Laundry Night
The best time to do laundry is after midnight on a weeknight. There’s no one else using the machines and there’s no one to see you in what’s left once you run out of normal clothes. Packing up the Ikea bags in my hot 6th floor apartment, I throw on an old stretchy sundress I never wear, peel off my favorite bra to wash, and as an afterthought, just as I’m about to step out of the apartment, I slip off my panties and toss them in as well, buying myself one more day I can put off this odious task next month. After hefting the bags into the elevator, I notice the air swirl in an unfamiliar way between my legs… fun. Dress straps slip as I bend to lift the bags again. Once I’m sure everything is secure and decent, I exit the elevator.
As I load my clothes into the washer, a man I’ve never seen before enters the laundry room. He’s tall, unshaven, wears a tank top that looks at least 20 yrs old with a beer logo, and jeans that are faded and too tight. Seeing me, he looks as startled and sheepish as I feel to see another human in the laundry room so late. He darts his eyes away and runs a hand through his floppy hair, an attempt to smooth it? I almost laugh. “Hi! I’m Jane.” “Hi,” he warily mutters back. His embarrassment is cute, so I press on. “You new to the building?” “Yeah, just moved in last month…Sorry. Steve! 4th floor.” His eyes drop to my chest for a second and then bounce back up to my eyes immediately. As I become keenly aware of my lack of undergarments, he turns to his washing machine. “Well… Welcome!” I chirp. “Thanks!” he says back, without looking at me again. I feel myself getting warm, load the washer, grab my bags, say “Ok, well, later then!” and run out to the hall. I get to the elevator, realize I left my detergent bottle, run back into the laundry room, “sorry, I…” “Yeah, I noticed.” Is he almost smiling? He has a dimple. He turns back to his machine and I notice his nice butt and broad shoulders. Damn.
The elevator is up on 6 and stays there for a very painful length of time. New-neighbor-Steve exits the laundry room and approaches. I smile awkwardly, so does he. We try not to look at each other while we wait. When the elevator arrives he pushes open the door, “After you”… I notice him watching my ass in the reflection as I enter as I walk by him. I hear him breathe. The door closes. He presses 4. I press 6. Now it’s my turn to reach my hand up to the mess I left on the top of my head. He is very close and the elevator is very slow. We try not to stare at each other, but as he looks away I can see the sweat on his neck and I feel myself get damp, and wonder if he can smell me. “How long have you lived in the building?” he finally asks. “Five years. I have my own place,” I add. Inanely. Good grief. “Nice,” he says. “…me, too,” he adds.
More awkward silence.
The elevator stops and he gets off.
As soon as the door closes, I want to bash my head against it and scream for being such a flustered idiot. I walk into my apartment and somehow, FOR ONCE, remember to set a timer right away. Then I look in the mirror. DEAR GOD. I am a sweaty mess. My hair is sticking to my neck. A trickle of perspiration is dripping down between my breasts, where my nipples are clearly visible. My clit jumps imagining him noticing. I look in the closet for an alternative or a sweater or something. But then decide it will look too much like I CARE what he thinks if I change my outfit or add anything over it on such a hot summer night. “I’ll just play it off. It’s cool. I’m fine. It’s totally fine. Whatever, new neighbor.” I think as I also dab a bit of concealer under my eyes, add a touch of mascara. And apply deodorant. Probably way, way too much deodorant. I gulp some wine from a bottle I started yesterday, spill some on my chin, but catch it before it hits the dress. And jump out of my skin when the timer goes off.
Back in the elevator, a strap slips off my shoulder. I tighten it. Then I loosen it.
Then I drop it. Accidentally.
He is not in the laundry room. I am crushed. I return the strap to my shoulder feeling like a moron and begin unloading my wash into a cart. As I am bent over, I hear footsteps. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I lift the hem an inch and bend a little more, hoping he can see the edges of my cheeks peeping out. I hear the steps behind me stop. A breath. I know it’s him. “Hi again,” he says. I jump up, as if surprised, and the strap slips off my shoulder. Yes. I pretend not to notice. “Fancy seeing you here,” I say, over the loud pulsing of my clit. He definitely put a comb through his hair.
He unloads his washer. He has good taste in underwear and towels. I try to remember how arms and legs work as I wheel my cart over to the dryers. There are only 4, stacked two on two. I open a bottom one and toss in my dryer sheet. He moves beside me. He is very close. He smells like sweat and aftershave. He struggles with his card. I say “oh, there’s a trick you have to..” then I forget what words are and just move between him and the machine to show. He stands directly behind me now and I am so aware of how little I’m wearing I’m sure I must be blushing from head to toe. Did he just… accidentally, brush his pelvis past my back? How much am I imagining? This heat is dizzying.
I bend over slowly to my cart and my strap slips again and I freeze, wondering what he can see. He very slowly touches my arm and replaces it to my shoulder for me. My clit aches. “I like your dress,” he mumbles in a low, strained voice. OH DEAR GOD. “It’s all I had left,” I say and laugh nervously. I can feel his breath move the wisps of damp hair on my neck. “All out of underwear?” Unsure if I imagined that, but I hear myself say, “Yeah. Can you tell?” He lightly touches my hip. Where a panty strap would have been. More pounding of all the blood in my body. “Is this okay?” He asks. I gulp and finally choke out “yes.” He breathes again. And slowly runs his fingers across my ass as I try not to shake. He pulls his fingers across the hem. “May I see?” Unable to speak I arch back more and push my ass up towards him practically leaning into the cart. He lifts the dress out of the way and places both hands on my ass, exploring the skin of my hips, thighs. I quiver as I feel his hand drop down my ass and fall, as if by gravity or destiny, between my legs. I am already feeling a tiny stream run down my thigh when he grazes across my swollen lips and plunges a finger inside me. “God damn,” he grunts. His breathing changes again as he rubs his other hand across my nipples through the dress and then slides it under the fabric grabbing the skin of my breast in his hand. With my ass against his pelvis, he fucks me with his finger, then adds a second, and so easily a third. I buck and spasm as his hand on my breast grips me tight, and his other hand is soaked in my wetness as I cry out. He keeps his fingers inside me as he pulls the cart out of the way to press me against the dryer stack with his body. I can feel his cock through his jeans. It’s so fucking hard. Covering my mouth with his free hand, he continues to plunge his fingers in and out of me as I moan. His cheek rubs against mine as he grinds against my ass.
I flip around to face him, this person I just met, and we laugh a little. I kiss him and he yields and devours back. My hands rip at his fly trying to release his cock from captivity but the buttons flummox me in my feral state so he helps me, and his cock practically springs free. Wait. “Oh so you were out of clean underwear, too?” He gnashes at my mouth instead of answering. Then I break away and bend across him to put it in my mouth, but he grabs the hair at the nape of my neck and drags my head back up like a kitten and I see stars. Forehead to sweaty forehead, he holds me close, and gasps, “Hey.” “Hey,” I answer. He grinds against me and starts again “Hey. So. If I just happened to put a condom in my pocket because there’s this sexy girl in a sundress doing laundry in the middle of the night the same as me…” “Yeah,” I practically grunt at him. “Oh, yeah?” He smiles and presses into me again. “You want this?” And places my hand on his shaft. “I want it. Yes. Please.” I push him off a bit and hike up my dress so he can see me bare. He takes me in as he rips open the condom and I turn around. He places his hands on my hips and I spread my feet a little farther apart and raise myself onto the balls of my feet. He eases himself in easily. Oh dear God, that first entry. It’s so, so good. I moan and shudder and something inside of me explodes in joy. He fills me, and increases his speed, nudging against my cervix with each thrust. My legs shake, I can barely stand, he sloshes in my wetness and the sound makes me giggle. He reaches one hand up to twist my nipple and with his other gently rubs my clit while he pounds me. He sighs louder with each thrust. I am completely losing control and spasming and flailing everywhere, but my hips keep returning to his rhythm, I want him back in me each time he draws away, a want so bad I bite at my lips. I flood the floor. He increases his speed and gets louder and then…
We hear the elevator ding. We freeze. The super’s whistle and steps coming down the hall. Then he reacts, he pulls me behind the door and I throw my arm out at the light switch and turn them off. We stay pressed against each other behind the door in the dark, exhilarated by the danger, as he walks by. We stay like that. Some stickiness dries. We stay like that, our hearts beating and chests moving with breath. When we’re sure he’s gone, we laugh a little and Steve says “so… do you want to come up to my apartment?”
I say “No.”
And slide his cock back in.