They met in the laundry room.

In the bowels of the big old apartment building where Jack lived was a laundry room which housed five washing machines and five dryers, all of which cost $1 to run but were far less efficient than taking your clothes to the laundromat across the street. But nonetheless there he was, folding his boxers.

Now, when you live in an apartment building you tend to “see” a lot of people but not to “meet” a lot of people. Jack lived in a place populated by familiar strangers, people he saw every day but didn’t know the name of. One of these people was the girl he referred to as “The Dyke.”
Now, Jack didn’t mean that in a derogatory way, by any means. She was a hard-core butch dyke, and he was sure she would tell him such if he asked. She stood about 5’1″, a tiny thing who seemed to attain at least 4 more inches with sheer attitude. Unfortunately that still left her at 5’5″. Her buzz-cut hair was so short, it looked like blonde peach fuzz on her pink head, except for two little fringes of a Chelsea girl that came down like little golden antennae in the front. She had a baby face, cherubic cheeks and cupid bow lips, but had a constant glare of toughness. Her wardrobe was made up of polo shirts, wife beaters, baggy jeans and work pants. She was almost always wearing work boots and a thick wallet chain that hung from her back pocket to her belt and jingled when she walked.

Jack always smiled at her in the hallway and she always gave him a noncommittal nod. There was something refreshing about people who wore their identity so openly. She was who she was, a butch little baby dyke who could kick your ass. “What was he?” he wondered. A complicated mixed-up guy who worked too much and occasionally wrote smut and posted it on the internet. A guy who had some very interesting sex and thought about it way too much. A kinky geek. “How would one wear that as an identify?” he wondered. “Walk around with a pocket protector full of vibrators?”

One day when Jack was in the aforementioned laundry room folding his boxers “The Dyke” walked in and started a few loads of her aforementioned polo shirts and wife-beaters. She got everything started, and then sat on top of an empty dryer and pulled out an battered book without giving Jack a second look.

Jack looked at the worn cover and raised his eyebrow while folding.

“Nietzsche, huh?” he commented awkwardly above the rumbling sloshing background noise of the room.

She scowled at him over the book.

“Yeah, so?”

“Looks like you’ve read it a few times,” he said carefully.

She put the book down and looked him up and down, then shrugged, finding him harmless. “I just work in a used book store, so all my books look like this. Have you read this?”

Beyond Good and Evil? Yeah, in college. I remember liking it and being all pumped up with the ideas. Morality without religion and all that. Then again, when you’re 20, you’re pumped up by any new idea.”

She smirked. “I’m 20.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, enjoy then. I’m 30… there’s no getting me pumped up.”

She put down the book and smirked again with the same crooked half-smile. “That’s not that old, come on.”

“I guess not. Anyway, enjoy.” Jack said, taking the last of his load out of the dryer and folding it.

“Is that a Clash shirt?” she asked hopping off the dryer and walking over.

“Yeah.” Jack said with a grin. His collection of tshirts was one of his prides.

She raised an eyebrow in approval.

“My name’s Mike, what’s up?” she said with a smirk and a measuring look in her eyes.

“I’m Jack. 2E. Mike, hmm?”

She shrugged. “That’s my name.”

“Anyhow, I got to go put this stuff away. I guess I’ll see you around.” He picked up his basket, exchanged smiles with her and left.

“Be careful washing that shirt, I might swipe it!” she called from down the hall.


More laundry room conversations would follow. She told Jack about the bookstore she worked in, he told her about his job at a big magazine. It was nice to have a friend in the building. Jack liked Mike a lot, she reminded him of the people he grew up with. Smart, into good music, politically active and intense. Very unlike most of the people he knew these days.

The fourth time they met down, there it was sort of planned. She was waiting for him when he got there and seemed to be guarding his usual washing machine.

“Hey, Jackie boy. You’re late. That old lady from the fourth floor came by, and I had to stare her down. She was gonna take your machine.” Mike was dressed in a thin ribbed-cotton wife-beater and a pair of baggy cargo pants. She sat on top of the dryer with a worn paperback in her hands. An iPod laid on the counter next to her.

“Thanks, I’m sure she’s telling her cats all about it right now. She’d bring it up at the board meeting, but the apartment board banned her after her 100th complaint about “coloreds” roaming the halls at night.”

“Damn, if I knew that, I would have roughed her up.”

Jack laughed, putting his basket of clothes down and picking up her MP3 player.

“Patti Smith? I approve.” Jack said, putting the small white device down next to Mike’s leg.

“Yeah, I get in this thing where I need to listen to a song over and over again. Right now it is ‘Because the Night’, I love her lyrics.”

Jack chuckled a little. “She has amazing lyrics. She’s a poet, more than a rocker… but most of the lyrics for that one were written by somebody else. You want pure Patti, you got to listen to Horses… ‘Angel looks down at him and says, Oh, pretty boy, can’t you show me nothing but surrender?'”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, who wrote ‘Because the Night?’ then?”

“Bruce Springsteen.”

She cut her eyes at him and hopped off the dryer. “Bullshit.”

Jack pushed a mound of clothes into the washing machine and then started inserting quarters into the machine.

“Look it up. They were in studios next to each other and Bruce had this song that wasn’t right for his album and so he gave it to Patti. She changed the lyrics a little and put it on her album.”

She nodded in bewilderment. “Very cool.”

“You know what my favorite Smith lyric is?” Jack asked, noticing for the first time that she wasn’t wearing anything under the think shirt and that her nipples were large and just slightly hard.

“You spare the child and spoil the rod; I have not sold my soul to god.”

Mike worded the lyrics as he said them, knowing them by heart.

That washing session was a little more intense then usual.


Walking up the stairs a little past midnight on Friday Jack bumped into a very different Mike. She was all smiles and a bit drunk. She laughed when she saw him and then came up to him and poked him in the chest with her finger.

“We’ve been talking about rock and roll and folding our boxer shorts for a couple of weeks now and you’ve never hit on me once.”

Jack fumbled for words. “Well, I kind of thought, I mean…”

“I know what you thought, you see me and you think you have me figured out.” she said smirking her tough little smirk.

She kept walking and he kept moving back until his back was against the wall.

“I mean it seemed like you liked…” he stammered and she moved in and kissed him on the lips. She was fast and strong and she totally caught him off guard, even though she was standing on her toes. As she kissed him and reaching up and grabbing his dick.

“I know what you thought, but maybe I’m a little more complicated. Maybe I like all kinds of things. Maybe right now I like you.”

“Apparently,” he said as she stoked him through his pants. Then she took his hand and she pulled it to her pants and pressed it against something long and hard against her leg. “The question is… how open minded are you?”

“Is that…” he started, but wasn’t sure what to ask.

“A big fake dick? Yes. You caught me on my way home from a club… and I like to pack when I go to this club… unfortunately nobody was game. I think you might be a fun diversion for the night. What do you say, Jack?” She continued to stroke him through his pants and she noticed he didn’t get any less hard as she continued to press his hand against her strap-on.

He kissed her back. For some reason he expected her lips to be hard, but they were soft like most girls he had kissed. She pushed him harder against the wall and he smiled. He pushed her back suddenly and turned her around so he was pressing her against the wall. When her back hit her eyes closed for a minute and she bit her lip. little and grabbed hold of her cock.

“I’m game,” he said, moving his other hand up to roughly cup one of her barely there breasts. She laughed into his kisses and whispered, “We will see.”

If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.