Night Dreams: The Laundrymat


Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, Oral Sex, Petting, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Big Breasts, Public Sex, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Mac is annoyed with himself. A rare day off in the middle of the week as July 4th falls on Wednesday, and he has to spend it doing errands and laundry because he let things go. What he encounters in an old dingy laundromat is far beyond his wildest fantasies.

"A rare day off in the middle of the week, and you have to spend it catching up on shit.", I berated myself. "You could be at the beach with the guys, checking out the beach bunnies, you meathead, and who knows, you may have even got lucky ... but no, you let this shit go, so now you gotta spend the 4th of July washing dirty laundry, food shopping, and writing checks to pay your bills ... good planning meathead." I slapped myself behind the head, and stared at the eyes glaring back at me in the rear view mirror of my truck, as I bounced over a speed bump going past the middle school on Middle Street, on my way into town. The fact of the matter was that I had been spending too much time playing with the boys, and checking out the bikini's at a local beach, and had let my chores slip. I had to get this stuff done, here it was the 4th, and I hadn't taken the time to write out the checks and pay the bills due on the 1st. I hadn't done laundry in two weeks, and I was down to my last pair of khaki shorts and t-shirt. Hell, I didn't have any clean underwear ... I was going "commando".

I grinned ruefully at the angry eyes in the mirror and reminded myself what my father always told me. "If all you are going to do is play, then sooner or later, you got to pay." I took a deep breath and decided to put on a smile, get this shit done, and maybe ... just maybe, I could catch a couple of hours later at the beach, and check out the fireworks later tonight. I swung into the Super-Mart, noticing they were open, this place was always open, but there were few cars in the parking lot.

"Well, Mac, at least you wont have to fight the old ladies in the aisles with your shopping cart, so this is good news, right?" I grinned at myself.

Food shopping was always an adventure when the aisles were crowded with the senior citizens. Some would blatantly hit you with their cart to get you to move out of their way, while others would ask, "Young man, can you grab that bottle of prune juice off the top shelf for me, I cant reach it ... no, no, not THAT one ... the other one ... no ... over to your left ... YES, that one ... ok, put it in my cart, and thank you."

"My pleasure ma'am, have a nice day."

I chuckled at this thought as I walked into the air conditioning and grabbed a cart and started down the produce section. Since it was the 4th, and it was mid morning, I virtually had the place to myself, except for the disgruntled few employees who were stuck working on this holiday. I strolled down the empty aisles grabbing what I wanted to stock the cupboards and fridge, managed to hit all 12 aisles, get through the check-out in less than 30 minutes. The bottle-blond at the register snapped her gum and virtually ignored me as she rung me up. Probably thinking about how she rather be at the beach. I bagged my own groceries, and helped her with how much change I should receive ... Jesus, it's simple math girl!

"Sir", in an impatient voice used to explain to an unruly child, "You gave me $80, and your total came to $77.02, the computer says I should return $2.98 to you."

"Yes" I agreed, "But then I handed you two pennies."

Blank look.

"So, now you can give me three dollars, and I wont have 98 cents of change to carry around.", I explained with a smile.

The light went on as she connected the dots and she forced a smile. "Ok, you're right ... here you are, have a wonderful holiday and thank you for shopping at Super-Mart."

Hmm ... was that sarcasm? Oh well, let it go Mac ... just take your groceries and be on your way. I pushed the cart out to the parking lot and unloaded the groceries into a huge hard plastic cooler in the back. The groceries would stay cool while I did the rest of my errands in town. I climbed into the truck and drove to the Post Office. It was, of course, closed for the holiday, but I was able to stuff the seven envelopes containing my personal check and the bill receipt into the outgoing mail slot on the side of the building. There! ... all bills paid and caught up. Christ I was almost feeling virtuous, until I saw a candy apple red, rag top, Mustang, top down, stuffed with six bikini-clad beauties, going by noisily honking their horn and waving to all they passed by ... obviously enjoying the summer weather and the car ... and likely on their way to the beach to be eye-molested by all the Romeo's of the sand.

Fuck me ... running backward!

Sighing, I headed to the laundry-mat on 7th Avenue, the laundry-mat at least featured a little bar with a pool table off to the side so I could have a frosty one or two, and work on my shot while suffering the monotony of waiting for my clothes to wash then dry. The most exciting part of doing laundry was folding my underwear in front of the old ladies and winking at them. I usually got some pretty interesting looks in return. From the scowls to the coy smiles ... Hey, one has to do something to combat the boredom, right?

Pulling up to the L-mat, I noticed the street in front was empty, thus allowing me a prime parking spot right in front! Yay! ... wouldn't have to mule the clothes a block or two. Thankful for small favors, I grabbed a roll of quarters out of the console and jumped out. I had four laundry basket full of dirty clothes, so this would take at least three hours ... then I noticed the sign on the door.


Well, shit ... no wonder there were prime parking spots. Now what to do? Sighing, I climbed back in the truck and pondered. I recalled there was a small laundry-mat on a side street, on the north side of town. Reputed to be used by the tenement and trailer park people that inhabited that section of town. I rarely frequented that part of town, not that I held myself to be any better than the people forced to live there. Christ, I had grown up in a trailer park, no, I didn't go there because there was no reason to. I was far from upper class, but made enough to live in a small ranch style house, three miles west of town, in a middle class section. So, it was more of convenience than anything else. Everything I wanted or needed in town was available without venturing into the north side. I started the Silverado and headed up the street to the north side.

I poked along looking down each side street, trying to remember which one the laundry-mat was on. I drove around for about 15 minutes before discovering it. It was one of eight store fronts in a row section of an old clapboard three story building. The building was shabby, the old lime green paint was faded to an almost opaque dinginess, and there was rot under the window sills. I guessed the upper two levels contained shabby apartments, and the business on the main floor were far from flourishing. Most of the businesses were closed, but the Laundry-mat was open ... because the door was propped open, and the lethargic fan over the doorway was noisily blowing hot air out of the interior. Grimacing at the thought of no air conditioning on a day approaching 90, I pulled up front and parked. I jumped out and started muling my baskets inside. As I entered, I could hear a waft of music from a tinny speaker, and the air was sweltering, humid, and had to be close to 100 degrees. Looking around, I didn't see anyone else in the place, but I did hear a washer shaking and rattling through a high spin cycle. There were two large plate glass windows, foggy with steam and grime, o either side of the door, and the interior was a room that looked to measure about 30 feet wide by 45 feet deep. There were three rows of residential sized washers and dryers, about 10 to each row, and back to back with the next row, with the commercial washers and dryers built in to the back wall. There was a small alcove in the back corner that contained vending machines for detergents, a old tired looking Coke machine, a candy and chip dispenser, an ATM, and a machine that sucked up ones dollars and spat out quarters. The open spaces on the walls were adorned with posters and bulletins. From, "have you been a victim of rape?", financial aid for unmarried women, AIDS and Herpes clinics, to "Help Wanted" ads.


I made the four trips to get my baskets in, and walked to the last row of floor models to start stuffing my clothes into four washers. At least I could do all my laundry at once since the place was empty. As I turned the corner around the outside machine, I damn near dropped my basket.

There was a young woman bent over at the waist, stuffing clothes into a dryer. She had tawny golden hair done up in a bun, she looked to be no more than 5' tall, and she was wearing only a very short and thin pair of almost sheer white and faded gym shorts, and a deep scoop faded pink womens sleeveless t-shirt. She was wearing no bra, because being bent over as she was, the deep scoop of the shirt was gapped and I could see each of her breasts and rosy hard nipples. I could also tell she was wearing nothing under the shorts as they were almost transparent ... there were no pantie lines ... just a lovely apple shaped tight little ass ... with the cheeks slightly spread as she was bent over. I realized that I was gawking, and I realized she didn't know I was standing five feet in front of her. The noise of the washers must of covered the sound of me walking in. I noticed she had four baskets too, so I assumed she was down to last articles of clothing like me. I tore my eyes away from those perky globes before she sensed someone was staring, and cleared my throat.

"Ahem ... Sure is hot in here ... hell of a day to be doing laundry eh?"

.... There is more of this story ...

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