MY FIRST TIME (C)1994 Alan M. Schwartz It was my personal adventure in the fourth decade of life to be boarded for two months in the Gerald and Edna (cess)Poole dormitory of the University of Victoria, British Columbia secondary to doing some organic chemistry on selectively (I hoped) hypertoxic materials. My residential diverticulum was on the fourth floor where the "older students" were kept sequestered far away from pulsating floods of undergraduate beer barf below. It was about 0200 hours one summer Saturday morning when a victim of potent Canadian beer and awful Canadian pizza loudly tossed technicolor chunkies under my window, awakening me. I rolled over and looked toward my window, bereft of screens and dark in the moonless night. I thought back to my days as an undergraduate, and got out of bed. I strode naked to the full length window and pulled the curtain. Stars twinkled amidst clouds flowing across the sky. The ground was black as velvet. A cool breeze ruffled my nether locks causing two free-ranging organs to rise in search of a warmer nestle. I lowered my hand to scratch my perineum and momentarily indulge in other male peregrinations, finally to come to rest surrounding my phallus. It relaxed into my hand with four fingers cradling its underside and my thumb securing its head. It was such a brisk and lovely night, and my need was urgent. Why not? I stood there estranged in a foreign land, surrounded by jabbering Socialist twits, immersed in a barren paucity of distaff topography, subjected to diurnal gastrointestinal insult within an institutional cafeteria and recipient victim of unceasing Northern Pacific drizzle. I had never done it through a window though I had heard tales of those who did. I was determined that my first time would be memorable. I thrust my groin forward and peed out the window into the dead of night. The steaming citron stream of my innermost self arched four stories through space, the hot kinetic thread utterly dissipating into the void. I bore down to thicken and further pressurize my discharge as the night swallowed it whole. Five hundred surging milliliters later my brook ran dry. Three muscle contractions and a dynamic shake finished the job. I once again looked into the cool anonymity of the British Columbian night, unseized my manhood and departed for the warmth of my bed. The People's Republic of Canada is a repressive state. It bans such seditious literature as "WIRED" magazine because the Internet contains information unwashed by Ottowa's censors. Normal human sensuality is basically foreign to a proper Canada, the only local erogenous zones being the pensions doled to any politicos surviving at least one unimpeached term in office. It was no surprise when the next morning saw every bulletin board across the dorm and throughout campus offering substantial rewards to informers and threatening massive civil and criminal penalties to anyone involved in pissing out a dormitory window. The next night everybody was doing it. Had the campus administration proscribed putting beans in your ears the Health Center would have been beset with plugged ear canals. Dormitory grounds everywhere became faintly ammoniacal as the fad rode fat and sassy for almost a week. We braced ourselves for a withering blast of discriminatory snit from the local Lesbian exercise in yellow journalism - the "Martinet" - which was also the campus newspaper. (Canadians are terrifically fond of their victims - genetic, physical, behavioral, cultural and social culls - in fact, just about anybody other than an employed Caucasian heterosexual male or a married mother is eligible for government support and counseling.) It appeared that free space water sports were not yet a venue for Canadian political feminism, and they were all caught with their dialectic down. Before any interlabial urinary meatus could be exhorted to vent into the night in a politically correct manner we were all back to using the water closets. The Southern California nights are sultry, here where I live. I recently mentioned in passing to my beloved that perhaps I ought to pee out the window rather than trudging down the hall to the john late one evening. She was very supportive, offering to fetch the dictionary that I might read the definition of "defenestration." I took that as a dissenting vote and demurred. I had had my first time, it was good, and I would save further adventures for their proper moments.