Rush hour

I wrote a few posts ago that every man in my contact list was hormone-happy and on the hunt. Then I realised that I say ‘yes’ just often enough to encourage the fly-by-nighters to keep trying me like a casino game that spat coins a few plays ago and may just pay out again. Damn this self awareness.

Pleasure Freak sent a text message saying he was driving through my area, he was horny and we should catch up. The jackpot span for him because at that moment I was leaving the office to attend a chore I’d been delaying and I was in an anti-establishment mood. Fix work problem versus fix Pleasure Freak? While messing about in the office is hardly new to me, I still feel a sense of obligation towards the organisation paying for the roof over my head: I opted to do both.

I borrowed a work vehicle, drove off and texted Pleasure Freak a general co-ordinate of where I thought we’d find a quiet industrial estate. During business hours. On a work day. Weirdly enough, as I was trawling the streets he found a quiet cul-de-sac adjacent a freeway off-ramp; when I pulled up alongside his car I could see vehicles whizzing past too quickly to see us and I marvelled at the deceptive privacy.

I got out of the car and looked into his passenger’s side window; he wasn’t joking when his last message said his pants were off and a hard cock was throbbing in his hand. I used my magnificent powers of observation to note that this encounter wasn’t going to be about me. We said hello and exchanged a few pleasantries while he was manhandling his cock. Pre-come was already threading like a cobweb to his belly.

He appeared to have the masturbation aspect of his enjoyment under control and I tried to add value by brushing my fingers along his balls and perineum. After not long at all, he pushed my hand away and asked for a finger inside his arse. Can do. I spat on my middle finger and slid it in, inserting as deeply as I could and working it against the upper wall of his passage.

He came and wiped his belly with take-away food serviettes. I extracted my finger and wiped my hand with take-away food serviettes.

We laughed at the convenience of take-away food serviettes.

He said we should catch up soon. I said yes, and added with intentional innocence that a hotel might be good.

I knew he’d look like a frightened squirrel after that suggestion but I felt like baiting him anyway. It was my mental reward for not receiving a physical reward.

We kissed briefly once and went our separate ways.

The end.

4 thoughts on “Rush hour

  1. Oh no, I ran the errand after seeing him and then went back to work *laughs*.

    I wish I’d taken a photo through the car window — he was so absorbed in what he was doing that I felt like I’d inadvertently stumbled upon the scene.

  2. oh my! How could he? I’d be thoroughly ashamed of myself for leaving you with the ahem ‘sh**y’ end of that encounter

    I’d also be making sure that a room was booked – and soon!

  3. It was a shitty week, looking back at it!

    I think his philosophy is that anything but penetration means he’s not being unfaithful, so he haunts beats for basic encounters or calls people like me. He’s also very attractive and might not be used to having to work for his get-offs as men and women alike would be drawn to him and his requests …

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