It was a single-room restroom with a freestanding toilet and sink. It took a while but my turn came and I made it in. It was dark. Black walls, black seat, black sink, lit by a soft lavender light. I locked the door. At least I thought I had. Slowly the door opened. It was Damon.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I have to wash my hands. Don’t mind me.” He stood at the sink, taking his time, rubbing the soap in his hands.

“Could you hurry up, I have to use the restroom.”

“I said don’t mind me, girl, I’m just making sure my hands are clean.”

I couldn’t wait any longer. I lined the seat with as much tissue paper as I could find, unzipped my skirt, pulled down my panties, and sat. As quietly as I could I eased out the more than three tall glasses of wine from my system. I could notice his eyes in the mirror watching me, his hands still covered with soap. Fortunately the water from the sink drowned out the sound of the water being dispensed from my body. I was finished. I wiped, stood up, turned around, first pulling up my panties, then my skirt. It was stuck. For some reason my skirt was stuck. It was Damon’s hand keeping it from moving up.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m being a gentleman. I’m helping you get dressed. See, that’s the problem with you sistahs. You don’t appreciate a brother helping you out.” As he talked, his fingers entered my panties, slowly working their way down.

“That’s not helping me get dressed.”

“Your panties were stuck in your butt, I was just trying to help you out. See, that’s what I’m talking about. Instead of saying ‘Thank you, Damon, for pulling my draws out my ass,’ you’re complaining.”

Slowly my panties started to glide down my waist and down my thigh. No sex, Montana. No sex. No sex. No sex. His pecs rubbed against my back, his hands glided under my top and over my breasts, grazing my nipples, making me almost explode with excitement.

Outside, they were banging on the door. Inside, I was leaning over the seat, holding on to the wall. He was gliding and moving, holding my shoulder with his one hand, gently touching my breasts, stroking my back, arms and neck with the other.

I wished I could blame my freakiness on the alcohol or some other brain-numbing intoxicant, but I couldn’t. I was in full thought, full mind, and fortunately for Damon, in full heat. The banging, pounding noises on the door intensified.

“Okay, Damon, that’s enough. I’m not giving you none in the bathroom.”

Pulling up my panties and zipping my skirt, I turned, gathering myself as he was back in the mirror, washing his hands.