Ever since I started working the late shift at the hospital, I have been stopping at the same gas station on my way home from work. Every night I buy the same thing. A bottle of coke, and a newspaper.
Some nights I don't feel like rushing home to an empty house, so I will stand and talk to the night clerk who works there. This had gone on for almost a year before we met. I never would have expected that anything would have come from my late night visits.
I met you after the clerk they had working that shift quit, and you took his place. At first we didn't speak much, but after about a month, we finally started having longer conversations. It wasn't long after that we were joking around with each other and would even share more personal things about each other. I never thought that what we did was considered flirting.
I knew you had a girlfriend, and am not the type of person to try and interfere. A couple more months went by, and I started looking forward to seeing you. I also noticed that you no longer mentioned your girlfriend, and I chose not to ask why.
One night I came in on my night off, and what seemed to be a regular night between us changed when the conversation found its way to the subject of sex. Who remembers how we started it? It was then when I told you that in my spare time I write erotica stories.
It was funny to watch your mouth drop open. You tell me that no one would ever believe it from how I act. I only reply by saying it is the quiet ones you need to watch out for. You ask if I had any you could read. I tell you I will drop one off later in the night. I take a moment and drive the 2 blocks to my apartment, and quickly print one of my stories. After returning to the station, I wait until your last customer leaves, and hand it to you.
I didn't want to be there when you read it, so I left for a few hours. When I got back, you said you liked it, and then started talking to me more about sex. Actually, it was more about what you liked and didn't like about it.
All I remember is how you had told me that you didn't care for blowjobs. I looked at you in a way that you could tell I didn't understand what you meant. Then I told you exactly that. I had told you that I just didn't understand how people just couldn't like that part of sex. That's when you told me that you had never had an orgasm while receiving a blowjob.
My first thought was that it was because you had never been with a woman who loved it as much as I did. My second thought was that it sounded like a challenge to me. I never actually found the words to say either of that out loud. Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders, and moved the topic to something else.
As I drove back home, my thoughts went back to what you had said about not liking blowjobs. I found myself talking out loud. I was reminded that 2 other men had said the same thing to me once. Then, after I got done with them, they no longer could claim they were unable to cum that way. If I had my way, you would be the third man on the list.
The next night I went up to the gas station, but found someone else working your shift. As I was pulling out of the driveway I noticed you pulling in. I smiled at you as you waved me back into the parking lot. As I pulled my car next to yours, you were already out and walking up to me.
I get out of the car and lean against my door. You come over and stand in front of me as we start talking about what we had planned for the night. You suggest we forget our plans, and head over to the hotel down the street so we can do "research" for my next story. I quickly start to decline, but then stop myself, thinking that this just might be the right time to prove my talents.
After getting back in my car and you into yours, I follow you the few blocks down the street to the hotel. When we get there I pull my car in behind yours and get out. As your getting out, I notice you reaching into the backseat and pulling out a paper bag. That's when you tell me that you had just stopped at the store and bought beer to take back home.
Feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement, I follow you into the hotel, and stand quietly by as you get us a room. I watch as you open the door; you step aside to let me enter first. I take a quick glance around the room. Chairs, table, television, and 2 queen size beds, your typical room. You ask me what I would like to drink and tell me to have a seat. Not knowing where I should sit, I walk over to the bed closest to the door and sit down.
You hand me a beer, and sit on the bed across from me. The nervousness seems now to be out weighing the excitement, and I ask you to turn on the television for some background noise. You turn it to one of the movie stations, and then we started talking, and drinking our beers.
After downing a couple, I am now a bit more relaxed. We start laughing and joking with each other now. The movie that was on is over, and a new one comes on. You say how much you love it, and hop over to the bed I am on. Taking a pillow and putting it up against the headboard, you lean back and get comfy. I follow your lead and do the same thing.
