I walked into the coin-op laundry in Utica New York and scoped out an empty machine. It was a single unit at the end of a long row of shaking and rattling machines. I raised the lid and emptied my pillowcase full of clothing into the tub. I had not been to a Laundromat since college, and frankly, I hadn’t missed it.

A woman across from me smiled broadly, and I smiled back. She was about fifty pounds over my preferred weight limit, but she had some huge tits encased in a way-too-tight spandex shirt. It had been over three weeks since I’d had sex, but I wasn’t quite desperate to flirt with Big Bertha.

A more promising candidate sat near the door on a plastic chair, reading a tattered magazine. She had a huge rack, also, this one covered by a lace-edged tank top, but a small child clung to her neck while another jumped up and down on the seat next to her, despite her repeated admonitions to stop. I shuddered. Too much baggage. Her husband was probably sitting at home watching SportsCenter.

I scowled and went to the machine by the wall that dispensed tiny boxes of detergent. I thumbed in a ridiculous amount of change and pressed the button for Tide, remembering the reason I wasn’t at home watching SportsCenter and doing laundry in the fancy Maytag I’d bought at Sears. It was because my cheating slut of a wife was in the house. I’d left her cold last week when I’d caught her cheating for the second time.
I sighed heavily and tore open the box before dumping the powdered contents on top of my clothes. I thought about the three years I had wasted going to marriage counseling, trying to save something that had obviously meant more to me than it had to Gwen. None of her fucking excuses had made sense the first time, and I had not stuck around to listen to them this time.

I shut the lid and plunked in more quarters to start the machine. The water began to fill the tub and I drummed my fingers on the lid, wondering how long a wash cycle took. There were not many options for wasting time nearby. The strip mall contained a video store, a pet shop, a cut-rate grocery store, and a deli.

A woman with over-dyed red hair tapped me on the arm and gestured at the machine next to mine.

“Are you using this?” she asked with a smile. She wore faded jeans and a pink sweater that had seen better days. It clashed wildly with her hair. I shook my head and watched as she began to carefully toss white items from her basket into the machine. Her eyes flicked to mine and as a couple of pairs of lacy panties were tossed into the tub.

My eyes slid over her. She was definitely more my type, except for the garish hair. I realized I was the only man in the place. The women all seemed to have an edge of roughness and almost desperation that reminded me of something my friend in college had said. We had been at a bus stop when he’d seen an older woman smoking a cigarette and looking bored with the world. My friend had laughed and said, “I’d do her.” I frowned at him and wondered if I had heard him right.

“What? With all the hot chicks at school to choose from?”

He nodded. “Yeah, because those bitches expect the attention.” He jerked a thumb at the woman. “Her? She’d be grateful for it. And probably make it worth the trouble. She’s like a bruised banana. A little rough on the outside, but still sweet and tasty once you get the peel off.”

I had laughed at the time, but I was a decade older now, and I understood what he meant.

The busty woman with the clingy kids took her clothes from the dryer and folded them on a nearby platform table while Red filled up a few more washers. Obviously, she had a few rugrats somewhere, judging by the tiny shirts edged with pink ruffles and purple sparkles. She gave me a somewhat longing look and went out, probably heading for the grocery or the video store to pick up the latest Disney movie.

Busty finished folding, packed her clothes into her baskets, and retrieved the boy child from the dryer where his sister had been about to lock him up. She went out with the kids in tow, and I found myself alone, listening to the thumping of the washers and the rhythmic rotation of the dryers. I contemplated the vending machines and wondered vaguely what I was going to eat for dinner. Living in at the Super 8 was already getting old. Gwen was probably starting dinner for the kids. Either that, or she’d gotten them a sitter and went to bang another coworker. I forced down a surge of anger, knowing it did no good to ask why. Sometimes there were just no answers.

An older model Toyota Celica parked in front of the laundry. The front fender looked to be held on with duct tape, crisscrossing over a massive dent. A sure sign of someone that could not afford bodywork.

A woman emerged, and walked to the trunk, where she retrieved a battered basket of clothing. She was a sexy little thing. I was surprised she could even carry the basket. I walked over and held the door open for her. She smiled, and I noticed she had beautiful hazel eyes. Her dirty blonde hair was curly and blowing in her face. She wore a plain sleeveless shirt and a very short blue pleated skirt. I could see her nipples clearly through the sheer fabric of her top. She wasn't wearing a bra. I wondered if she was wearing panties. I wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

She hefted her basket onto a washer and dug a handful of coins from her pocket. I watched while she plunked the quarters in and started the water. She pulled a box of detergent from her basket and added a lidful to the gushing water.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

She looked at me somewhat warily, but I stood several safe machines away.

“Why do you put the water in first?” I continued. “I always throw the clothes in and turn on the water.”

“Oh.” She reached in and swished the water a bit, and then dried her hand on a shirt before tossing it into the machine. She added the rest of her clothing in a haphazard fashion. “I have sensitive skin. If you dump in the detergent on top of the clothes, the soap is concentrated in spots. If you add powdered detergent, it can clump. I like to dissolve the detergent in the water first.”

“That’s pretty smart,” I said, knowing I’d probably do my own laundry that way from now on. “How long do these washers take?” I glanced at my machine, which seemed to be chugging along in no hurry.

“Forever, it seems like. This your first time in the old public coin-op?” Her gorgeous eyes appraised me.

“First time in a long time,” I admitted. “You come here often?”

“Oh, you did so not hand me a pickup line in a Laundromat,” she said and laughed. “Are you that desperate?”

I laughed too. “No, not desperate. I didn’t mean it that way. Not that you aren’t cute enough to want to pick up.”

She made a huffing noise at that, but lifted a hand to her hair self-consciously.

“I could probably pick you up with one hand,” I added. “Do you ever eat?”

“You think I’m too skinny? My deadbeat boyfriend thinks I'm too fat. The asshole is home all day and he can’t even do the fucking laundry. I have to do it on the weekend.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” I said dryly.

“He’s a fucking asshole, but I can't get him to leave and the lease is in my name, so I can’t leave for four months.”

“He should get a job at my wife’s firm. She would probably fuck him on the side.”

“Oh, so you’re married, then?”

“Not for much longer,” I said grimly. “That’s why I moved out. I already got the divorce started.”

“That sucks.”

I shrugged. “I gave it my best shot. Too bad she didn’t. I’m Wayne, by the way.” I stuck my hand out, moving a bit closer for her to take it.

“Allicia,” she said. I squeezed her hand and then let go, making sure not to alarm her, since we were the only two in the place.

The sounds changed, and I blinked for a moment.

“Hey! My clothes are done.”
I walked over and grabbed a squeaky, wheeled basket. I tossed my wet clothing into it and pulled it toward the row of dryers on the wall. The wheels sounded like the screams of the tortured dead. I opened a dryer.

“Don’t use that one!” Allicia called. I paused and she jogged over. “That one doesn’t get hot enough. It’s a coin stealer. You want the fourth one right there. It’s nice and hot and only takes half the time to dry everything.”

“Hey, thanks,” I said, but looked at her before I put the clothes in. “Won’t you want this one?”

“Naw, the first one is good, too. I’ll use that one.”

I tossed my clothes in, fed coins into the slot, and watched as the material began to tumble inside the huge drum. Alicia grinned.

“Now you have a long wait. Even the good ones take forty-five minutes.”

“What do you usually do while you’re waiting?”

“Check out the video store.”

“Want to?” I asked. She shrugged, and we exited the place and went to the quiet video store. We held up title after title, commenting on each, and ended up trying to find the worst movies we had ever seen. We were laughing hysterically and earning glares from the pimply-faced teenaged clerk, so we finally went back to the Laundromat. Allicia’s clothes were finished.

“Damn,” she said. “Someone took my dryer.”

I figured it was probably the redhead, since six of the dryers were now spinning. I had nearly forgotten about her. Allicia tossed her clothes into a different dryer. I opened mine, to find the jeans and sweatshirts still wet.

“I always think about having sex on a washer during the spin cycle,” Allicia said suddenly. “All that shaking. I bet it would be wild.”

“I’ve got quarters,” I said and patted my pocket with a leer. She didn’t laugh, as I’d expected. I grinned at her as she glanced at the door.

“Someone might come in,” she said. I felt my groin tighten at the idea, unable to believe she was actually considering it.

“We’ll use the one in the corner,” I said in a low voice, keeping the tone light, so I could claim to be joking. “We’ll have time to stop if someone comes in.”

Alicia licked her lips and looked at me seriously. “Okay.” She lifted her skirt and flashed me her neatly trimmed pussy. She wasn't wearing panties! I couldn't believe this was really happening to me.

Allicia walked toward the washer and motioned for me to follow. I hoisted her up onto the machine. She spread her legs and I stepped between them. The machine was a bit too high. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I was more than willing to try.

“Should I start the wash?”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother; it takes too long to get to the spin cycle.”

I unbuckled my pants and pushed down my briefs to show her my giant erection. Allicia’s eyes went to it immediately, and she smiled. I grinned and slid my hands up her thighs. I reached around and cupped her ass. She giggled.

I grinned and squeezed her cheeks before drawing her forward to the edge of the washer. She braced herself with her hands and I guided the head of my cock to the opening of her slippery hot pussy . God, it felt like much longer than three weeks. Allicia was remarkably tight, so much tighter than Gwen.

I dragged her ass over the edge and her thin legs wrapped around my hips as I began to pump into her. My thighs banged against the cold metal of the washer with every stroke, and the machine squeaked in protest, sounding nearly as loud as the wheeled basket.

“Oh, oh, oh, this is good,” Allicia panted and I tried harder to bang her clit with each upstroke. It worked remarkably well with her thinness—she was light as a feather to hold and I used my hands on her ass to hoist her up and down my shaft. Incredibly, she tossed her head back and made a moaning cry. I felt her legs clench and she shuddered around me. Holy fuck, I didn’t think Gwen had ever come when I was fucking her—it had always been before or after, and only then with oral stimulation. I pumped three more times, and then poured myself into Allicia with a groan of delight. She wrapped her arms around my neck tightly and I gasped against her throat for a long minute.

“God, that was incredible,” I said. The bells on the door jangled, and the redhead walked in. She looked at us suspiciously, but could not see my jeans around my ankles from where she stood.

I quickly pulled them up and Allicia hopped off the washer with a giggle. My dryer buzzed and I walked over to throw my clothes into the basket. Allicia helped me fold them. When they were neatly stacked in my pillow case, she asked, “Will your stuff be dirty next Saturday?” The way she said “dirty” made my cock perk up and take notice, even though it was well-sated.

“I guarantee it., but we don't have to wait that long. I'm staying in room 208 at the Super 8 across the street."

She grinned. “I’ll see you later, then.”