Gabrielle made her way down two flights of stairs, to the laundry room located in the basement of their apartment building. It was her week to do the laundry. She hated doing laundry. But, she grudgingly accepted that not every piece of clothing she owned could be sent to the dry cleaners.
Ben's stuff could be washed in a river and beaten on a rock for all he cared, she thought.
At least the basket she carried wasn't heavy – she'd separated the loads into different baskets in the apartment.
She wore a pair of tight denim shorts, a red half-shirt – which exposed the dark-olive skin of her taut belly – and flip-flops. Though she was teaching a class during the summer semester, she had the day off, and felt no need to dress up in order to do laundry. It was a Tuesday, and most of the building's tenants would be at work, she reasoned.
She reached the basement and found the laundry room silent.
Good, she thought, no one is using either of the washing machines.
Her outlook brightened slightly when she realized she'd be able to complete this chore in half the time she'd anticipated.
As she started the second washer, she heard something scuff the floor behind her. She turned toward the archway leading to the storage areas for the building – she hadn't consciously noticed the lights were on in the storage area when she entered the laundry room. She saw a young man looking at her. He stood about 6'1" and possessed a lean, athletic build. His curly, dark blond hair was short, and his blue eyes seemed to be tracing up and down her body.
"Shit," she nearly screamed. "Who are you?"
The man was startled at her reaction.
"I...I'm Dylan," he stammered.
"What are you doing down here?" she asked, anxiously peeking toward the door to the stairs.
"I was cleaning up in my grandmother's storage area," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I heard someone in here and I just came out to see who it is."
"Your grandmother," Gaby said, fighting to keep her voice even.
"Yes," he said. "I'm Dylan Moynahan. We met the other night. Sort of. You're Gabrielle, right?"
"We did?" she asked.
"You did seem to be busy," he said. "Your husband was carrying you into your apartment."
"Oh," she said, slowly. "I remember her introducing you, but I didn't really get a good look at you."
"Yep," he said, "it's me."
"OK, well, I'll be in and out doing laundry," she said, her heart still pounding. "So, if you hear something, it's probably me."
His eyes were still surveying the landscape of her figure.
"I'm done," he said, looking up to meet her eyes. "I just have to lock up."
"Alright," she said, moving toward the stairs, "I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah, probably," he said, staring at the Spanish-style cross tattooed just above the crack of her ass as she walked away.
Gaby got back to the apartment and sat down on the couch. She watched TV for a few minutes, then decided to text her friend, Whitney. She reached for her cell phone and realized she'd left it on the dryer – being surprised by Dylan had made her forget it. Unenthusiastically, she stood up and went to retrieve it.
She entered the laundry room and grabbed her phone. As she turned to leave, she noticed the lights still on in the storage area.
Dylan probably forgot to turn them off, she thought.
She leaned around the archway and reached for the light switch. She heard...something. She was about to call out to Dylan, thinking he was still working, but decided against it.
As she walked toward the wooden stockades set up to allow each apartment an individual storage area, the noise got louder. She came to Mrs. Moynahan's area. The door was open about two feet and she peeked inside.
She saw Dylan leaning back against a sheet-covered dresser, his eyes closed. His khaki shorts were pushed down, almost to his knees. His right hand was wrapped around his cock, and he was stroking himself rapidly.
She opened her mouth to say something, but, once again, stopped herself. She watched his hand move up and down the shaft quickly. It was a nice cock, she had to admit, not as long or as thick as Ben's, but enough to satisfy; almost six inches she estimated, and a little more than an inch across.
She caught herself licking her lips as she watched him.
Gaby felt a wave of excitement roll over her body; a raw stimulation at seeing a young man pleasure himself. She felt naughty, seeing something so personal, and usually so private. She'd watched Ben jerk off, of course – occasionally, she liked to tease him, and watch him shoot his cum; usually it ended up on her breasts. But, now she felt a weird electricity knowing – or perhaps just hoping – a stranger was thinking about her as he pleasured himself.
Gaby placed her hands on the wooden door as she watched. Dylan's hand moved faster – the fingers seemed almost a blur – his left hand clawed at the sheet beneath his ass.
It took only a few more moments before she saw the muscles in his thighs stiffen. He drew in a deep breath and held it as his body began to quiver. His face twisted into a grimace and his hips bucked violently against the dresser.
A long stream of cum spewed from his cock. It flew several feet through the air and splattered on the concrete floor inside the stockade. Dylan grunted as he fired again.
Gaby felt a tingle between her legs. Almost involuntarily, her right hand moved there, as she watched.
Dylan finished cumming quickly. He exhaled a long breath and opened his eyes. He saw Gaby peeking around the door.
"Fuck," he said, loudly.
Gaby jumped. From the shoulders down, her body was hidden from Dylan's view by the door. She was thankful he couldn't see where her hand was...or what she'd begun to do with it.
"Oh, Jeez; I'm sorry, Dylan," she said.
"Fuck," he repeated, his pants still lowered and his softening cock hanging down.
She took a step around the door, and held out her hands as if to show it was OK.
"Please, don't tell my grandmother," he pleaded, as a look of panic spread across his face.
"It's OK, Dylan," Gaby said, quietly. "I won't tell her."
He fumbled with his pants, trying to close them. He wiped his cum-covered right hand on his shorts.
"Shit. Shit. Shit," he hissed, as he turned away from Gaby.
"Dylan," she ordered, "look at me."
He didn't move.
"Dylan, please look at me," she said, taking two steps into the stockade.
She moved up beside him.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his face turning red.
"It's OK," she assured him. "It's natural."
He was nervous, and his breath began coming in ragged gasps.
"Calm down, Honey," Gaby said. "Lean against the dresser again."
He did so. She moved to stand beside him, careful not to step in the cum dotting the floor.
"Just breathe," she said, touching his shoulder.
She remained silent for a minute, allowing him to regain some semblance of composure.
"How old are you Dylan?" she asked, when his breathing slowed.
"18," he said.
"Where do you go to school?" she asked.
"I start at City University next month," he answered.
"Hey, I teach at CU," she said.
"I'm hoping to transfer to Harvard next year," he told her.
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, quietly.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"A boyfriend?" she added.
He let out a short laugh.
"No, no boyfriend," he said.
"Have you ever had one?" Gaby asked.
"Not really," he said, "but I have had sex...with girls."
