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Downstairs
It is a hot August night in New York City. It is
very late. I am in a nameless bar on the lower
east side, riding high on shrooms and cheap red
wine. The bar is crowded and very noisy. I can’t
hear myself think, and that is the way I want
it. I want to be empty. I want to forget.
I make my way through the crowd to the back of
the room where a stairwell leads down to the
bathrooms. Closing the door behind me, the
stairway seems to extend downwards toward
infinity, a black hole receding into the abyss.
If I ever make it to the bottom, there is no way
I will ever be able to climb back up.
I reach the bottom and go into the women’s room.
It is filthy. A flickering fluorescent fucks
with my vision. The walls are covered with
hastily scrawled graffiti. The trash can is
overflowing with used paper towels, plastic beer
cups and tampon applicators. There are three
toilets; no stalls or dividers between them. One
of them is broken. It looks like it was attacked
with a baseball bat. There are shards of broken
porcelain and puddles of standing water on the
floor.
A woman is sitting on one of the toilets. She is
beautiful, tall and slender with shoulder-length
blonde hair and glasses. She is at least ten
years older than me. She is wearing a short
black skirt and an old Ramones t-shirt. Her
black panties are at her ankles, just above her
red cowboy boots.
Our eyes meet. She seems to smile, and kicks off
her panties. She nods, as if giving me
permission.
I am on my knees between her thighs, her skirt
hiked up around her waist. The word “DYKE” is
tattooed in gothic capital letters across her
bare pubic mound. She tastes tangy, a
combination of sweat, urine, and sex. She is
spreading her labia for me. She is getting
excited. Her pink clit is poking out from its
little hood. I start licking, slurping up and
down her spread cunt. She wants me to
concentrate on her clit. She is pulling my hair,
hard. (It should hurt, but I am only vaguely
aware of the sensation.) I am not ready to give
her that pleasure yet. I am losing myself in her
sex, her wetness.
She has lifted up her t-shirt, and pulled her
bra down. She is playing with her nipples as I
eat her, pinching, pulling and twisting them.
I am aware that another woman has entered the
bathroom. I feel, rather than see, the look of
surprise and shock, then curiosity and amusement
crossing her face.
“You Want Some?” asks the woman who I am eating
out. Her voice sounds oddly distorted. “She’s
Really Good At It.”
“No thanks” the other woman says “I just need to
pee.” I sneak a look at her. My impression is
that she is fat, has red hair and is wearing
blue jeans. I go back to work, slathering my
tongue up and down the blonde woman’s pussy,
occasionally circling her clit, but never
concentrating on it, never staying.
The other woman sits down on the commode next to
us. I can hear her pissing. The stream stops,
and after a moment, she flushes. She slaps my
pantied ass on the way out, hard. She tweaks my
puffy outer lips through my panties, and laughs
as I jump. “Have Fun” she says, and leaves.
My blonde raises one leg, stretching it almost
up to her ear. Her little brown asshole is
exposed, puckered and tight. I attack it
ravenously with my tongue, licking all around
and into it. Her ass taste is earthy and musky.
Her anus opens to swallow my probing tongue. She
sighs “Yes, oh yes” I feel like my tongue is
burrowing yards into her rectum, like some long
perverted snake. She is rubbing her clit as I
rim her.
I want to make her come. I return my mouth to
her pussy, nosing aside her busy fingers. I
suck, lick, and gently nibble her clit. She is
pulling me into her now, fiercely. I can’t
breath, but I don’t care. I am probing her wet
asshole with one finger, banging her pussy with
my thumb as I lick her clit. I can’t go on much
longer, I’ll pass out.
She comes with the violence of a summer
thunderstorm. Silently, she spasms again and
again, grinding my face into her cunt, squeezing
me between her thighs. I can feel her pussy and
asshole grasping me, drawing me inside. Gasping
for air, I stay with her until she is done.
Finally, she lets loose with a stream of piss,
right into my mouth. I am able to swallow almost
all of it. It seems to have no taste. I drink
her essence thirstily.
She is gone. Her wetness is all over my face,
and in my hair. My knees hurt from kneeling on
the cold, wet tile. I have cut one knee on a
sharp piece of broken toilet. The blood runs
freely. I remember the original reason that I
came down here, and realize that I have wet
myself. The dampness on my thigh is my own
urine.
The mushrooms are wearing off, the wine is
making me sleepy. It is time to go home. I throw
my ruined panties into the overflowing trash
can, clean up as best as I can, and make my way
back up to the street. I hail a cab, and manage
to make it to my own bed before I pass out.
I ask a boy that I have been dating to piss in
my mouth after I give him a blowjob. He agrees
to do it, but his bladder is shy, and he can’t
make himself go. Soon after that, he breaks up
with me.
A year later, I am riding the train, and I
notice a woman looking at me. I think she is
checking me out. She is tall and blonde, and
wears a business suit. She looks familiar, but I
don’t think I know her. As she is getting off
the train, our eyes meet, and she licks her lips
and blows me a kiss.
That night, I masturbate to the memory of her,
violently grinding my clit and pulling my
nipples until I come, shaking and biting my lips
to keep from screaming.
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