Millie checked her watch. She wasn’t done kissing him yet even though he’d only agreed and she’d only asked for a kiss. That first kiss had led her to want more and more. He knew this because unabashedly she told him so. She was not shy about it, not even hesitant.
While they kissed, she used his fingers. He didn’t particularly want this, or want it to go this way, but he didn’t mind it, didn’t mind how she felt or how it made him feel. He was bursting, again, just plain bursting at the seams, and she knew this, she sensed it when she pressed against him, pinning his hand under her skirt.
Millie wasn’t wearing any panties. So when she’d taken his hand under her dress it went easily right to where she led it, where he knew she’d wanted it. He could hear her beginning to moan and felt her breathing starting to come in shorter more rapid breaths.
“I ain’t stopping till I’m done,” she said through the kissing.
“Goddamn you,” Bill said. “You feel so fucking good.”
“I am good.”
“If I lose my job, I’m gonna hate you forever.”
“You ain’t losing your job, baby.”
Her grip on his fingers was sure and tight. She moved his fingers to her desire, not his, how she wanted, not how he might have done it although he would probably have asked her how she liked it. This way, he didn’t have to ask.
Of his own volition, he put his free hand inside her dress on top. She had small breasts, kind of like Marie’s, he imagined, or Alfreda’s. He imagined them small and pointy cones topped with what he now knew were large, very large, he thought from what he felt, nipples. They were stiff and erect, and no sooner had he put his on her there than she moaned a little louder and told him to squeeze it.
He did.
“Harder,” she said.
He did.
“Harder,” she said again.
He did.
“Don’t stop,” she said. And then she let go a whole slew of expletives all of which excited Bill even more than he imagined he could have been given where they were and what they were doing.
Then she was done. She stopped kissing him and licked inside his ear. He took his hands back about himself and watched her get down on her knees.
“Don’t take too long,” she said.
“Don’t make me messy,” he said.
She didn’t. He didn’t. He couldn’t take long because she made sure she did what she needed to do to make it quick, quite wonderful and yet efficient.
“Mmm,” she said.
“Mmm is right,” he said.
“Goddamn,” she said.
“Some kiss,” he said.
“Great, wasn’t it?”
“You bet.”
“Still have five minutes,” she said.
Bill laughed. “Give me my uniforms.”
She did.
With his uniforms over his shoulder, one extra for good luck, he stepped out from the behind the rack of uniforms. She followed him. No one was at the counter, no one in sight.
“What time you in tomorrow?” she asked.
“Two as far as I know.”
“Well I’ll put a good uniform ready.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
All but, twice, he thought as he walked from the laundry to the locker room to stow his uniforms. Jimmy G was there, sleeping on a bench. After he’d put away the beautifully starched and ironed uniforms, Bill found an empty bench not far off from where Jimmy was. At first he just sat, but then he lay down.
Next thing he knew, it was time to start the rounds for setting up The Falstaff Room.
