Archive-name: Solo/laundry2.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Laundomat Encounter - 2


Linda

 Angry was a good word, but frustrated was even better.
Sexually frustrated.
 It was bad enough being driven into activily hunting for a
man, any man, but what was even worse than that, finding an
attractive man to screw and then being turned down!
 That damned George last night was a classic example of how
stupid men were when it came right down to the nitty gritty of
raw sexual longing, and Linda tossed her head negativily,
remembering.
 Linda would begin to think that she knew something about men,
and would be able to manipulate the man of her sexual choice,
when bang, something like last night would happen and Linda
thought that she was back on square one, like a high school
freshman, wanting to screw but not knowing how to go about
getting someone that was interested.
 There must be rules in the gamebook that she hadn't read. It
was not unlike sitting down and playing Blackjack in a casino
without being sure of the cards or the rules. Really
frustrating!
 Most of the time she didn't think all that much about sex.
 Oh, she'd have liked to have a boyfriend, and maybe get
married some day, but not right now, thank you kindly.
 The pressure of having a steady boyfriend was a burden more
than she wanted.
 It was nice to have someone for the Friday night after work,
relaxing, letdown of the pressures of the work week, and maybe
a nice dinner out on Saturday night or even a Sunday afternoon
lying in bed on a rainy day type sexual exertions, getting her
brains fucked out. Snoozing a while while the world turned
slowly past the half closed eyelids until a slowly awakening
lust opened her myopic blue eyes, and drove her into some
sweetly exciting hot sexual exploration. But Linda found the
problems generated by a steady boyfriend, always wanting to
come over and just lay around, maybe watching a football game
on the tube which bored her out of her mind, to be more than
she wanted to handle.
 Not only that, but they always took over ownership of her
body, and then her mind, not letting her have enough freedom to
be herself and it just wasn't worth the hassle!
 Not that Linda didn't like sex, she certainly did! She like
everything about sex. She liked the warmth and the smooth
feeling of having her stomach knot up when she came, and the
slippery wetness between her thighs. She liked the taste and
smell of sex, the rosy hue her body achieved during a long
heavy sexual encounter, and the exciting exploration of a new
lover's body.
 One of her previous boyfriends, Tony, used to fuck her into
submission and then when she couldn't stand it anymore, the
Italian stallion would pull his prick out and spray his sperm
over her breasts, driving her right up the wall with ecstacy.
 The hot spraying juice spurting out before her eyes, and the
feeling of it hitting and clinging to her tits would bring her
to a series of multiple orgasms that rippled her whole body
like a piece of cloth hanging on a line in the wind.
 When he would dip his stubby finger into his liquid, and wipe
his finger in her mouth, Linda would start gasping for breath,
eager tongue lapping at the still hot juice, savoring, while
her loins churned and spasmed with a muscle cramping intensity.
 But they'd broken up when he'd started treating her like they
were already married, and coming over in old jeans, not
showering, and having the weekend of stubble on his face, and
she couldn't stand it.
 What she didn't like was not being able to have sex when she
wanted it, without all of the strings that seemed to be
attached to all of her relationships. Linda knew her body
intimately, every curve and hollow, sometimes lying in bed for
hours caressing and teasing herself. Once, on a lazy
Sunday afternoon, she'd placed a new set of batteries in her
pink plastic vibrator and used it continually, mostly between
her thighs but over her breasts and the rest of her body too,
until the gaddamn batteries went dead.
 Next time she purchased a vibrator, the damn thing better work
on house current, and not depend on batteries! Dead batteries
were also frustrating.
 Sex was addictive. Once she started having sex, she wanted
more and more, and there didn't seem to be any such thing as an
overdose. But when she wasn't getting laid often, then she kind
of forgot about sex except for the few days just before her
period, when her glands secreting female hormones, drove her
out of her mind wanting to get fucked.
 Like right now!
 Last night she'd fiddled around, even breaking down and
calling a few male friends, delving through her personal phone
book, to get no answer ringing, and a woman answering the phone
to an old boyfriend with Linda hanging up.
 She had so much nervous energy that she'd decided to wash
clothes, and then the goddamn fucking washing machine made the
same grinding sounds, and she knew it was a case of calling the
mechanic and another round of headaches getting the goddamn
thing fixed again.
 Another damn trip to the laundromat!
 She'd brushed her hair, slipped a pair of soft soled shoes on,
and gathered up her undies and jeans and blouses into a big
pile, stuffing it into the mesh laundry bag.
 On second thought, she kicked off her shoes, pulling her jeans
off, stripping the panties from her hips and tossing them into
the pile, along with her brassiere. Might just as well wash
everything now, since one never knew how long it would take to
get her machine fixed, did one?
 Nude, she stared in the mirrors on the sliding doors of her
walk in closet, turning her head, cocking it on the side,
looking frankly at her figure. 
 Slim, elegant, and exciting, she thought. Sometimes she wished
her tits were bigger, but then again, they certainly didn't
sag, and there wasn't a crease at the bottom to gather sweat,
and she'd not had any complaints, ever. She decided she liked
her breasts. Pink nipples peaking almost to points, that would
thicken with lust when she was aroused, but blended smoothly
into the surrounding skin when her libido wasn't all that
excited.
 Now they were just half peaked, half excited, and no one here
to do anything about getting them into full hardness. Too bad
for them.
 Stomach flat, and she sucked it in even more, looking
critically at the swelling of her smooth lower abdoman, seeing
that the deep breath and holding her stomach muscles flat,
raised her breasts and made her figure look even better. She
raised up, standing on her toes as if she were wearing heels,
watching the further tautening of her slim legs, the muscles
writhing smothly under the soft skin. Most attractive she
thought. If I were into girls, I'd like to try my hand at this
one, or maybe my head, wicked giggle escaping.
 Curly dark blonde haired triangle nestled between the swelling
of her thighs, the fur protruding. Luxuriant growth, bushy
might even be a better word. More might be better Linda
thought, remembering the cushioning her muff gave her when some
over eager lover was really pounding his cock into her, his
belly and groin hitting her between her thighs, then the bushy
mound would act as a shock absorbing mat. Not that she realy
had thought about it all that much while it was going on, but
the next day when the soreness of bruised flesh complained from
the hard banging, her eyes would go upwards, thanking whoever
was running the show for equiping her with a full bush of hair
between her legs.
 She ran one finger through her curls, feeling the soft viable,
flesh, the opening slitted long between her thighs, the
moistness and heat being radiated out, sensing the gathering
moisture making the hidden slotted lipped opening even more
slippery as she wiggled her finger over the bump.
 Jesus, I've got to stop now, or I'll never get those fucking
clothes washed, her mind steaming to match her pussy.
 Linda slid the closet door open, pulling her Gloria
Vanderbuilt jeans from a hanger, standing on one leg, inserting
the other, hopping from one foot to the other to pull them over
the swelling of her hips and ass. Unable to close the zipper on
the form fitted jeans, she lay face up on the bed, pulling in
her already flat stomach, arms akward and akimbo, pulling and
tugging on the stubborn zipper, slowly tooth by tooth dragging
it higher in the track until she could snap the metal button at
the top.
 Jumping from the bed she pulled her plaid shirt from the
closet, feeling the soft wool cling to her, opening the metal
button again, stuffing her plaid shirt, then struggling to
fasten the button, face a little red from the trial.
 Spinning, looking at her ass in the mirror, the denium cloth
clinging to her butt, no panty line showing for the simple
reason of no panties, attractive she thought, nice ass she
thought.
 And the wool dark green plaid shirt brought out the highlights
of her naturally curly blonde hair. The hair she'd paid a
fortune to have naturally curled about once every two months at
the beauty parlor.
 She smoothed the wrinkles in the bed, tossed the pillows
again, in case she was lucky and met someone tonight and
brought them home with her, it was always nicer to start with a
smooth bed, and rumple it up with loving.
 Deciding her make up was fine, Linda grabbed her mesh bag,
turned out the bedroom light.
 Leaving on one living room light, carefully locking the door,
both the top and bottom lock, the deadbolt that had been
installed by the guy who didn't wear a shirt and had a cute
butt, that she'd teased until he'd fucked her.
 Driving to the laundromat, her mind went back to that summer
day.
 Remembering - June, no, July, sometime after the Fourth, she
called a locksmith after the house down the street had been
ripped off by someone who'd slipped a plastic card into the
jamb and opened the front door, and the house was a shambles,
with all kinds of things stolen, and she'd gotten scared and
called the locksmith from the yellow pages.
 He'd arrived in a battered white van, no shirt, burly chest
and a tight ass with buns. She liked buns.
 He had convinced her to put in an expensive deadbolt,
explaining, how difficult it would be for anyone to get in,
serious eyes staring into hers, until she felt the animal heat
growing in her loins, and had decided to seduce him, or let him
seduce her, whichever, as long as she got laid.
 It had cost her for three deadbolts, one front, one back, and
one on the sliding glass doors of her bedroom leading to the
enclosed patio. But later he'd taken the labor off the bill, so
she'd really done well in the money department.
 While he had drilled the door and the jamb for the lock on
the front door, she'd hurried to her bedroom and opened the
vertical blinds full open, tossing a two piece bathing suit on
the bed and aimlessly moving around the bedroom with the lights
on, every light on, until she could see him on the patio
working on the back door, then she'd kind of nonchalantly
undressed as if she didn't realize that he could see her
getting naked. Teasing him from twenty feet away.
 He didn't stare, but even though his head was turned to the
door jamb as if he was really inspecting the wood, she could
see his eyes fastening to her nude body moving back and forth
in the bedroom as she hung her clothes, brushed her hair
looking in the mirror, and got her bathing suit on.
 He was watching alright!
 She could see his tight jeans at the crotch, and wondering if
he had a hard yet.
 She'd wandered out onto the patio, slinking into the deck
chair facing him, watching him work, following the shifting of
his muscles while he drilled the pattern out of the jamb and
fitted the metal deadbolt on the back door, the hot sun making
her sweat.

                  CONTINUED PART 2