A Face in the Crowd

"Wow, that was special, eh? Christ."

"Yeah, it was."

"Aw, but you still need to cum, don't you?"

"Yeah," I say. Then, with my voice low — "there are people out there." I felt a lot more self-conscious, now that we weren't fucking actively. I could hear their voices murmuring, the click of a camera on a phone. I knew they couldn't see us, but it bothered me still.

She shrugs and gets up on her knees. She takes my cock in her hand.

"Fuck 'em." She began to stroke me. "You still want to cum, don't you?" Her hand worked away at my dick, rolling the skin up and down. Her grip was firm but not hard, and she kissed the side of it gently. Her tongue lapped at it from all angles.

I nodded. I did still want to cum. So badly.

"Then let me make you cum." She bowed her head to my dick and put me in her mouth again, wrapping me in warmth. She blew me expertly, sucking away at my cock until I was on the brink, then she spat me out, leaving long streamers of spit and pre-cum trailing to the floor.

I must have looked pretty pathetic, because she laughed when she saw my face. She winked.

Then she descended her head to my balls, taking them fully in her mouth. Her head was buried below my cock as her hand worked it fully. Her tongue licked across my scrotum, rolling first one ball, then the other, in her mouth. I felt my ears begin to close with pressure as the cum built up, her hand still stroking away at my dick.

"I'm gonna cum," I said.

She didn't say anything. My balls were in her mouth. And yet her hand increased the pace, twisting as it went. I knew it wouldn't be long now. The pressure was building, and her mouth was so soft—her hand—so perfectly wrapped around me. I looked down and saw her golden hair buried beneath my cock and balls, and then I lost it.

Thick streams of cum shot across to the wall of the bathroom stall, painting it white. My balls were pulsing as she stroked and licked and still I kept coming, smaller ropes trailing in her hair, mingling with the gold.

When she finally pulled back, one strand still dangling from the tip of my dick rolled down to her face, across her forehead. She smiled, looking at me with bright eyes.

"How does it feel to know that I'm gonna walk out of this stall with cum in my hair and on my forehead? How does it feel to know that it's your cum?"

I shrugged. I didn't know. I was too exhausted to think. She was dressing in front of me and I tried to take a snapshot of the moment, to preserve it in my mind for the future.

But it was too late. She left the stall and disappeared into the club. I caught a glimpse of other people in the bathroom, crowded around the sinks. I waited there for a long time before I excited.

When I got home, I lay on my bed and thought of her. My balls ached in the sweetest way, and I wished that she was here. I even searched my pockets, wondering vainly if perhaps she had slipped her number into it.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to her. I think of what times we might have had. I wonder if she's close to me when I'm walking through town, or if she's ever thinking of me. If she ever has thought of me. There are other women, other nights. But none like that.

Time passes, and life goes on. And yet, occasionally, I stop by the club again. Maybe it's horniness, maybe it's something more. All I know is that I'm hoping that one day I'll enter it and that, somehow, beyond the neon lights and shitty music and overpriced drinks, I'll look around and find her face in the crowd.