The sky was overcast and it was raining. The landlady had made it very clear to him that he had to abide by the house rules when he moved into his one-room apartment. It was certainly not a particularly happy start here.
The frustration of breaking up with his girlfriend was now compounded by the conviction that he had chosen the worst of all the rental options he had looked at. He listlessly unpacked the boxes with all the things he needed most urgently and stacked all the other boxes unpacked along the wall in the hallway. There was no point in even thinking about furnishing this apartment – he would get out of here as soon as possible. The kitchen was still unusable after a week. He ordered pizza delivery, ate from the box with his fingers and realized that it was time to do the laundry.
She had previously taken care of everything. “A man can do it himself,” he said without conviction and made his way to the communal laundry room. The room was at the end of a dark hallway between the boiler and the storage rooms. A neon tube on the ceiling made the row of washing machines along the gray wall glow in its cold light. The labels on the detergent cartons on the shelf under the barred window stood out almost unrealistically as the only colorful spot in the gray on gray. “No detergent!” he thought annoyed, wondering if he should secretly borrow something? Still holding the basket in front of him, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He heard footsteps in the hallway. Judging by the sound, he suspected high heels. A woman, then. And music, not loud, something Latin American. Full of rhythm. The first thing he noticed in this house that was pleasant. The door opened and he quickly opened his eyes. He felt caught and apologized awkwardly, not knowing why. Mocking eyes looked at him amusedly. Fiery black eyes in an olive-brown face, framed by long, dark curls. It took his breath away and left him speechless as he let his gaze slide from her face over her body, over her round breasts, the beginnings of which could be seen under the tight T-shirt, her long legs in jeans and her bare feet in the bright red high heels. She noticed and laughed. “I – I wanted to do my laundry,” he stammered. “What a coincidence,” she joked, “me too.”
She put her basket and the radio on a washing machine. She turned the music up. “If you listen to loud music upstairs, you’ll have the old woman on your back, but the walls are thick enough here.” She began to sort her laundry, dancing. His gaze was fascinated by the way she swung her hips. “I don’t have much experience with this – with laundry, I mean. I could maybe use a little help,” he said, just to say something.
“So you’re a complete beginner. First apartment of your own? Has mommy done your laundry yet? I hope you can at least iron it,” she said ambiguously, and he didn’t understand her. Was this going to be a striptease?
Striptease in the laundry room
“Then pay close attention, little one,” she whispered and came very close to him. She put her hands with blood-red nails around his neck, touched him with her cheek and her hair tickled his nose. She turned up the collar of his shirt and fiddled with the label. “30°, delicate whites, but that’s not particularly exciting and not hot enough either!” She broke away from him and danced through the bare room to the beat of a full-blooded flamenco. What a contrast! Suddenly the house was a wonderful place and life was colorful and worth living. She stopped, looking up at him. She ran both hands through her flowing mane, swayed her hips and he involuntarily felt the blood rush hot and wild to his loins.
“Then let’s start with the striptease, er, the lesson,” she said, “do you know what you do with the outer clothing?” He shook his head. Very slowly and very lasciviously, she crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up. The waistband was visible, the wonderful contrast of the rough denim fabric with the silky soft skin of her gently tanned stomach. He enjoyed every inch and waited impatiently, eager for more. She was wearing a black lace bra. When she had finally pulled the shirt all the way over her head, she shook her hair back into shape and threw it deliberately into the laundry basket. “White laundry, durable. But be careful with all colored things!” she warned him, opened the button on her pants and carefully pulled down the zipper. Black lace appeared underneath, matching the bra. She performed her striptease in time with the music, turning until she was standing in profile to him, bending her upper body and back so that her dark bottom stretched backwards and letting the jeans slide down over her cheeks. She pulled her pants down, slipped her feet out of her shoes. She straightened up with the aggressive elegance of a cobra before lunging forward and biting. She continued dancing this most erotic of dances, stroking her breasts, groin and thighs provocatively during the striptease, knowing full well that he wished it were his hands. “Do you want to know how to treat black silk? It is particularly sensitive and must be treated very gently! The best way is to rub very carefully with both.”
Of course he wanted to and watched the striptease with extreme excitement. How she took off her panties and bra, stood with her back in front of a machine, supported herself with her hands and hopped onto the cover with her bottom. She pulled her legs up, put her feet on the edge and slowly let her knees fall apart…
“All we need now is the fabric softener before the thing starts spinning.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice…
“Not bad for a start,” she said later as he lay exhausted in her arms, “And next week I’ll show you how to sweep the building.
