The loading dock
The route was done. I had signed out, radio dark, nobody paying me for the next hour. Rain had quit and left the loading dock of the closed market shining under one bulb. I stood at the edge in the yellow raincoat, black curls loose and damp, freckles out, black hoodie underneath with nothing printed on it, black pants, boots wet. Twenty-three and very much grown. Cruz came around the corner with a paper bag and stopped when he saw me. Twenty-eight. I had met him at the bar two doors down, not on a pickup and not through dispatch. I asked anyway. He said he did not pay messengers and did not want a discount. Good. I told him I wanted to fuck and that the dock was not private enough to be smart.
He looked down the alley. A worker was a long way off, back turned, rolling a bin that never came our direction. I said if that man walks up here we stop and we look bored. Cruz said yes. I wanted the risk of being caught. I did not want an audience. Those are different. I opened the raincoat so he could see the hoodie and then I turned, hands on a damp crate, and told him to get his cock out.
He shoved my pants to mid-thigh. Cold air, then his palm. I was soaked, and not from the rain. He rubbed my cunt until I pushed back. I said stop teasing and fuck me. His cock pressed in, thick, a slow breach, then he was deep and my cunt held him. He fucked me from behind, raincoat hanging open, the yellow shell knocking his wrists. I had to bite the sleeve to keep the first moan in. The dock carried sound. I liked that too much. His cock hit a mean sweet spot and I rocked to meet it, freckled hands white on the crate.
The worker coughed, far off, still not looking. My cunt clenched so hard I saw a spark behind my eyes. I told Cruz not to slow down. He fucked me steadier, one hand on my hip, the other braced beside mine. I bit the sleeve again and came like that, shuddering, cunt milking his cock, a sound trapped in yellow cloth. He asked where to finish. I said in your hand, not in me, I have to bike. He pulled out. I turned enough to watch him stroke that cock, cum spilling over his knuckles, his face stupid with it. I laughed once, quiet.
I fixed the pants, belted the raincoat, and checked the alley. The worker was gone. Cruz offered his jacket for the ride. I said I had a coat and a lock on my own door. I kissed his jaw because I felt like it, got on the bike, and rode the three blocks uphill with my cunt still pulsing. The bike went onto my shoulder at the stair. Nobody in the building asked where I had been. I did not owe them a schedule.
