The Laundromat

by BiMale Another laundromat. I got out of my car and pulled out the laundry basket, checking that I had enough quarters to run the dryers. I had traveled to three laundromats already, and each one was filled with people, some doing laundry for what looked like families of twelve, while others held reign over the folding tables, all the dryers taken or out of order. I had stopped at this last one, and discovered it virtually empty, only one lone woman just finishing her drying cycle. I had finally saved up enough money to buy a washing machine and had it delivered on Saturday, happily doing five loads before realizing I had nowhere to dry them. Grumbling to myself, I scooped up all the change I had on the dresser and lugged the wet laundry to my truck, wedging each basket's contents in so that they wouldn't blow out. Now, after three other laundromats, I had found an empty one. I probably wouldn't have found this one if I hadn't stopped at the street corner to check out the sign. This was small, smaller than a magazine, and said in faded letters, "Laundry Inside, Parking in Rear." Turning the corner I found the alley and the back parking lot and pulled right up to the back door. When I went inside, I discovered a bright, cheery room, with 10 coin operated washers along one wall, and a bank of 10 coin operated dryers. A woman stood by the dryers, her hair in a ponytail and a jumpsuit accentuating all her curves. She smiled at me and I smiled back. Hey, I don't want to have sex with women, but still, there's no reason to be rude to them. She packed up her folded clothing into her laundry baskets and started towards the door while I loaded the dryers. She was struggling with her baskets, so I opened the door for the woman and helped her to her car. She drove off, and I returned to find that the dryers only accepted dimes, so I went to the change machine and exchanged my quarters for the necessary dimes. I came back to the dryers and inserted my coins, which started the dryers to operate. I stood by the folding table, noting that the woman had left some magazines behind. Although a "Time" and a couple of "Newsweek" issues were in the stack, most of them were muscle and swimming magazines. The pages that had men in posing straps and speedos were heavily crinkled and stained, and as I flipped the pages, felt myself get harder and harder with voyeuristic desire. I found a particularly indecent picture of a fellow, his back to the camera and all of his muscles along his back and legs were in high relief. The man was naked, and his ass was taunt and hairless, just the way I like 'em. My hand moved down the thick bulge in my jeans and stroked it awhile as my eyes drank in the sight of that gorgeous ass. I was so engrossed in the picture that I didn't notice the man that came in through the back door until he was already standing at the washers. I looked up, embarrassed at being caught indulging myself, and saw that he was intent on loading his clothing into the washers and paying no attention to me. He was about 28 or 29, with long brown hair flowing down his back to his shoulder blades. He was dressed in a muscle shirt and a pair of white running shorts, no socks and an old pair of basketball shoes on his feet. His arms and legs were smooth and muscled, not with the bulge of the muscleman, but with the powerful grace of the star swimmer, and were perfectly proportioned to his torso. His back was V-shaped, tapering down to an ass that tightened and expanded with his movements. He had virtually no body hair, just light, downy wisps starting below his knees and across his upper arms. I compared his ass to the one in the magazine and found that they almost looked identical, but I couldn't be sure under those shorts. Closing the magazine and stacking all of them at one corner of the folding table, I hungrily stared at the guy's ass and wondered what kind of scene he was into. Just as that thought crossed my mind, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the washer. He reached into one of those waist pockets all the cool guys are wearing and withdrew some dollars, then walked over to the change machine. I guess I was the last lucky one, for when he stuck in his bill, it rejected it and the "Out of Change" light came on. "Damn!" he said as he turned towards me, "Hey buddy, do you have any quarters for some ones?" I sucked in my breath, the muscles of his chest mesmerizing me, and nodded. I gave him his change and he took the quarters, his smile briefly dazzling me with its beauty. "Thanks!" He started the washers and walked back to where I stood. He leaned against the table, the movement thrusting his crotch forward and showing me that he wasn't wearing anything under the shorts. "First time at this laundromat?" he said as his gaze swept over me. I nodded, and he continued, leaning back on his arms and lolling his head back, "I've come to this laundromat for about a year now. I found it while hunting for a decent laundromat that didn't have swarms of people in it." "That's how I found it." "Yeah, don't tell too many people, though, or it will be the same here as all the other laundromats!" He chuckled and turned his head, his amber eyes boring into my blue ones. "So, what brings you to this one? Dryer broken?" "No, I only have a washer, no dryer. I wasn't aware how hard it was to find a good place until I started." He laughed and slapped his leg, making a good meaty smack as he nodded sagely. "Yeah, that's my situation too, only a little reversed. I have a dryer but no washer." He held out his hand and said, "My name's Michael." I smiled and shook his hand, saying "Mine's Adam." He studied my clothes turning in the dryer a minute, and then said, "Say, your clothes will take forever in these old, beat up machines. How about you and me going to my place to finish our loads in my dryer?" I looked at the beautiful pecs as they stretched and bulged, and at his crotch, where his basket moved incitingly. "Sure, Michael, I'll take you up on that offer." Our eyes connected with the look that two gay males give each other, the look of sexual desire and readiness. Michael moved nearer to me and his hand moved across the front of my shorts, his fingers lightly curling around the bulge of my excited cock. He stroked me through the fabric, his other hand slipping in the armhole of my tank top and playing with my nipples. I reached over and felt the rising mound in his shorts, and we fondled each other teasingly, barely waiting to get to Michael's place. We were just getting ready to throw caution to the wind and get down to some serious foreplay when his washers made some clunking, gurgling sounds and came to a stop. Smiling, he removed his hands from me and walked over to the machines, emptied out the clothes from the washers into his plastic bags. He came back and wrapped his hand across my crotch again, and said, "Those dryers will take a couple of hours to completely dry your clothes. Go ahead and pull them out, we can finish them at my place." I nodded and pulled my clothes from the dryer. Even after forty-five minutes they were still damp. I threw them into my baskets and we left the laundromat, I following his car in my truck to his house. Michael's house was about a mile from the laundromat and was in a relatively upscale neighborhood. The house sat on a large lot, with flower beds, shrubs and hedges around the perimeter to relieve the starkness of the metal fencing. We walked through a gate and through a well-tended lawn, stepping stones placed near enough that I didn't have to walk strangely to get across them. We reached the door and Michael pulled a key from his waist pouch. He unlocked the door and we walked inside to an antichamber, where a tall seat/mirror contraption with hooks for jackets stood in antique beauty. A little farther on, the right side of the wall opened into a well-appointed living room. Past this, a hallway extended into the house, doors branching off on either side, and then the hallway curved around to the right to somewhere else. I followed Michael into the hallway and found that the curve in the hallway ended with three doors. One door, at the end, was obviously to the kitchen, the brass push plate and spring hinges of the door giving away its purpose. We opened the door to the left, and walked down a flight of stairs to the basement. This area seemed to be a storage area, with a 7 foot square area containing boxes, crates, etc. But, on the other side, a shiny, brand-new dryer commanded the wall of the laundry area. Near the dryer was a space that looked like it could accommodate the washer half of the laundry pair, and a deep metal sink stood next to the space. A large ping-pong table stood near the dryer and was being used as a folding table, piles of folded clothing stacked about on it. Perhaps the only bizarre item in the whole area was the large king size mattress that lay on the floor across from the laundry area, made up with sheets, pillows and a coverlet. I arched an eyebrow and looked at Michael and then the bed. He just laughed and said, "I have had guests recently, and they slept down here. I haven't had time to take the bed apart, and it's a good thing I didn't, huh?" I laughed too, and we began loading his dryer with clothes. He hung up all the shirts on plastic hangers, my shirts as well, and laid the pants across the ping pong table. "Don't want the clothes to get wrinkled while we play," he said as he moved purposefully towards me. It happened so suddenly that I instinctively backed up and tripped on the bed, falling into its soft, billowy coverlet and Michael dropping on top of me. His lips moved over my face and connected with my lips, his tongue darting out to french me as we lay entwined. I could feel the hardness of his muscles against me, and the firm shaft of his cock as it moved alongside of my own. Michael's breath was warm on my neck and I felt the thudding of his heart as he lay pressed close to me. He pulled off my tank top and began to lick and bite at my nipples. When he finished with one, he would tweak and pinch it with one hand while his teeth worked the other. I felt his tongue move down my chest to my navel, and he laved that area completely, moving back up my chest until he was again pressed against me, his lips crushed against mine. I moved my hands over his muscular back and down to the waistband of his shorts, slipping them under the elastic to get a grab of that ass I was so anxious to see. After grabbing the twin mounds of solid muscle, I decided to see for myself what goodies I was getting. With a deft yank, I removed his shorts and pulled them down around his ankles, then used my feet to remove them completely from him. My fingers explored his ass and I snuck a few into the rosebud of his hole to check its tightness. He reared back, driving the fingers into his ass, and groaning in sheer pleasure. I moved them in and out, his ass pumping against my hand, and I watched his cock swell to gigantic proportions. He grabbed his cock and started to work it, and stopped only when the first pre-cum drool appeared at the tip. "That felt good," he said as he pulled away from my fingers, "now it's your turn!" He flipped me over and yanked down my shorts, ripping them from my legs and tossing them away. He grabbed a pillow and hauled my midsection upwards, sticking the pillow underneath me, my ass now thrusting into the air. I craned my neck to see what he was up to, and saw his grin as his face moved towards my asshole. Suddenly, ripples of pure sexual pleasure moved up from my asshole to explode in my mind as his tongue worked my pink rosebud. He licked, sucked and nibbled the muscle ring around my asshole, and then alternated between kissing the outer rim and then forcing his tongue into the ring. His hands grasped the ass cheeks and spread them apart so that his face could get close enough, the stubble of his day old beard tickling the sensitive area each time he moved in with his tongue. Every so often he would place the tip of a finger on either side of the hole and lightly probe the outer ring, little by little inserting more of the fingers as he went. He pulled me up to my knees and let one hand move under me to grab my hard cock, stroking it as he placed one long middle finger deep within me. His finger would slide in and out in time with his manipulation of my cock, and would tickle the "button" each time he went inside. The feeling was getting too intense and I came, his cry of surprise echoing my own when my asshole clamped down on his finger and his hand filling with cum so soon. He milked my cock to get all the juice out of it, then removed his hand and wiped it on a towel that lay handy to the bed. I grasped his cock and, a few strokes later, had the remainder of my chest coated in cum. Michael groaned as his cum churned out of his cock, and then fell forward on me, both of us wiped out from the tumultuous orgasms. We lay there in post-sexual bliss until an insistent buzzing reached our ears. Michael suddenly laughed and pulled himself off me, pointing at the dryer. We unloaded and folded my clothes, stuck another load into the dryer, and then took a quick shower upstairs. It was dinnertime by the time we'd completed both our loads (laundry as well as other), so we took ourselves out to a nice restaurant. It was here Michael proposed to me that I move in with him and that we live together for awhile. "It works out perfectly," he said, tracing a random pattern on my thigh under the table while we ate. "You've got a washer, but no dryer. I've got the dryer and no washer. It's a marriage made in heaven." He lowered his voice a bit more and moved closer to me. His breath, warm and soft in my ear, quickened a bit as he whispered, "Besides, I think I've fallen in love with you, Adam." I smiled and reached under the table to grasp his hand. "I've done the same with you, Michael, and I'd be happy to move in with you." We worked out the arrangements and settled down to a nice dinner. We returned to Michael's place and began hanging up my clothes in the "spare" bedroom next to Michael's, knowing that we'd soon merge them together. We made plans to begin moving my furniture over, or at least what we wanted in the house, and I returned to my apartment for what felt like the last time. I sat in my living room, deciding what furniture to sell and what to move, when my eye fell on the open closet with my brand-new washer sitting inside. I walked over and stroked the white porcelain-on-steel top and smiled at how great an investment I'd made in purchasing it, for not only did I get clean clothes, but I'd netted a lover as well!