GONE IN A MATTER OF MINUTES 2: ANONYMOUS

Written by Vandemonium1

Edited by CreativityTakesCourage

This is the second in a series of very short stories where all the action takes place in timeframes of seconds to mere minutes. Consequently, there is bugger all character development and no long, in-depth ending, so if they are your thing it’s probably best if you give the stories in this series a miss.

If anyone wants to flesh them out with consequences, you have my happy permission. I’ve deliberately been vague with some details to give you more scope. If you’re a new writer I will help as much as I have time for.

The idea for this one came to me while reading Wieliczka’s fine tale, ’24 hours, 5 years, 10 months’.

It been independently rated at 2.5/5 pickaxe handles.

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I knew this was the moment of truth. Crunch time. The ultimate decision-making moment. The moment I’d been dreading for weeks. Contradictorily, it was also the moment exciting me beyond anything I’d experienced before. A strange place to be the most excited I’d ever been perhaps; the rather rank toilets of a seedy bar.

“Well, are you going to do it?”

That was my friend, Lucy, and I knew that one way or another her words signalled I was at the commit or flee moment.

I really should explain what’s been happening to get me to this point, shouldn’t I?

I’ve been happily married for eight years to a great guy. He was well worth me giving up my wild ways for and we have a fantastic marriage. The only thing marring our happiness is my inability to bear children, but our marriage is satisfying in every way, regardless.

Then, my old college friend, Lucy, came back to town and reminded me how simple life used to be. Simple and fun. She didn’t let the fact she was married stop her having fun, ‘It just slows me down’, she would constantly say. Whenever her hubby was out of town, and he travelled a lot, she would hit the bars in the seedier end of town. Let’s just say, she never had to buy her own drinks and never left alone.

Her stories of having rough, anonymous sex up against a wall, in some bushes, in the back seat of some guy’s car in the carpark, or back at his place re-awakened fond memories of the old days. Lucy’s tales involve having long, loving farewell sessions with her husband in the morning, then being spit-roasted by two bikers in a cheap motel the same evening. They left me squeezing my thighs together and panting.

Over several months she legitimised it in my head. I began to think I deserved what she had. She’d been doing it for years and never been caught, how hard could it be to keep it secret? I tried to resist; I really did.

I tried to encourage Dave to be rougher, more selfish when we were in bed, that way I could close my eyes and pretend it was someone else, but Dave was just Dave, passionate but gentle. The bastard actually cared whether or not I climaxed.

Then, my husband announced he was going on a rare, week-long business trip of his own. Lucy constantly telling me her stories pretty much led me to be continuously horny and five days without sex while Dave was away had me boiling. So, when Lucy suggested I use Dave’s absence to take the opportunity to join her on one of her expeditions, my hormones overruled my common sense. I’d kidded myself that I’d just be her wingman for the night but who was I fooling?

Arriving at the bar and being plied with drinks by just about every single guy there loosened me up for some serious dancing. Dancing where I was mashed, mauled, groped, fingered, and every other seedy verb you can think of.

Lucy kept asking, “Have you chosen one yet?” whenever our paths crossed in the crowded bar. Finally, she cornered me and dragged me off to the bar’s filthy toilet, where we sat in adjacent cubicles.

“It’s crunch time, Sandy. I’m ready to fuck. You either choose one or two of them and join me or catch a cab home.”

I think it was her reference to ‘two of them’, that did it for me, tapping as it did into one of my favourite fantasies. ‘Not tonight, though, I scolded myself, ‘Walk before you run, Sandra. Just one guy tonight’.

“All right, Lucy, how do I choose and what do I do?”

“Choosing is easy once you realise that just about all anonymous cocks are the same. Do what I do, take your panties off right now, scrunch them in your hand, walk back out and when you see a guy who isn’t repulsive and who has bought you a drink, give him the panties. He’ll get the idea. You can leave all the logistics of where you fuck up to him to sort out. Did you buy condoms like I suggested?”

“Yeah, I bought them a week ago.”

I heard Lucy stand in her cubicle then heard a shuffling before I saw the flash of lace of her panties beneath the barrier between the cubicles. Reminding myself that I deserved this and it was perfectly safe, I followed suit. Gazing at the silky underwear in my hand, a feeling of power came over me. One guy was going to get very lucky tonight and exactly who that would be was entirely in my hands, literally.

Flushing and stepping out of the cubicle, Lucy and I high-fived, and she gave me a quiet, “You go, girl”, before leading me back out to the meat market.

Concealing my panties in my hand, I searched the dim room for the tall guy with the neatly trimmed beard whose package had felt quite decent when he rubbed it against my leg while we were dancing earlier. Goodie, he seemed to be one of the ones waiting for me and Lucy outside.

Girding my nerve, I stepped toward him. I used my left hand to grab his right and turn it to prepare it to accept my gift. I wanted to make a show of it. I hoped he sniffed them before taking me wherever he chose and doing whatever he liked to me. Maybe, I could get his number afterward and ask if he had a friend who could join us tomorrow night, the last night that Dave was supposed to be away.

Even in the dim lighting I saw his eyes light up when he realised what I was holding. His hand lifted out of mine, moving of its own volition to accept my gift which I dropped into his palm.

Suddenly, a large presence inserted itself between us. A muscled arm appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed my panties mid-air. Something else was dropped into my would-be lover’s now empty palm by the unknown person’s spare left hand. I looked down at it and saw it was a man’s wedding ring, the gold glinting in the faint light. Instinctively, I retrieved it, clenching my fist around it and looked up.

There was Dave, looking at me with an expression of hurt but determination on his face. He was there and ready, so he must have known not only what we were up to but also about the whole panty thing. Later, I thought of all the hurtful things he could have said right then. Called me a slut, a whore, publicly shamed or humiliated me, all sorts of things. All kinds of things would have been better than what he actually did say. “A fair swap, I think.”

With a shake of his head, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with the knowledge of what he considered the worth of our marriage.

A used pair of silk panties. 

The End

Now lighten the fuck up!

The most effective way to remember your wife’s birthday is to forget it once. – Nash.