There was no way that Roger and Mimi could find out. But, wait, did they see Joanne leave? Or anybody else for that matter...
Shit. They probably did.
I glanced at my watch. No, they probably didn't. It's still moderately early.
I leaned my bike against the glass window that allowed everybody outside to see everybody inside washing their personal business. I just wanted to get in and get out. And then go back to the apartment, make some coffee, and work on my documentary. I didn't feel like documenting real life today. Just working on the past. Any other day but today and you might have a deal.
To the best of my luck, Joanne was sitting in the corner, with a legal pad on her lap. Her brow was furrowed, and she was squinting at the paper next to her. I seriously debated whether or not I wanted to wash my come stained sheets in front of the person who helped it get there.
When I walked in, she looked up. I pretended not to see her for a minute. And then I realized how stupid it was for me to try and ignore her. So I didn't. She smiled sheepishly at mea, I didn't know what to do.
So instead, I just began to load the sheets in the washer as quickly as possible.
Hands were everywhere, roaming. Nothing was out of bounds. Clothes were peeled off like a snake's skin. Lips were pressed together, teeth clashed against teeth. Once inside, everything slowed down deliberately. It was tedious. The pace was maddening. Back and forth, in and out. Joanne's fingernails dug into my back, and my fingerprints were most definitely left on her ass. Words were mumbled and uttered and moaned.
Harder. Faster. Yes. Mark. Hurry. Deeper. Joanne. Don't stop. No.
A condom was out of the question. Maybe because we were both sad about Angel, we didn't really cared what happened later. Live for the moment. Roger and Collins both will probably tell me I'm stupid when they find out, but I don't care. Either you get it or you don't. Some of us are statistics, others dodge the bullet.
She silently rolled out of the side of the bed at around eight. I got up with her. I followed her into the shower and we washed all the remains of last night's sex off. We dried off with the same towel. Joanne pulled out a pair of my jeans and a sweater and slipped them on. I watched her with half a hard on as she slipped out onto the fire escape. The definite smell of sex still lingered in my room.
When I went back to the washer to take the sheets out, she finally looked up from her papers. She walked over to me. My hands slipped around her waist, my fingers lingering in the space between my jeans and her skin. She kissed me deliberately and slow. If it weren't broad fucking daylight, I'd have pushed her against the folding table in the middle of the laundry mat and fucked her then and there.
But no, I didn't.. I kissed her back and squeezed her hips. She laughed and backed away.
"Those are going to need another wash." she said, looking into the washer.
The prominent smell of sex was still in the air.
