I live in a rent-controlled studio apartment that is criminally cheap.

I don’t care that the building’s washing machines have been broken for over two years. I would rather drag eighty pounds of dirty clothes to the laundromat once a month than get robbed blind by a landlord.

The 24-hour laundromat by my place is empty and quiet in the middle of the night, so I usually have the place to myself. One evening, I was half-asleep on a chair, earbuds in and Slayer on shuffle, when I was startled awake by the clanking of metal. I turned around and noticed that I wasn’t alone.

Across the laundromat was a dark-haired woman, around my age, furiously pounding the vending machine. She caught my eye, smiled a giddy smile, and strutted toward me. I was suddenly way too aware of the fact that my mouth tasted like shit-flavored chalk. I rummaged my pockets for a piece of gum and quickly popped it into my mouth.  

“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “But can you help me for a second? My card isn’t working. The machine keeps rejecting it.”

I followed her flawless ass across the room as it hip-checked the air with each step. She was unseasonably tanned with shiny hair that fell down her back. She looked like she belonged in a shampoo commercial.

After I quickly fixed the problem — the laundromat goddess had put her card in upside down — she nervously laughed.

“Wow, I’m such a moron,” she blushed. “Thank you.” Then, she excused herself to buy some detergent from the crypt keeper behind the counter. 

I plopped back down in my chair, unlocked my phone, and decided to waste some time on Tinder. After swiping right to a series of sixes posed in duck-lipped selfies, I stopped dead in my shuffle. It was Beautiful Idiot, in her bikini, posing with a Budweiser. No way. “Kara, age 26.” I looked across the laundromat to confirm that the girl now buried in her iPhone was in fact Kara in my Tinder app. Confirmed.  

I swiped right, put my phone down, and waited. Maybe she was on Tinder right now, too? It was a shot in the dark, but I was already winning at coincidence.

A few seconds later, my phone lit up. I had a match. It was Kara. I looked over and caught her sheepishly smiling at me from behind her hair. I felt like I was in a movie. There was no way I was going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. As I sat there contemplating a plan of action, my phone buzzed.

Bathroom? It was a direct message from Kara.

No. Fucking. Way.

I watched her get up, wink at me, and walk to the back of the laundromat. I waited a second, made sure the crypt keeper behind the desk was still, in fact, half-dead, and raced for the toilets.

The laundromat bathroom was a scuzzy dump the size of a handicapped stall. When I opened the door, Kara was sitting on top of a broken dryer that had been stored in the corner.

Her dress was pulled up to her waist and her legs were dangling off the edge, her pink underwear around one ankle like a piece of jewelry. She stuck her hand in her mouth, spat all over her fingers, and reached down to her clit. She didn’t even blink as she touched herself and hummed at me.

I watched her in awe. I’m sure my pupils dilated with every swirl of her fingers. After picking up the pieces of my broken brain, I moved toward her. Before I knew it, our tongues were entangled as I pressed up against the dryer, squeezing her shoulders toward me.

I dropped my pants and she reached for my dick, twisting her wrist as she glided her soft fingers up and down my shaft. She locked her fingers around the back of my neck and hoisted herself forward, so I could drive my cock into her hungry pussy. I thrust into her, steering her hips as my ball sac slapped the cold steel of the dryer.

I could feel her breath on my ear as we pumped in rhythm, my cock so deep inside her it felt like I was going to rocket through her back. She pulled in closer, fucking me even harder, and clasped her ankles around my back.

It was like she was battling my dick, and her pussy was winning. I fucked back, pushing hard and deep as she concealed her squealing through tight lips. I could barely take it anymore. I tried to pull out, and she clamped me like a bear trap.

“Come inside me,” she whimpered. “Fucking do it.”

I shot my load like a fleet of darts, while she slammed her pelvis into my abdomen. We collapsed onto one another, unable to speak or move.

When she pulled herself away from me, I could see her pussy juice shining on my stomach. How did the most intense quickie of my life happen in the laundromat with a complete stranger? Her pussy had rendered me nonverbal.

“Can I get your number?” I said when I finally remembered how to speak.

“What do you think?” she replied.

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