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The Local Laundromat

March 19, 2010

Rated NC-17

You’re in your local Laundromat, bored and desperate for release. Doing laundry sucks, but it’s either get it done or buy a whole new wardrobe every week. Sadly, your salary does not come equipped with a built-in wardrobe fund. So, you are doing laundry.

The place is empty, not even the attendant is in evidence. You sink low into the uncomfortable plastic chair, arms folded across your chest, eyes on the ancient, cracked, colorless linoleum and listen to the quiet slushing of the washer. The place reeks of soap and antiseptic. There is no hope in sight.

You don’t even look up with the chime above the door signals the entrance of another customer. Why bother? It’s not like Hugh Jackman is going to walk in or anything. And even if he did, you are hardly sexy in your sweatpants and t-shirt.

“Excuse me?” a male voice says, breaking into your despair.

You roll your head toward the sound and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the man addressing you. He isn’t Hugh Jackman, but that is all right. He’s just as hot and he’s here, standing over you, smelling like the best, freshest, most wonderful ocean breeze, a crooked smile on his handsome face.

“Yes?” you ask, sitting up in your chair. It is impossible not to sit up in this man’s presence. You smile up at him and get a little buzz when his smile widens. You suddenly very much regret leaving the house in sweatpants, but there is nothing you can do about that now.

“Hi,” he says, shifting his weight. “This place doesn’t seem to have a vending machine,” he says and gestures toward the empty, white walls. “I hate to do this, but could I use some of your soap?” He holds out his cupped hand to you. It is filled with quarters. “I’ll pay for your dryer in return.”

How can you say no? Not that you want to say no. Certainly not.

“Sure,” you say and get up to retrieve the soap from on top of the washer. When you hand him the bottle, you purposefully/accidentally brush your fingertips over his. A feather-light touch, but it is electric. And with that momentary jolt, you know that you could have awesome, mind-blowing sex with this man. It’s a chemistry thing, an instinctual thing, a knowledge on the most primal level. And you know. You know, you know, you know he is going to have a delicious cock. You know it in your… well, not soul exactly, but somewhere really, really deep.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle. He drops the duffel bag he is carrying onto the floor in front of a washer. He bends down and begins to load his clothes and you are treated to perhaps the finest ass you have ever seen. It is perfect. It is delectable. And you seriously believe there is nothing on this planet you wouldn’t give to be able to squeeze it at whim. For it to be yours.

He turns back to you and something in his eyes, in his smile, tells you that he knows you were checking him out. And it’s good that he knows. Thrilling.

“So, come here often?” he asks and you both laugh at the cheesy line. It is good to laugh, good to release some of the building tension.

“Not if I can help it,” you say without thinking and then wince. You really need to work on that internal edit button. This is not the first time the wrong words have flown out your mouth. But he smiles and nods and it’s okay, he understands.

You long to close the distance between you, to press yourself against his hard body, to breathe in his amazing scent. Feel his hands exploring your back, your waist, your ass. Kiss his full lips, taste him, locked in a tongue dancing kiss. Have him be bold and slip his hand under the waistband of your sweats and touch you right… there. Hear him moan in you ear when he does it. Rub yourself against his erection so he moans some more. Let him strip off your sweats, toss them aside, and bend you over the washer. His hands on your ass, the back of your thighs, gently nudging them apart. The tease of the head of his cock against you. And then he is inside you, perfect, delicious friction with every incredible thrust. He takes you hard, he takes you fast, and your own mindless, lust-filled moans fill the otherwise silent Laundromat. And then, then…

“You okay?” he asks, snapping you back to reality.

“Fine,” you tell him. Your eyes trail over him, taking in his absolute beauty and you know, no matter how much you may think you want to, you would never really do it. It is irresponsible. Reckless. This is 2010 and wildly fucking some random man in a Laundromat is probably not the best idea.

He glances at the washers and then back at you. “Looks like we have time,” he says and then extends his hand toward the chairs. “Shall we?”

You nod and take a seat. He sits down besides you, his arm lightly touching yours. Together, you sit side-by-side on the plastic chairs and watch the laundry churn.

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10 Comments leave one →
  1. September 7, 2010 12:29 pm

    This laundromat is where? That where I want to do my laundry.

  2. September 15, 2011 4:30 pm

    mmmm. that is the laundromat in my dreams…

  3. September 22, 2013 12:43 pm

    Excellent!

  4. October 23, 2015 1:23 am

    Reblogged this on dave94015 and commented:
    c chance meeting in the ‘mat…turns a fantasy on…and may lead to something

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