When I pee in the shower, I play this game where I straddle the drain and try to align the stream like an arrow with a bull's-eye. The object is to splash as little urine on my legs and feet as possible. It's a test of athleticism and one that, before now, I would've been mortified to publicize.

All that changed when I met Rob, a 27-year-old ad exec. Debonair, skinny just like I like, fashion glasses, the works. Rob doesn't consider himself a pee fetishist, but he is intrigued by the psychological and physical aspects of urine.

At first, I was repulsed. I mean, this is pee we're talking about. Filthy, hot, putrid yellow, smells-like-SEPTA-on-a-sweltering-afternoon pee.

But the more Rob explained himself—and talked about wild animals pissing on one another without social repercussions—the more I regarded it as just another kinky item on human sexuality's boundless menu.

This is remarkable considering I used to kegel midstream whenever someone walked into a public restroom while I was using it. Peeing in a plastic container at the gyno's office was damn near debilitating.

On a fundamental level, Rob likes pee because it feels good. "I also like how it says, 'I fucking love you so much, you can even do this and it will be hot and we'll still be cool afterward.'"

The way he puts it, pee play sounds almost romantic. I got starry-eyed thinking of the spiritual transcendence that awaits me in this liquid-between-the-legs fantasy. The more I asked around, the larger the underground pee network grew. There's the Wall Streeter who spends lunch breaks pissing on his secretary in a motel bathtub. There's the married man who's "not into sex" but loves beating off after a hot golden shower. And then there's the guy who's been hooked on pee ever since that day at the ocean when his girlfriend's best friend faked drowning and he swam out to save her, only to have her wrap her legs around his waist and cut loose a warm rush. "She whispered, 'You're mine now.' She was right."

Sadly, pee fanatics report difficulty finding interested parties, and sometimes resort to squat-and-squirt hookers. Broaching the topic at the wrong time can be a deal breaker. First date scenario: So, you're from Philly originally? You went to Temple, too? Mind if I piss all over your face tonight?

Most of James' lovers have been unbending, but that doesn't stop him from dreaming. In his wildest fantasy, he chugs green tea and sparkling water alongside willing partners. When it comes his turn, he ties a three-foot-long string around his dick so Goldilocks can control the direction of the spray.

When did pee get tagged as some sicko perversion anyway? Didn't Jackson Pollock pave the way when he hosed down Peggy Guggenheim's fireplace? Were Andy Warhol's beer-swilling comrades pissing on copper canvases for nothing?

Assuming your partner doesn't have a diaper fetish, research shows that piss (or urolagnia, if you're making dinner convo with the in-laws) is relatively harmless. It's generally sterile and safe to drink in Dixie Cup quantities. (Note to Pisseidon Adventurers: Downing diet soda mellows the yellow, eating grapefruit gives it a citrus-y zing and beer dilutes its pungency. Avoid asparagus.)

For curiosity's sake, I took the discussion one step farther. Rob recoiled. "Look, pee can be eroticized because it looks like champagne," he said. "Poop is always gonna be poop."

Fair enough. One taboo at a time.

Questions? Comments? Down with brown and on the defense? E-mail ashlea.halpern@citypaper.net. No phone calls please.