We’ve been meeting like this every day for some time now. Always after that first cup of coffee. Maybe a doughnut or a piece of fruit if I’m trying to be good.
Sometimes, I’ll be sitting here for a few minutes, playing a level of Angry Birds or Candy Crush, waiting for that familiar pair of dusty, well-worn loafers to swish into my neighboring stall. Other times, I’ll enter quietly and take my seat, only to notice you’re already there. Waiting for me.
I’ve been keeping it all in too long… These moments between us – wonderful moments where I know you know we’re feeling the same thing. The way we skirt around our bliss, afraid to get too close. There is something powerful brewing here. Something real and beautifully human, separated from the anxieties outside. A release.
And it’s not just how our cycles are so in sync. It’s how you only go for the paper after I’ve flushed. The shy way you wait until I’ve washed my hands and left the room to finish up yourself. The too-quick way you murmur “bless you” when I sneeze. Those soft, gruff words. A hushed baritone that makes me quiver.
But the truth is I need to let go. I sit here now, writing this. My body is pure tension. Everything is clenched, backed up. You’re so close and so unreachable. You mutter subdued grunts, scratch the stubble on your neck. I wonder… Do you have a mustache? More scratching noises echo from your stall. Flakes of dandruff fall to the floor between us. They dissolve in a tiny puddle of unknown moisture.
I place my hand on that beige divider and I imagine you doing the same. The fantasy fills me with warmth, and I am able to push again. The dispassionate would cry “unsanitary!” but my lips crave this contact. I place them gently on our wall and whisper forbidden words of encouragement with gentle flicks of my tongue. I am emptied of all reservation.
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