The Apartment Laundry Room
I nervously buzzed his apartment. What was I getting myself into? My heart was racing, my hands were clammy, my mouth was dry ... and my dick was starting to stiffen without even touching it.
Logic dictated that I back out, but my dick demanded I go through with it.
“Yes?” he asked statically through the intercom.
I recognized his voice from his telephone calls. It had taken three phone calls, which had followed seven emails, for me to work up the courage to follow through. He had placed an ad on Craigslist: “Young Dom Likes Putting Guys in Daring Situations.” In his ad, he described how he loved to play with exhibitionists, especially budding exhibitionists, to get them to push their limits. In our talks, I had described my experiences (mostly vanilla, except for a few bathhouse experiences with an ex-boyfriend who fucked me in the middle of the showers while a crowd of guys watched and jacked off on me).
We had set up a scenario that scared the shit out of me. But I had also jacked off imagining it at least a dozen times.
And if his pictures were even remotely accurate, he was hot. So hot. Late ‘20s, looked like he was still in a frat, lean and fit without being overly muscular. So out of my league. Someone I could never expect to go home with at a bar. But he had seen my pictures -- and they were legitimately recent ones -- and was totally into the scene we talked about.
“It’s ... it’s Edward,” I said.
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” he asked. He never said his name, but his email address said it was John.
I hesitated. My heart was pounding a million beats per minute. It would be so easy to just say no and go home.
“I’m sure,” I found myself saying.
“Totally sure?” he asked. “Once you come in, the ball’s in motion. It will be out of both of our control.”
Another opportunity to back down. Perhaps I should just go home, I thought to myself. My dick twitched.
“Totally sure,” I said.
My dick had won.
“Take the door on the left wall to the laundry room,” he said. “Then when you’re ready, take the elevator or the stairs to right of the elevator to the third floor. Room 308.”
He buzzed me in.
There was no lock on the laundry room door -- or, rather, there had been one, but it was clearly broken. Four washing machines on one wall. Four dryers on the other.
I cocked my ear to hear if anyone was coming. Not that they were likely to. It was 11:30 p.m. on a Saturday night and a sign in the laundry room clearly stated not to use the machines after 10:30 p.m.
Hesitantly, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and carefully folded it, placing it on the table in the center of the room. I hadn’t worn a sweatshirt or jacket of any kind.
Still no noise. I kicked off my ratty old tennis shoes and slid my holey jeans to the ground. I folded the jeans and put them on the table. There was nothing in the pockets. Cell phone and wallet were left at home. A spare house key was at home in a lockbox latched to the electrical meter. Just in case.
Still no noise. I slid off my old underpants and carefully folded them up, too. Now I was completely naked, except for my socks. I put my old shoes back on.
Now what?
My instructions were to leave my clothes and make my way to his apartment on the third floor. I would have to sneak through a large apartment building totally naked, hoping not to get caught. But I was also risking that my clothes might be taken while I was upstairs. The clothes were old and expendable. They were old things too worn to donate. I was going to get rid of them anyway. But losing them here, now, would mean a six block walk home. A long,
naked
six block walk.
In the city where I lived, there was no local ordinance prohibiting mere public nudity. (There is one now, but there wasn’t one at the time.) State law prohibited sexual activity in public, but mere nudity wasn’t illegal. I wasn’t risking arrest, but that didn’t mean I actually wanted to be seen naked in public. My fantasies were about the
risk
of getting caught, not the actuality of it.
The idea scared me shitless. It also got my dick hard. Every time I jacked off thinking about this scenario, it always included finding that my clothes had been stolen.
But fantasy and reality are two different things. There was no reason for anyone to come into the laundry room this late, but why tempt fate leaving my clothing in plain view? Despite being instructed to leave my clothes folded on one of the washing machines, I decided to try to mitigate my risk. I hid my jeans in one cabinet behind some cleaning products. The t-shirt went in another cabinet buried under some rags. The underpants went behind one of the washers. If someone came in, they wouldn’t readily see any of my clothing. And if they happened to stumble across one item, I’d still have two others left to make my way home in.
Now, naked except for socks and tennis shoes, I peeked through the doorway into the lobby. No one. Stairs or elevator? Elevator would get me to the third floor faster, but could leave me totally exposed if it stopped on the way and someone stepped in, or if someone was waiting on the third floor to come down.
I inched my way over to the elevator and pressed the call button. The lights above it flashed. Fifth floor. Fourth. Third. Seemed to pause, but picked up again before I had time to panic. Just as the elevator reached the lobby, I heard voices inside. I snatched the stairwell door open and leapt inside the stairwell just before the elevator door opened and a bunch of female voices exited.
Stairwell it was. I crept up half a flight, then around a corner to go up another half-flight to reach the first full landing. The door was marked “1.” Shit! One of those buildings where the lobby was its own floor and the first was above it. Two more flights to go.
As I reached the second floor landing, I heard the first floor door open. Shit, shit, shit! But the voices were fortunately going downstairs. There would have been no way to hide if that had happened just a few moments before. I waited for the lobby door to shut behind them before creeping up the final flight.
I peeked my head in. No one in the hallway.
I inched into the hallway. There were two wings branching off from the central elevator foyer. Room 308 was off to my left.
I knocked on his door, one hand cupping my dick. The wait was excruciating. I had no doubt he was stalling, keeping me exposed in the hallway as long as possible.
When he opened the door, I gasped. John’s pictures didn’t do him justice. He was about 6 foot tall, sandy blond hair, piercing blue eyes, barefoot, wearing navy blue basketball shorts and a gray sweatshirt with the letters of a fraternity on them. I’d never been in a frat so the letters were, pardon the pun, all Greek to me. But the idea of undergoing a pledge hazing was making my dick stiffen in my cupped hand.
“Move your hands so I can see you naked,” he said.
I dropped my hands to my side.
“Put them on the top of your head,” he said. I obeyed.
“Now turn around, slowly,” he said. I rotated so that he could see my naked body from every angle.
Just then, I heard a door open farther down the same wing. Voices.
Girls
