by Chuck Barber
(6/14/00)
We didn't care. The noise we heard didn't matter. She was tight against me, and I was deep inside her.
Her breath was hot and moist against my face. Her tongue was licking the side of my face; then my ear; then my teeth, my gums. We sucked at each other's mouths as our groins slapped together. Where we stood was our mirrored pleasure palace, our Taj Mahal of sex. Unfortunately, it was also the men's room at the warehouse where we worked. The sound? It was the door opening.
"Goddamn! What the hell's going on!?"
Cold fear ran down my spine to my cock. It deflated. Since I thought it was obvious what was 'going on,' I didn't answer. I just pulled up my pants.
"Jesus Christ! I take the camera out of the shithouse and this is how you thank me. Goddamn fucking in the toilet. Jesus Christ!"
I wanted to tell him it was nothing, that we did it all the time, but I needed the job. It was bad enough that the woman I'd been screwing was his sometimes girlfriend. I didn't need to add smartass comments to the long list of things he didn't like about me.
The bastard's name was Pat.
"Pat, listen," I looked down at the floor and shook my head as if to awaken from a bad dream, "I don't know how this happened. You know . . . I mean . . ." What the hell did I mean?
"It don't matter what you mean, you son-of-a-bitch. You goddamn son-of-a-bitch. You're gone! Get the hell out. If you got a stamp we'll mail your check. Otherwise, pick it up Friday. Now get out of here, you bastard." He turned to Jan. "Come on, slut. I'll try to keep you out of this. Jesus, I thought I could trust you."
Jan looked at me, her eyes full of tears. She didn't know what to do. She smiled a pathetic smile as Pat yanked her out the door. She needed the job, too.
Jan had always been a possibility. Nothing you could pin down, just a feeling, a kind of electricity when our eyes met. She smiled at me when she frowned at everyone else. She touched me when there was no reason. She even kissed me once -- just on the cheek, but still, that was something.
She ignored everyone else: she was Pat's girl. I never understood that. For some reason she tolerated him. She was the only one in the whole warehouse who did.
The first day I worked there I realized no one liked Pat. When I went to wash my hands for lunch two things were obvious: Pat wasn't popular; and Pat had his own toilet. The walls of the men's room were covered with scrawled messages. 'Pat's a motherfucker. 'Pat sucks dog dicks.' 'Pat bones his grandmother.' 'Pat has no teeth.' They went on and on. I thought, no one can be that bad. I soon found out -- the walls knew the truth.
For a while, Jan and I just flirted when Pat wasn't around. But slowly it became more serious. The actions were the same; the difference was in the intensity of the looks we exchanged.
Then one day Jan needed some furniture moved in the office she shared with three other women. She asked me to help during lunch break when no one was around. While I worked, she sat in a chair facing me, her dress riding up over her knees. We were kidding around when she pulled out a supermarket tabloid filled with photos of nearly nude blondes. She pointed to one long-limbed beauty and said, "Look at the legs on her. I used to wear short dresses a lot . . . till I heard some guy say I had skinny legs."
She pulled her skirt up to the tops of her thighs, her dark bush just visible through her panties. She slowly spread her thighs.
"You think I have nice legs? I'm not sure what nice legs means, anyway. Some guys like 'em big and some like 'em slender." She looked at me, "What do you like?"
I stammered out, "I like yours, just fine." I didn't know if this was my chance, or if she was still kidding. "They're nice -- just right, I guess -- I mean, they're, you know, real nice." I felt stupid, and probably sounded more stupid.
She walked across the room, smiling, her tongue wetting her lips, her skirt still nearly waist high. "I've wanted you since the day you walked in here. I wanted to taste you, I wanted your hot come burning in my mouth. I wanted to squeeze your cock in my cunt. I wanted to hear you scream as you came in my ass.
"I want you now."
Her arms were around me. Her hot red tongue was in my mouth, playing around my teeth, my lips, my tongue. My hand went under her skirt, deep into her already-dripping pussy. Her hand was on my cock; she stroked it through my pants until it felt bigger than it had ever been before. She unzipped my pants, let them drop. She followed them, slipping to the floor.
I said, "What about Pat, what if he walks in?"
She held my stiff rod in her hands. Before she answered she gave the underside a long, warm lick. Suddenly I cared a lot less about Pat, but she said, "He takes a shit every day at 12:45. Every day. I don't know how he does it. He'll be there thirty minutes at least." She held my balls in one hand, played with my ass with the other, and slowly sucked my cock down her velvet throat.
I held her head as I bucked. She moved her mouth to keep pace. Her long tongue swept up and down my shaft. Her strokes grew stronger as I neared my climax. I closed my eyes. Lights burned in my brain, bright colors, jagged shards -- the universe exploding all at once. I gripped her head harder. As I moaned, "I'm coming," she let my cock slide from her mouth.
She clasped the base of my cock, choking off the come. I stared down in lust-filled horror. She flicked her tongue at the single small drop of come sitting on the head. "Ummmm." Her voice was smiling. "Salty." She looked up. "But it's not time for you to come yet." Then she started all over again.
By the day Pat caught us we'd been fucking for eight months. Every day at 12:45 he went to his toilet. Every day but that last one. Afterward, that evening, I called Jan. She was furious. "It's because I fuck him. That's why I've still got a job. It's not fair."
"Well, don't get too upset. It's no big deal. Seeing his face was worth it." I was laughing. "He was so red-faced I thought he was gonna bust."
There was laughter in her voice, too. "He was furious!" Her voice took on a sharp edge. "He acted like he owned me. Told me I couldn't see you, ever. He even said I couldn't go out to the loading dock again! Then he tried to pull my clothes off, to fuck me right in his office . . . I'm not gonna' go back. I can get another job. He called me a whore and a slut all day. In front of people!"
I said, "Jan, stay till Friday. I have to go back and get my paycheck, and I've got a surprise. It'll be worth three more days of Pat."
"What is it?"
I laughed. "Nope, can't tell you, it'll spoil the surprise. You'll find out on Friday. It'll be worth it."
"Can't you at least give me a hint, just a little one?"
"All I'm gonna say is I got the idea from a commercial during that late movie we watched the other night."
The checks were always there by noon. I arrived at 12:30 and snuck into Pat's toilet.
Then I hid behind some boxes as Pat tromped in to his appointment with his bowels. When I walked into her office Jan greeted me with a kiss. Holding me, she whispered, "Is it set?"
I just grinned.
I looked at my watch. At 12:50 I asked Jan, "You ready?"
She was puzzled, "What's going on? I thought you were gonna do something to Pat."
My grin grew larger.
I led her to the door of Pat's toilet. "Tell him you're leaving. Tell him you're heading over to my house to fuck me."
She knocked on the door, grinning. "Pat, it's Jan."
His voice reverberated through the thick metal door. "Jesus! Can't a guy have some privacy in the shit house? What the hell do you want?"
"I wanted to tell you I'm quitting. Right now. Hank's here, he came to get his check, and we're going to his house to finish what we started the other day. I'll finally get another good fuck. See ya. Asshole!"
Pat growled, and then all hell broke loose.
"Ah, Jesus! Jesus fuckin' Christ! What the hell's happenin'?
"I can't get up. Goddammit!!! I'm stuck! Glued down, you motherfuckers! Somebody's glued me to the seat! Jesus Christ, goddamn son-of-a-bitch, I'm glued! Bastards! You sonsabitchin' bastaaards!" We heard the tears of frustration.
Some of the other workers began to gather outside Pat's door.
"What's going on? What's Pat screaming about?" Some of them were already starting to laugh.
Jan put her arm around my waist. "Let's go," she whispered into my ear. "My pussy's so wet my shoes are soaked."
Before we left, I pulled out a small squeezed-flat tube. I handed it to one of the guys.
"What's this?" he asked.
"I dunno. Found it on the floor."
I pointed at the label. "'Super-Bond, miracle adhesive. Never lets go.' Hmmm . . . it says 'Do not allow to touch skin'."
He grinned, took the tube, and showed it to everyone.
When Jan and I reached my car we could still hear Pat howling above the laughter.
"Jesus! Somebody do something! Goddammit, stop laughing, you bastards! Jesus! Call the fire department! Call somebody! This is serious! Jesus Christ! I'm stuck to the fuckin' seat! You laughing bastards, you're are all fired! All of you! Jesus Christ!"
We drove back to my house and fucked the rest of the day.
