To some degree I think there’s some connection with my fundamental heterosexuality. I’m interested in bodies that are different from mine. A woman’s experience of urination is fundamentally different from a man’s, and it’s therefore fascinating, almost mesmerizing to me.

It’s a fad lately in certain internet subcultures to call creepy or uncanny things “liminal.” Liminality is the quality of being between two spaces or states, but I think whatever it is about a urinating woman that seizes my erotic imagination has more to do with a lack of liminality.

The penis is liminal; it provides a transition from one space into another; that’s practically its whole function. But a woman’s body affords no such transitional zone; it’s the difference between a faucet in the side of a building and a natural spring. The former is infrastructure (boring, predictable, controlled) and the latter is miraculous and wild.

Also, as it lacks that transitional zone, something about a woman’s urine registers in my mind as still slightly part of her. And I want it—I want her essence on me as powerfully as I want mine inside her.