At a laundromat, I asked? What are you talking about?

We had been chatting for quite a while. We exchanged photos of our STD tests. We had “the talk” about consent, and what we did and didn’t want done when we finally met. We had flirted and sexted, and even had a couple of video calls. And then, after all that, you asked me on our first date at a laundromat!

Wait and see, you said.

It was warm that day. I arrived wearing checkered shorts, a short sleeved buttoned shirt with a geometric pattern of boats on it, and my Chaco sandals. My face and head freshly shaved, I smelled of lemony cologne.

You wore the same loose orange top you had in the exercise class photo on your Plura profile. It draped over your body, moving with the softness of your stomach. You wore a bra. You had a pair of cotton pants with a cute print on them, and a pair of flip flops. And you had a basket of laundry.

“I’m not wearing panties, you know,” you said just as we walked in, and gave me a look. Late enough that by the time it registered, we were already inside among other people and I couldn’t quite reply.

The washing machines were in two rows. You started loading one in the lower row, squatting in front of it. Your feet arched beautifully, and your toes crinkled and splayed, supporting you, strong and supple. Your pants were pulled tight over your thighs and your buttocks. Your heels pressed on the back of your thighs, cradling the lovely voluptuousness. At your lower back, the pants came down just below your shirt, and there was a subtle hint of ass-crack.

Talking casually, I stood behind you, very close. Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen. Move right along.

You rolled onto your knees and messed with something deep inside the washing machine. Your buttocks rose magnificently, and the small of your back was exposed as your shirt slipped up just a little bit. And the soft cloth of the pants draped over the backs of your thighs. And still with the beautifully arched feet and toes, now much more visible.

And then you moved back a little so your pussy was touching my calf.

You knew, and I knew, and the moment was exquisite.

And your pussy lips felt amazing on my leg, like two soft fingers touching me ever so gently. Your butt cheeks embraced me warmly through the cloth. And you moved your butt down and I could barely feel the nubbin of your anus as it rubbed against me.