire what you’d like to dream about, and they could be drawn at random or chosen to inspire a specific dream that the dreamer preferred.Dreams. I grew uncomfortable. My dreams were always so dark and strange, and they rarely inspired my writing because there wasn’t much to take away from them that would fit in with erotica.I sighed and set the cards beside my foldout bed on the nightstand. I wasn’t experienced with any of that new age stuff, it probably wouldn’t even work for me. Besides, what I really wanted to write about, what I’d started to realize about myself and my interests, wasn’t possible anyway.Well, it was, but I worried it would be too much for my readers and I’d lose the royalties. I also hadn’t fully accepted it yet. I also couldn’t stop thinking about it, which was annoying.I realized I hadn’t used the bathroom since I drank the hot chocolate, and my bladder finally alerted me to its fullness. I sighed annoyingly as the burn started in my stomach, and a bulge grew in my black torn jeans.I made my way to the bathroom and continued to the toilet to do the usual. And, as had become frequent those days, I’d grown so aroused it was difficult to pee.I just stood there, trying to will away the burn. I closed my eyes in an attempt to meditate it away, but when the flow started, a pulse of arousal gripped me and it stopped. “Can we not do this right now?” I said to my body, which didn’t listen.I looked down at myself, frustrated. I tried to start the stream again, and as it went, anther pulse caused my hips to rock. By that point I had to go so badly it just came out.
The sound and the sensations became too much, and before I could finish, it stopped as I gripped myself tight and came over the toilet.When I finally calmed down, I realized I had to do something. Even if I just wrote for myself for a bit to get it out of my system, I had to confront what was constantly nagging at me.I had developed a pee fetish.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
This book has erotic content and is for readers 18+

I PLUGGED MY CAMERA AND MICROPHONE into my computer, and then clicked on the link for my virtual visit. It was five minutes until my therapy appointment, but I’d had less time than I thought.After checking in, a questionnaire popped up that I hadn’t completed in some time. A depression screening. My therapist knew I had it, she’d diagnosed me with major depression, but maybe it was a new check-in thing they had to start using. You can never be too careful.Over the past two weeks, how often have you been bothered by the following:Little interest or pleasure in doing things.
Nearly every day.Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless.
Nearly every day.Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much.
Nearly every day.Feeling tired or having little energy.
Nearly every day.Poor appetite or overeating.
Nearly every day.Feeling bad about yourself — like you are a failure or you’ve let yourself or family down.
…I sat back and ran my hand down my face. My chest felt heavy and that comforting sadness wrapped its blanket around me as I listened to the rain pouring outside. I looked at the light switch beside me, and I turned off the lamp over my head. The light was too bright right now.Nearly every day.Trouble concentrating on things, such as watching television or reading.
More than half the days.Moving or speaking so slowly others have noticed — or the opposite, feeling fidgety or more restless than usual.No one else is here to notice. Unless you counted the shadows.Skip.Thoughts that you would be better off dead or hurting yourself.
…Dead? No. Hurt myself? Not really. I don’t know.I’d tried self-harm in the past because I wanted to see if it would do anything, but it wasn’t something I was into. I just wanted to not be here, if that makes sense. I didn’t want to die, although I’d had suicidal thoughts before. I just wanted to be somewhere else — somewhere quiet and away from therapy. Away from everyone. Away from bills and worrying about bringing in money and being afraid of losing my readers over writing something that I was deeply ashamed of but I couldn’t get it out of my head so I felt utterly trapped in a cycle of shamefulness and arousal and…Not at all.How difficult have these problems made it to live your life, including work, social activities, and taking care of yourself?
Extremely difficult.I glanced at the clock, thankful it was the last question. A minute early.My therapist connected and we did the usual greetings over video. Am I alone? Yes. Am I at home? Yes. Do I have privacy? Yes.I told her I’d gone out with Star yesterday and it went okay. I bought a deck of oracle cards to help me gain some inspiration for writing. She knew I wrote erotica and was supportive of it.“So, how have you been doing since we last talked?” she asked.I remembered last evening. Standing over the toilet and the grip of shame, and the realization that I had to do something because this… kink was eating me alive. I knew I had to talk about it, and she’d be someone who wouldn’t judge me. It’s not in her job description, anyway.“I…” I started. “So, I’m asexual and I don’t normally have sexual attraction to atypical things or people. I have fun writing erotica because it’s just… fun. And I’ve felt things from it before, I’m human. But…”She waited patiently before tilting her head. “But..?”I took a deep breath and considered backtracking. Just telling her I had no new ideas and I hadn’t even tried the cards yet. I would’ve used them last night, but I didn’t want to dream after everything. I’d tried my best to still my mind, hoping I could just will away the weird kink I’d always known was there, I’d just ignored it for so long.Yet, it still plagued me. And the inevitable happened this morning again.Maybe I could talk about it. At least, with her.“I’m… ashamed of something. Of something I can’t ignore anymore. And I don’t know where it came from.”A sympathetic look crossed my therapist’s face. “Well, we can talk about it, if you’d like. Maybe I can help you figure it out?”I nodded. “Yeah, maybe you can. You see, I’m…” I grew frustrated with myself. My heart hammered. She’d be the first person I’d ever told. “I… I have a thing. For… urinating. The sight of it, and stuff.” I lowered my head and hid behind my shaggy black hair. It was finally out.To my surprise, she smiled. “That’s a really common thing, believe it or not. Nothing to be ashamed of, although I know that’s easier said than done.”“Really?” I asked. I peered through my hair. “But it’s weird for me. I mean, I have things that I’m interested in, that I write erotica about, but nothing has just bothered me so much. I can’t even go pee without it bothering me.”She noted something down. Oh, gods. I forgot about that. It’ll be in my file. Thankfully, private.“Is it interfering with your life in a way that’s causing distress?” she asked. “Is it an everyday thing that you’re concerned about, and not just a thing that you’re thinking about sometimes?”“Right,” I said, a little braver now. It seemed that once the truth was out, it got a lot easier. Ripping the bandage off. “I dreamed about it last night a little, although it’s hard to remember. I even thought about writing about it, but I’m afraid people will stop reading my stuff, and I need the money from that.”The urge to cry welled up in my chest, crept up my throat, and finally, tears fell.“I don’t know what to do,” I continued. “It’s so silly to be so upset over something like this. I just want it to go away, I don’t want this. And I’m worried it came from something in my past, you know? Like, what triggered it?”“Something in your past?” She noted something down. “You’ve said before that your home life was a bit tumultuous when you were growing up. Your parents fought a lot?”“Yeah.” I wiped my eyes with my black and gray striped shirt that hung over my hands. “They never raised their hands to each other, but there was sometimes name-calling; mom always did, but dad didn’t. I just steered clear of them when it happened. I’d lock myself in my bedroom.”“And they never took it out on you, right?” she asked.I tilted my head. “No, not about their usual fights. They neglected me more often than not.”She nodded. “Yeah, you’ve said that before.”“But I had what I needed,” I said. “I may not have had the most updated wardrobe or video game systems or anything, but I did have them. I rarely got in trouble except…” That thing. Yep, that thing that probably resulted in some of this.“Except..?” My therapist noted something down.“When I wet the bed. I couldn’t stop for some reason, not until I was about… eleven?”“Ah, I see,” the therapist said and noted that down. “It is rare for children to still wet the bed around that age, but it’s nothing to be disciplined for. It’s not entirely in your control, believe it or not.”“Yeah, I remember something my doctor told my parents at the time,” I said. “He mentioned this hormone kids develop in their bodies that make it so you don’t wet the bed anymore, and for some reason, mine just developed really late.”She nodded. “That’s right, it’s a biological thing. So, what did your parents do when you wet the bed?”“As I got older, they just started getting mad at me. I’d wake up all cold and wet, mom would come in to help me get ready for school, and she’d just stand there and sigh like it was exhausting. She’d get angry, raise her voice, and tell me I had to stop doing that. I was getting too old to be wetting the bed.“Dad would also get angry, but he wouldn’t raise his voice about it. He’d just tell me that every time it happened, mom had to scrub the mattress and wash the sheets and blankets, which was more work for her on top of things she already had to do. So, I had to stop it.”“But you knew it wasn’t your fault, right?” my therapist said.“I know that now. I didn’t know it then, though.”She nodded. “So, how did you feel when they yelled at you? How did you handle it?”“I… started having weird dreams.” I tried to remember as far back as I could, and a specific dream stuck out to me the most. “In one dream I remember well, I wet the bed and then went into the living room, where two strange creatures were sleeping that were supposed to be my parents. I told them what I did, and they were proud of me.”My therapist noted that too, and then said, “It makes sense, you were trying to cope in the best way a child could. Mixed with the way they generally disregarded you other than basic necessities or to discipline you, you were probably starved for not only their affection but their praise. Did they ever praise you for anything? Did you ever get any good grades that you brought home and showed them?”I shook my head. “Not really. I was a quiet kid and kept to myself. I didn’t even really make friends, except for Star. We’ve known each other since then. But my parents never really said anything one way or another. Sometimes they’d sign my report cards like the teacher wanted, to prove I showed them, just like all the other kids had to do. But yeah, now that I think about it…”I’d never won any awards for anything, other than the atypical certificate of ‘Much Improved in ‘insert thing.’’ My grades weren’t bad, it was just that I never socialized much. Group work was awkward and I did only what was necessary to get the projects done. Otherwise, it was just me and Star.“It’s starting to come together now,” she said. “I wonder if this fixation of yours developed unconsciously from the way you coped as a child. That can sometimes happen, even in less troublesome circumstances.”“That’s what I thought,” I said. “And there was this other thing. I really had to go one day in high school. We were all called outside because there was a fire drill, but it ended up being an actual alarm because something happened in the kitchen. It was right before lunch, so I’d just been waiting for the bell to go off before heading to the bathroom.“We were stuck outside for a while when the fire department came. I told Star I would be right back, I was gonna sneak around the side of the building where no one was to just pee real quick. It would be fast and pretty discreet.”I paused as that familiar burn started between my legs, and I tried to will it away. Not now!“So, I managed to sneak around the side of the building and no one was there, like I thought. Everyone was out front. I tried to be quick and just get it over with, but as soon as I started, a girl from my history class came around the corner because I guess she was going to get something in her car. She never liked me; I was the depressed goth kid that all the jocks and preps made fun of. She looked like she was disgusted and said something like, “Ew, you’re effing gross.”My therapist shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry about that, that was mean and not okay of her to say. I understand you were in a difficult spot. When nature calls, nature calls.”“Right,” I said. “But that wasn’t all of it. She told her friends. They started spreading rumors that I probably got off on it or something. Star stood up for me and told the truth, but the other kids were just so annoying about it. I just tried to make myself as small as possible.”“So you have some trauma around this thing,” my therapist said. “Did you feel the way you currently do now? Back then?”“About the whole… kink thing?” I said. “I’m not sure. I already thought so many things were wrong with me back then, my head was in some really dark places. I was figuring out I wasn’t a boy, but I didn’t feel like a girl either. And I didn’t know why I wasn’t sexually attracted to girls like Star was. I thought I might be gay, but that wasn’t it either. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of romance with someone, but it didn’t look like the kind of romance everyone else was getting into.“I… I liked Star. Like that, I think. Romantically. But he’s straight.”She nodded. “And then you figured out you were asexual?”“And kind of Panromantic, I think?” I said. “Demiromantic, more accurately. I don’t care what someone’s gender is, but I have to have a deep connection with someone before I can even begin to feel romantic feelings for them.”“Hmm.” My therapist noted that down and then typed something into her computer. She appeared to be researching something. “And you’re sure you weren’t confusing a close friendship for romance? You and Star had been close for some time, right?”I sighed. Maybe she didn’t get it. It was such a complex conversation to have, and my therapist was cisgender and straight. She was probably allosexual too, meaning she experienced sexual attraction like a lot of people do.“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that,” I said.“Okay, understood. But let’s get back to your concerns.” She ceased whatever she’d been doing. “I can see where shame would come into it, and I can imagine it’s been difficult keeping this all a secret. Intimate things like this are never easy to talk about, so thank you for trusting me.”I smiled. “Thank you for not judging me.”She shook her head. “I don’t judge anyone, and trust me, I’ve heard some wild things. But it sounds like you may have more of a fetish, if I understand right.”I furrowed my brow. “I’ve always sort of used kink and fetish interchangeably.”“There’s a difference between the two many don’t realize,” she continued. “A kink is something that someone’s into, and it can even be a part of their lifestyle, like in BDSM experiences, as you may know from your writing. A fetish, though, is something that’s connected to a very specific thing that isn’t always sexually related, like for some, specific body parts. Many people with fetishes can’t experience sexual satisfaction without their fetish being present in some way.”And as an asexual person, that definitely complicated things. But it was also similar; my fetish didn’t start from something that is inherently sexual. And its roots weren’t in anything sexual but trauma of some kind.“So what can I do about it?” I asked. “Can it be cured?”My therapist noted something down. “Well, cure isn’t the word I’d use, but we can definitely work on ways to cope with it, so it might lessen the distress it causes you. For now, though, would writing be a good outlet? A way to cope that might get it out of your system?”“Well, yes, but…” I didn’t want to lose readers. I didn’t want my reputation to be ruined because rumors might spread about me, just like they did in high school. You never know who’s got it out for you online. And I needed that income. “I don’t want to lose readers.”“You could write it for yourself,” my therapist said. “No need to share it. It would just be a coping tool for now until we work on something better that doesn’t involve engaging with it, if it’s still a problem after you’ve tried this.”I’m not sure why that slipped my mind. I’ve kept journals before, so how would this be different? I’d just be getting it out of my system instead of denying it, and then maybe it would lessen the problem.“I’ll try that then,” I said, a little more hopeful.She smiled. “Good. Let me know how that works for you.”We proceeded to do our usual end of appointment dialogue, planned for next week, and then ended the call.I turned my chair to face my foldout bed and looked at the box of oracle cards. Maybe I could influence my dreams away from my fetish if I journaled to get it out of my system beforehand. I could choose specific cards that would inspire a different kind of story, and that would be that.I slipped into the kitchenette and heated up a personal microwave pizza. I settled in to watch a horror series on GetFlix under the account Star paid for, and as the hours ticked by, the rain slowed to a drizzle only for the clouds to produce a distant thunder.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
This book has erotic content and is for readers 18+
Kinks in this chapter; mild urolagnia, praise.

IT WAS NIGHT IN A SUBURBAN AREA. I walked down the back road along the treeline, and then past some nice houses before a fork in the road greeted me. I continued toward more trees where I heard the gentle sound of water. When I walked through the trees, I came out onto a small sandy beach where a lake awaited. In the distance, the moon sparkled like a diamond, and giant red and purple jellyfish five times their usual size glistened in the water.A dreamscape. I was dreaming.I walked to the water’s edge and dipped my toes in. My shoes had disappeared at some point, but I remained dressed otherwise. I watched the beauty of everything until I was alerted to shuffling in the sand nearby.An effeminate man who looked around my age stood beside me. He had long blonde hair and appeared like the love child of Star and that girl who bullied me in high school.“You like it when you’re hurt, don’t you?”I looked back at the water. “I don’t know anyone who does.”“You’re weird,” he laughed. “I bet you can’t do it.”I furrowed my brow. “Do what?”“Don’t act dumb.” He crossed his arms and turned to me. “You want to be seen. You want to be caught. You want to get in trouble.”The burn started. My bladder ached. “No, who would…”“You would,” he said. “So do it. Right in the water. In the open.” He smiled deviously. “I’ll even give you a little reward if you do.”“You’re misunderstanding,” I said. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone, I don’t really need—““Not sex,” the man said. He was shirtless and thin in the same leggings that bully wore; pink and white and too tight. They left little to the imagination. I noticed a damp spot.My arousal pulsed.He bit his lip as a wet, erotic sound met my ears, and the dark spot grew in his leggings until it crossed the barrier and urine flowed through them.I pulled the elastic of my black plaid pajama pants down under my now very stiff organ, and I tried to control my breathing as I stood at the edge of the lake. I watched the jellyfish begin to float above the water, and then back under again with a neon glow.An embarrassing sound left my throat as the flow started. I watched as the arc hit the water, and the sound filled my head as my heart pounded. I was intensely aware of the fact that my visitor was watching.“Everyone can see you,” he said.Another pulse.“And you’re doing so well,” he cooed.That was it. The flow slowed before euphoria rocked my body, and I came so powerfully my knees nearly buckled. When I came back down and sank to the sand to catch my breath, my visitor stood before me, his leggings still soaked.“I’m proud of you.” His voice was kind, just like Star’s. “You finally showed everyone who you really are.”Anxiety suddenly gripped me. Everyone? Everyone knows now? What will they think?“You did so well,” the visitor said.Darkness crept in at the corners of the dream world. Buzzing invaded my body as my apartment became half visible.

I opened my eyes as the last wave of bliss left me. Lifting my blanket, I saw the reason why. I hadn’t just had an orgasm in my dream.I entered the small bathroom and turned on the overhead light. I couldn’t look at my reflection in the mirror, so I just grabbed a cloth and washed up and changed my underwear. I used the toilet without further incident, and then crept back into bed. Looking at my phone, it was four in the morning.I sighed deeply as I stared at the ceiling. Journaling that afternoon hadn’t helped. It was just a short and basic entry about what my therapist and I discussed, but I hadn’t touched the cards or done anything else yet to try to curb the dreams. Maybe I was being lazy. Maybe I… didn’t really want it to stop.I rolled over and unlocked my phone and opened a search engine. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard as they wavered. What I was about to do was potentially the last thing that I should do to deal properly with things, but I had to know. My therapist had said it wasn’t uncommon, so maybe there were people I could talk to about it who had the same problem.A few searches turned up more information on the fetish, stuff I already knew. I came across a term called ‘omorashi,’ which was interesting. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but I searched for that too.A message board link popped up at the top of the results. I tapped it.There was literally an entire website dedicated to urolagnia and omorashi.I created a screen name that wouldn’t be traced back to my author name in any way, and I left my profile mostly blank, save for my age since it was an explicit site. I hesitated before mentioning I was an erotica writer, but that alone wouldn’t identify me.I ventured into the discussion boards and browsed a few topics. The place made it seem so normal, and everyone there was into it. Everyone was supportive and just having a good time indulging in fantasies and discussions.I closed the site and lay in the dark, just listening to the rain and distant thunder. Maybe I could share my short stories there about it. Most of the people lurking and interacting were likely allosexual, so it would be a bit awkward, but I was used to the comments I’d get on my erotica.Sometimes people begged for more action. Some asked if I could start writing penetration or other things that ended in atypical sex acts. But I liked it the way it was. Spanking, collaring, sub/dom stuff, and other things didn’t have to end in sex or penetration to be erotic or fulfilling.It’s the emotional release. The changes that someone can undergo while experiencing something that lets the dam free inside them. It can reveal something so deep within a person, maybe in someone who struggles to talk about or express their emotions outside of the bedroom. Kink play without sex can be healing. It’s all just so interesting to observe and deconstruct.And now, I’ve started to deconstruct my own kink, or fetish, rather. I’d found a place where I could be open about it without fear of judgment. To see so many others — in the hundreds — normalizing it made the distress ease a bit.Maybe tomorrow, I’d introduce myself with a name created for anonymity. There was an option to have a personal blog on my profile as well, so I’d start there with my creative writing. The dream I’d just had would be good material to break my writer’s block, at the least.