I’ve seen her eight times over the last few months.
Always it’s one or two in the morning, and she’s doing a small load of laundry full of indiscernible items. She sits on top of the machine and reads a magazine, and she smiles at me although we never talk. Sometimes we sit in silence for the whole hour it takes for her to move her things to the dryer and then walk out the door.
Tonight she’s come down in a t-shirt. There must be something under it, and I can think of nothing else. I’m not sure if she’s been crying or laughing, but this time when she looks at me she doesn’t look away.
I’m leaning against the dryer, feeling the warmth on my back and she parts her legs in a not-so-subtle gesture. I tilt my head and smile.
Then movement.
Her legs close around me as I push her against the machine, and her mouth is next to my ear telling me she wants me.
Have I ever heard her voice before? Am I hearing it now?
I run my hands under her shirt, and there’s nothing but skin and want, and when I finally kiss her lips, I’m reminded of summer. Her fingers unsnap my jeans, and I manage to snag a condom from my pocket before she pushes the denim down and takes me in her hand. She looks between us, sliding her fingers over the head of my cock as she strokes me, and the sigh that leaves her mouth is a symphony.
When my fingers touch her, she bites her lip and releases me, which lets me sink to the floor as I lift her onto the washer. She doesn’t hesitate to pull me in, my open mouth finding wet skin as I manage to tear open the condom wrapper and cover myself.
It can’t be more than a few minutes that I stay there, tasting her and fucking her with my tongue, but time no longer makes sense.
Only her voice wakes me up, and she takes my chin in her hand as I slowly stand and move between her legs. We struggle for a moment. The angle is off, we don’t know each other’s bodies, and I’m slipping on the floor. But then, in a brief flash of delight, I’m inside her as she throws her head back.
And laughs.
I don’t stop; I learned that long ago, and as I grip her ass and thrust into her, her smile widens, her laughter grows, and she’s so full of joy I can’t help but follow her. We try to kiss but can’t stay still. I lift her shirt so I can see her and see me and see our bodies–stranger’s bodies–joined in a ridiculous dance of generosity, and all the while we let out sounds that speak of untamed happiness.
As I bury my mouth between her breasts, she tells me she’s coming, and I want to believe her. I can feel her clench around me, and I’m right there too, letting go of eight late nights of longing and desire. She holds me as I come, and together we’re still laughing even as I finally pull out and away.
The second she jumps down off the washer, her dryer stops. I step to one side and watch her open the door and pull her warm things out into a bag. When she reaches the door, all I can smell is fabric softener and her kiss.
“Are you coming?” She asks.
I nod as I leave my laundry bouncing about in the hot soapy water behind me, left to fend for itself.
In the morning, she tells me her name.