The sink

I was still in the arcade washroom, chambray buttoned, bun intact, hands dry on the edge of a small white sink, when he came in. The door out front had checked his ID. I asked his age anyway, because a hallway check is not my check. He said thirty-nine, clear, no joke. He said his name was Lloyd. I almost told him I did not want the name. Then I decided a sink was already more face than I usually allow, and a name could exist for an hour without becoming a person I keep. I looked at him in the mirror. Adult, tired around the eyes, cock already making a shape in his trousers because I had not exactly been subtle at the partition earlier. I had sucked two strangers and left before a third. I was not finished.

I told Lloyd I would fuck him over the sink if he stayed half a stranger about the rest of it. No number for later. No questions about the shop. He said yes. I watched my own mouth say it. The mirror fogged at the edges from the hot tap I had run and then shut off. My shirt stayed buttoned for a moment longer because I like the last second of looking ordinary. Then I opened my trousers and braced my hands on the porcelain.

He got his cock out. I reached back, felt the weight of it, and guided his cock to my cunt. I was wet from the booth and from the asking. He pushed in, and I told him the pace: not a slam, a fuck I could steer. His cock filled my cunt and I watched it happen in the fogged glass, my bun still holding, his face over my shoulder and not quite someone I would pick out on a street. I dropped a hand and rubbed my clit. The fuck got louder. My cunt took his cock in short greedy strokes. I told him harder, and he fucked me harder, hips knocking the sink, and I came with my forehead near the tap, saying fuck, saying do not cum in me.

He pulled out when I said ass. I wanted the mess where I could see the decision and then wash it off. He stroked his cock twice and came on my ass, hot stripes over skin, and I reached back and felt it so I would know it was real. Then I did what I came into the room to do. I washed my face. I washed my ass. I buttoned the chambray again with dry hands and left him at the sink. In the morning I aimed my lamp at a hairspring and did not think his name on purpose. My cunt was sore in the good way, and the shop stayed the shop.