Lunch Break, with Benefits

This is a true story from some thirty years ago. Still gets me going when I replay the mental footage, one of those events you occasionally just stumble into by chance.

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As a teenager I used to fantasize about seeing some of my female neighbors coming out of the shower in the evening, and driving home I always made sure to take a look up at bathroom windows with the wild (and totally unrealistic hope) that Mary Sue (or someone equally delectable) would by extraordinary good timing be stepping out of the shower naked (and of course, standing right next to the window) just as I was driving by, her tits all soft and wet while she dried them off. Probably best it never happened or I would have sent the car off into the ditch.

When you are looking for skin or sex you never seem to find it, but when you are minding your own business, all kinds of things are possible.

Way back, in an itinerant phase a dozen jobs ago, I used to work in a rundown industrial area of San Francisco, and to get out of the machine shop at lunchtime, I would head down a quiet side-street to the loading dock of an abandoned warehouse, so I could sneak a beer with my sandwich without my boss knowing, and have my outdoor lunch in peace, away from the noise, grime and bustle of the workshop.

Traffic was light that day, most of the street parking lined with the cars of workers like me, who had parked their cars before heading to the various light industry businesses in the area. I sat sideways on the loading dock platform, my back against the side of the garage-door frame, pretty inconspicuous, actually more so than I had imagined.

My legs were stretched out in front of me on the ledge, and I had spread out the newspaper, had my Pabst can opened and a whole lunch hour ahead of me on an uncharacteristically warm summer day.

A car had pulled up and parked in front of me nearby, and after five minutes or so I idly noted that no one had gotten out (no noise from a car door opening or closing, etc.)

I looked up, and since I was behind the car, I could see through the rear window of the sedan. The back of the front seats were in easy view.

The driver was a white guy, although I couldn't see his face, and he was with a slender dark-skinned woman, sitting on the passenger side. They were separate seats, I could see the gear shift knob and the center console with a radio and various temperature control levers and dials in the space between them.

I don't recall what kind of car it was. The woman's head was partially screened by the car roof due to the perspective I had into the car.

But what really caught my eye was that the guy's cock was sticking out from his pants, and she was playing with it. He had leaned back in his seat, and his prick was semi-hard, pointing up and out towards the steering wheel.

Her left hand was sliding up and down his shaft while she rummaged his balls with her other. Suddenly the sports section, even the Giants' box-score from the game the day before, was no longer so interesting.

The second thought that flashed through my head was: how likely are they to notice me? I was less than ten feet away, out of straight-line view with my back against the loading dock wall, and while their heads were facing away from me, a quick turn from either of them and I would have been in clear sight.

But I figured I would deal with that if and when I had to, and their, ah, attention was clearly elsewhere. I could potentially pull the newspaper up over my face and pretend I hadn't noticed them if I thought things got strange.

Before long, the hand-stroking had gotten to the blowjob phase. My fingers quivering as I held my beer, I watched as she lowered her mouth down over his cock, and started moving up and down, with some enthusiasm.

My own sex life was pretty tame at that stage. I had seen a high school buddy tail his girlfriend in the park one time but it had been dark and they were mostly clothed, but I had never, absolutely never, seen a cock other than my own getting sucked before, especially this close.

His right hand had gripped the passenger seat headrest, and I watched, transfixed, as her head continued to move up and down, her right hand pushing on his balls and working them over while her mouth played over his prick.

My own crotch was totally uncomfortable, and I felt my pulse racing with the excitement of this illicit view.

I had to shift my position to give my erection some room to grow. She went at him for over ten minutes. I was dying to witness the climax. When was the son-of-a-bitch going to come?

Things weren't going that well for him though, and clearly fatigued, she gave up with her mouth and I saw them talking to each other, her right hand now pulling up and down on a cock that wasn't even as hard as when she had started.

It was a long, rubbery wet snake, and flopped around while she pulled on it. What was wrong with the guy? If that was me, I would have filled her mouth before you could have said "Joe DiMaggio."

It was a good-sized prick, bigger and thicker than mine, circumcised, and the head of it was a full healthy mushroom shape, but his shaft was only half stiff.

It occurred to me that this was most likely a sex-for-money blowjob, and not a secret lover tryst. I had to crane my neck sometimes as they moved around, to get a better view, and couldn't always see as well I wanted.

After his cock had stiffened a bit, she went back to work with her mouth, and again was moving up and down over his tool.

I had no trouble imagining what it all felt like, my own prick in a state of agony while I visualized her tongue playing over his cockhead, imagined what it felt like to have it sucked so nicely, feel her lips sliding up and down.

It took awhile, probably another ten minutes of increasingly rapid up and down sucking before I saw his hips tighten, his right hand on her back and shoulders now, fingers clenching her shirt, and he humped his hips a half dozen times, her own head now down low and buried in his crotch and then still, while she apparently was swallowing down his load.

I never saw any semen (another way that real-time sex is not like a porno movie), but did see his slobbery prick emerge from her mouth, not as stiff as I might have thought, but alluring, all wet and shining, as it recovered from its exertions.

He gave her a perfunctory kiss and hug (I had no idea what etiquette was after you paid someone to suck your cock. Tell her "great work!" and pat her on the back?) and after he zipped up they drove off.

I was a bit relieved since I wasn't sure what I was going to do when lunch-hour was over and I had to get back to work and they were still going at it. Give a friendly wave as I crossed in back of their car and pretend I hadn't seen anything? Offer them my newspaper?

Walking back to work was painful. My cock was so hard I had to rearrange it in my jeans so it was pointing straight up. Otherwise it rubbed or stuck down my pant-legs at such an uncomfortable angle I couldn't take a step. Even then it wasn't comfortable.

I don't know why I didn't mention this to my girlfriend when I got home, maybe because my small town upbringing and the repressed morals I still carried around with me made me feel guilty or something about my illicit sighting, but regardless, she got an all-too-short but intense workout that night, as I filled her with the overflowing sperm that had been boiling away in my own balls all afternoon thinking about that guy's dick and the sweet, if mercenary, mouth that had coaxed forth his semen.