A Sexual Fantasy
While living in another apartment in another city, I frequented a twenty-four hour laundromat. It was a shabby spot, the machines were old and in poor condition. Somehow, it was the sexiest of places. I especially liked to go late in the night dressed in something silky and pyjama-like. This way there was a good chance it would be just little old me, and the possibility of some hot lesbian stranger (I hoped!). I often imagined a scenario based around the rhythm and vibrations of the rickety machines. A slow-burn drama building up to fucking against the washer to the sounds of the spin cycle.
My new place has laundry on site and my clothes are definitely cleaner, but it certainly isn't as romantic or dangerous feeling.