I came so fast it almost hurt.
“Wow,” I cried.
She looked startled for a second, but then a sly triumphant look came over her face. “I need a diet cola.”
I got up and pulled my pants on.
“Your arm,” she said, all business now. “Use Noxzema.”
I let myself out and told Paula the next morning.
“You what? When?” she asked.
“After you left.”
“Where?”
“On the sofa.”
She screwed up her face. “I can never sit there again. You only did it to be trendy.”
“I did not.”
I waited for Kit to come and see me the next day. She didn’t. The whole incident sort of went away. The next time I saw her, she acted as if nothing had happened.
Paula quit the tattoo shop a week later. I wasn’t sure if it was because of me or not. I looked at her now, spreading her freshly made honey butter on her bagel. She seemed much happier at the condom store.
“Are you really interested in Melanie?” Paula asked.
I nodded. “I don’t know why I find her attractive. Or why I’m intrigued by her.”
“Maybe it’s her self-confidence. What she projects, you sorely lack. What would you do with her if you got her?”
I paused. “Hang out.”
“Then go to the Laundromat. Wear something sexy and meet her. Hopefully she’ll like girls too.”
I went to the Laundromat the same time I had seen her the previous week. My heart leapt at the sight of her, but she was with a guy. She had a boyfriend, I decided. I wanted to turn around and leave, but it would look strange if I left with my laundry after just walking in. Still, I could get her to notice the jewellery I’m wearing and maybe spark some interest for a mention in her column.
Melanie was already at the dryers. I chose a washing machine close by, but not too close. As I stuffed in my clothes, I glanced over at her a few times. She had a sexy bratty look about her that I loved, like she used to be a quasi-popular cheerleader who loved to shock her friends with her exploits and frank language, while all the adults thought her so sweet and innocent. Her body was amazing, like she was a little girl and a nymph all rolled into one.
I checked out the clothes she already had on hangers. They were all very trendy and expensive. All her towels matched. Compared to her stuff, my stuff looked mangy.
“God, how I miss the fluff and fold,” she said. “Whoever said being on a budget was fun?”
“Being a responsible adult is never fun,” the guy said. “But the key word in that last sentence is adult.”
Wishing my washer wasn’t so loud on wash, I tried to hear what she was telling him now.
I caught bits and pieces about her frightful crush on a girl. I smiled. So she liked girls. I had a chance. But she wouldn’t even look my way. I took off my shirt to reveal the tank top beneath. Maybe my brown-eyed Susans might get her to look my way.
The guy looked my way, but not Melanie. He was nice looking, but he didn’t match with her at all. He looked like the type of guy who would work in a used record store. Maybe if you had one too many beers at the Half Moon Bar you might do him.
She said she had to go to the bathroom. Impulsively, I followed her, thinking I might bump into her in the hallway and start a conversation. At the bathroom door, I found it ajar. I heard her going. It sounded like a gentle rain. She flushed. I saw a flash of her ass. I gulped. Pulling up her jeans, she zipped them.
Before I knew it, the door swung open. I startled. She was in front of me, looking alarmed.
“I thought no one was in here,” I said.
“Well, knocking would be the polite thing to do,” she said abruptly and left.
I wanted to follow her, but how could I? She thought I needed to use the bathroom. I stepped inside and shut the door. Facing the mirror, I looked at the embarrassment on my cheeks. I had been almost caught spying on another girl in the bathroom. What a freak.
I glanced at the toilet seat. This was a weird thought, but her warm, heart-shaped butt had just been there.
When I came out, I found they had left. I put my clothes in the dryer she had just used, knowing this took me to another level of stalking, when I found a sweater. It was obviously hers – pink, with long sleeves and ribbon embroidery. The label was like something you would buy at Jacobson’s. Surprisingly, it looked like it had shrunk.
I debated on what to do. I could give it to the attendant, or she might come back for it and I could hand it to her. Unsure, I laid it on the counter as I finished drying and folding my clothes. I can’t say I did the right thing. My judgment was a little cloudy with lust. I took it home.
By the time I got there, Paula had already gone to bed. I went to my room and put away my clothes. Like a fifteen-year-old boy craving his first crush, I smelled her sweater. A summer afternoon filled my senses. It was her softener sheet, I realized.
I smoothed the sweater on the bed, imagining she was on her back. She caressed my face and slid her little finger inside my mouth. Her fingertip explored the tip of my tongue. She pulled it out. I ran my tongue alongside her finger and licked the inside of her finger cleavage. Aroused, she squirmed. Having me hold the cuff of her sweater, she pulled her arm free.
With my face pressed to the sweater, I played with my clit, lost in my fantasy, but reality started to interrupt. My finger was cramping, and I realized how silly I looked from my teddy bear’s point of view. I was practically humping this sweater. Fantasy Melanie dissolved. I liberated my finger and sighed, everything down there left wet, loose and lonely. I threw the sweater over my teddy bear’s head.
By the next week, I was so sexually frustrated that I knew I had to do something drastic. I decided to go to the Laundromat and wear the sweater. It was a small, while I was a medium, and it had shrunk, so it ended up being a midriff with three-quarter length sleeves, but my breasts did look good in it. My plan was that she would notice the sweater on me, question me about it, and I could casually say I found it. Thus starting a conversation that could only bring good things.
There was a major catch in my plans though. Melanie wasn’t there. Her guy friend was though, washing what looked like dozens of worn-out jeans. Disappointed, I slunk to a washer and stuffed in my clothes.
Bored, I looked around. He was the only other customer. I hadn’t thought to bring anything to read, and the ancient baby magazines by the soda machine didn’t look the least bit interesting.
I glanced at him. He was wearing the same worn-out coffee house T-shirt from last time. Was he looking in my direction as well?
“Isn’t that the place that fired staff for having piercings and tattoos?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said.
“Are you supporting them?”
He walked over to me.
“No. It’s a soft T-shirt. It feels good. Feel it.”
I did. It was soft.
“It takes months to get a T-shirt like this,” he said. “Now, it’s in that worn-in time frame.”
“Come again?”
“You know. Like you’ve got a blue jean jacket. You’ve worn it for years. It’s worn in some spots, maybe a couple of well placed holes. It looks real cool for a month or two like that, and then suddenly it looks like garbage.”
He paused and looked me over.
“Speaking about clothes. Isn’t that Melanie’s sweater?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“This?” I asked, feigning surprise. “I found it. Who’s Melanie?”
“The girl you were checking out last time. I don’t blame you. She’s hot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You weren’t looking at me. That chick boner you had was all for her. Admit it.”
I blushed. A chick boner. I had never thought about it like that. A dryer light came on inside my head amongst the lint lust. Talking to him might be a good opportunity to pump him for some information about her.