Sunday mornings the laundry room is empty. Everybody in my apartment complex is either relaxing at home, or is out somewhere. The washers and dryers are idly yawning and can be used without having to wait to use them.
This Sunday though he is there as well, wearing a lemon color T-shirt and a pair of beige shorts. His beautiful, hairy, soccer-muscled Iranian legs immediately catch my eyes. When he squats in front of one the washers to sort his dirty laundry, the fabric of his shorts tightly wraps around his thighs and numerous small folds from both legs converge to an appetizing bulge; a bulge which is so tempting to the act of kissing, smelling, and swallowing from.
I keep playing with my laundry and looking at him without him noticing.
When he stands up, some Quarters fall from his pocket and couple of them roll under the washers. “Shit”, he says. He tries to reach under the washer to pick up the coins, but the space is too small for his hand, or any hand for that matter. He collects the rest of the Quarters off the floor, and counting them he looks at me and politely asks: “Do you have couple of Quarters to lend me”? I put my hand in my pocket and pull out only a few of my Quarters and reply: “I only have enough for my own wash”. He leaves his basket there and leaves the laundry room. I assume he is going to his apartment for more Quarters. From the window of the laundry room I watch him. As he climbs the stairs toward his apartment, I quickly go through his dirty laundry and examine his under wears one by one. One of them has a big patch of stain in front of it; a stain which can be the result of a wet dream, or is due to a deliberate act for satisfaction. It is still a bit moist to the touch. I hold the moist part of it near my nose and smell it and immediately feel the desire for more. When I look inside of it I see a few strands of course black hair which is either from his pubic area or maybe from his scrotum. Knowing how straight he is and having seen how various types of girls come to his apartment, I know this is as close as I can get to what I want. I fold the under wear and put it under my shirt, secured at the waist of my jean.
He comes back, then, picking up his basket, walks toward the door. I guess he did not have any more Quarters. I call: “Excuse me”. Pretending to search my other pockets, I continue: “Let me see”. I pull the Quarters from my pocket and say: “Oh! Here. I had some in my other pocket.” He smiles and returns to the machine. Puts the basket down and walks toward me. As he picks up the coins from palm of my hand and his fingers touch me, I look at his handsome face and burn with desire. He thanks me and says: “I’ll give them back as soon as I go out and get some change”. I say: “Don’t worry about it”, and leave the laundry room.
As I walk toward my apartment with his under wear hidden under my shirt, I wonder how long it will take for him to realize that particular under wear of his is missing from his dirty laundry basket. Or will he?
I am happy!
