Wet pyjamas

You know how it is. You drink some wine, then you drink some water so you don’t wake up dehydrated, then you wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee. Timorous Beast was first, and then me, face screwed up like an old dishrag in an effort to see where I was going without actually opening my eyes. As I shimmied my ass onto the toilet in the darkness, my feet shimmied, unseen, into the puddle of piss Beast had left behind him. This might not come as a surprise to you, but Beast normally sits down to pee so tends not to sprinkle when he tinkles. So what went down? Not much. “I had a hard on” he confessed, “couldn’t point downwards.”