Unbalanced Load

I pulled my light jacket tighter as I turned sideways to serpentine through the masses on the crowded sidewalk. The produce markets were teaming with older people pulling small carts behind them as they made their daily pilgrimage to buy fresh bok choy and lotus root. It was always a bit of a free-for-all walking home from my internship in the late afternoon.

I had decided that I wasn't in the mood to make dinner that evening, so I popped into my favorite dumpling place near the corner of College and Spadina. I took a seat at a two-top close to the entrance. When the curt waitress approached, I ordered ten pieces of steamed pork with chive and a side of the garlic-fried Chinese broccoli.

My mind wandered as I waited for my food to arrive. I thought about my upcoming finals. I knew that I wasn't prepared for most of them, and that I needed to get mostly A's if I was going to be competitive when I applied to law school in the fall. That led me to a larger question: where did I want to go to school?

I had been considering blanketing the top fourteen since they had the most prestige. As a dual citizen, though, staying in Toronto had its appeal. Even though I had grown up in North Carolina, it had been a pleasant experience over the past three years connecting with the city in which my mom had been raised.

Before I could delve deeper into the decision-making process, my food arrived. I quickly shoveled it down; I wasn't the type who savored the experience of eating. I enjoyed a lot of things in life, but food wasn't high on the list. After I paid the bill, I walked the few remaining blocks to my apartment complex.

I had chosen to live near the university on the edge of Chinatown. I loved that it was bustling with people from so many different backgrounds: fellow students, immigrants, and hipsters who were fond of the Kensington Market area. It was a great place for people watching, provided you could find any place to stand, sit, or lean. Odd as it will sound right now, that was a big selling point for me, even though I myself wasn't much of a people watcher.

I looked up at the three-story brick edifice. It appeared resolute in its stature, having withstood the past hundred years. It showed signs of aging, but was in remarkably good condition. One of the reasons I had chosen to live there, aside from the affordable rent, was the sense of history.

I let myself in through the front door, passed through the entryway vestibule, and walked in the direction of the main corridor. I lived in one of the basement units, which were partly below ground. There were windows placed higher up on the walls though, which was important, since I didn't think living without any natural sunlight was something I could tolerate.

I walked to the mailboxes, which had been the purpose of my detour. There were twenty-four small, locked cubbies - one for each apartment. I checked mine, but wasn't surprised to find it empty. I looped back towards the main door, turned the corner into the stairwell, and descended to the lower level.

My unit was right in the middle of the hallway, with a stairwell on both ends leading to the upper levels. There were three other studio units on each side of mine. The upper floors were one- and two-bedroom floor plans. I let myself in using what was one of the only two keys I routinely carried with me.

The room was minimalistic, but not inhospitable. I had positioned a full bed against the wall beneath the window, a small desk and chair in the corner near the entrance, and a battered recliner that a friend had gifted me. I'd positioned the recliner against the wall leading to the galley-style kitchen.

I plopped down on the bed, feeling unreasonably exhausted. I didn't even bother to remove my sneakers, so I made sure my feet hung over the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. I drifted off to sleep.

I woke to darkness; the flashing alarm clock on my nightstand informed me that it was 11:08 p.m. I was in mild shock that I had slept for roughly three hours. It made sense, though, since I had been staying up until the earlier hours of the morning studying, and finding other, less scholastic ways to occupy myself.

I realized that I had morning wood, then remembered the time. Nigh-midnight wood, perhaps? I wondered. My dark blue jeans bulged where my dick was pushing forward in its quest for attention.

A sexual charge coursed through my body. At twenty-one years old, it didn't take much to stimulate my carnal appetite. I began to drift into fantasy without being aware that that was what was happening. A few key memories from the past few years flooded into my mind.

You're probably expecting me to tell you that I was thinking about some particularly raunchy hook-up, or various porn clips that had drilled their way into my brain. The thing is, my desires were not, and still aren't, exactly normal. I wasn't sure what had made me the way I was, but I knew that what turned me on only did the same for a select group of people.

I had started to understand my deeper desires after a happy accident. I had been working out at the campus gym during my freshman year. After lifting weights for about an hour, I had gone to wash myself up before heading out to meet a friend for dinner.

I had stowed my sweaty clothes in the small locker and bounded towards the showers. It had been Monday, so the gym hadn't been too crowded. I had pulled the plastic shower curtain from its partially-open position and slid into the stall. As I'd been lathering my hair with the shampoo from the dispenser mounted to the wall, a stray drop had snaked its way down to my right eye. I'd tried to rub it away with the back of my wrist since my hands had still been covered with suds.

Whoosh!

"Oh, shit!" I had heard from behind me.

I'd spun around towards the source of the words, feeling disoriented. I'd still had one hand clasping my scalp and the back of the other rubbing my cheek. I had seen a young man standing in front of me; his eyes had been wide with surprise and his mouth had gaped open.

I had frozen like a deer in the headlights; I hadn't been sure if it was a natural reaction or if I'd just been mirroring him. My heart had started to pound as the water had continued to cascade down my back. A rosy hue had spread across my cheeks - embarrassment beginning to bloom.

"I'm so sorry, dude," the towel-clad, muscular young guy had said. "I was totally spacing out and didn't hear the shower. Or, I mean, I heard the shower, but I thought it was the one next to this one. Of course, I thought this one was empty. I wouldn't have opened it if I didn't think it was empty."

His discomfort had been obvious in more ways than one. His eyes had kept darting from my eyes to my crotch. It was as if he hadn't wanted to look, but couldn't help himself. The embarrassment had started to change; it had been unlike anything I had ever felt. It had begun to feel warm... and alive.

"I didn't see a towel either," he'd offered. "Oh, I think it fell off the hook."

He'd awkwardly crouched forward and snatched the towel from where it laid crumpled on the ground. He'd then snagged it on the hook with a quick yank. He had stared at me blankly for a second; I'd remained silent.

"Okay, I'll just close this now," he'd said. "Enjoy the rest of your shower."

I had watched, silent and unmoving, as he'd pulled the curtain closed again, after which I'd immediately let out a gasp, realizing that I had been holding my breath. Electricity had sparked through my core and radiated outward. That was the first time I'd started to realize that I liked being watched. More importantly, I'd realized I liked being caught.

Over the next two years, I had felt a sense of excitement whenever I'd used the shower at the gym. I had hoped that someone would open it. I had even thought about leaving it open a little "by accident," but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had felt the same urge when I'd used fitting rooms to try on clothing when I'd gone shopping.

I had never really cared if it was a man or woman who caught me in those fantasies; I guess that's one a perk of being bisexual. It had been more about the being exposed in a sexual way.

I had finally worked up the courage to start exploring my burgeoning desires during the beginning of my junior year. When I'd moved into my apartment complex, I had realized the laundry room was almost directly across the hall from me. It was small, with only two washing machines and two dryers. It was akin to a cave, since it didn't have windows like the studios on the lower level.

One night, I had been doing laundry way too late; it had been around 2 a.m. I had been laying on my bed watching Netflix, wearing only my blue plaid boxers, when the timer on my phone had gone off. I had started to step into my sweatpants but stopped myself. I'd done the mental math and had decided to take a leap.

I had pushed through the fear and walked across the hall to the laundry room to collect my clothing. I had been so filled with nerves that I'd sped through the process. I'd hurriedly crammed the clothes into my hamper and raced back to my apartment. Alas, nobody had seen me. I had still jerked off as the mixture of excitement and fear had coursed through my veins.

I had continued to retrieve laundry in my boxers each week, although my confidence (or perhaps my desire to get caught) had steadily increased. I had begun to linger in the room longer after loading my clothes into the machine. I had started wearing tighter boxer briefs. I had begun to do my laundry a little earlier in the evening, but not too early.

As I lay in bed thinking about that first time in the shower, and the subsequent experiments in the laundry room, I knew that I wanted to up the ante that night. I'd spent a lot of time in the prior weeks coming up with something new to try.

I went and hopped into my shower. I gave myself a quick rinse even though I didn't need one; I had bathed earlier in the day after having worked out on campus. I raced through the motions as the excitement started to build.

I stepped out of the shower and looked at myself in the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the bathroom door. I stood six-foot-two and weighed two hundred pounds. I was proud of my physique, since I had invested an immense amount of time and energy into getting jacked. My biceps looked like I could be a lower-level Avenger and my six-pack wasn't too shabby either.

My paternal grandparents had immigrated from Sweden, which explained many aspects of my appearance. I had shorter blond hair and icy blue eyes. I had a wide jaw with a defined bone structure. My nose was what some might call "strong"; from an early age, I had been told it made my face looked very masculine.

I glanced down at my package. I was well-endowed - seven inches soft. It was pretty fat, too. Most of my hook-ups had needed both hands to contain its girth. My sandy pubes were trimmed to a tidy patch, and my large, clean-shaven nuts hung weightily down, swinging between my thighs.

I spun around and examined my ass. Even though I only ever topped, I was most proud of my behind. It was what all of my hook-ups seemed to love. It was large and muscular, but shaped into a perfect bubble. When I clenched my cheeks, little dimples formed on the sides.

I grabbed the towel from the hook and wrapped it around my waist. I made sure that it was firmly secured. I walked over to my hamper full of dirty clothes and grabbed it before heading towards the door. I stopped for a moment and second-guessed myself. Do I really want to do this? What if I finally get caught? But don't I want to get caught? Wouldn't this be safer - in a way - anywhere besides my own apartment complex?

The fear started to surge, as did the excitement and titillation. I was still dewy with water as I pushed my door open and slinked into the dimly-lit hallway. I made sure the door wasn't locked before I let it close behind me.

My stomach did a somersault as I stood in the hall wearing nothing but a towel. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I peered in each direction down the corridor. I knew that one of the doors could open at any moment and someone could catch me.

I walked the ten feet to the laundry room, pausing at the door. I could hear from outside that none of the machines were in use. Sure enough, when I opened the door, I saw that nobody was inside.

I didn't really want to do an actual load that evening, so I took a shortcut. I emptied the hamper into the dryer; it wasn't as if anyone would realize they hadn't been washed. I looked at the clock on the wall; it was 12:05 a.m. I decided that I had to wait fifteen minutes before I could leave. I needed rules in order to maximize excitement.

I stood next to the dryer, staring at the door. I started to imagine it opening and someone walking in. Regardless of whether it was a woman or man, they were disoriented and shocked. In some scenes they turned around and left, while in others they rolled with the awkwardness long enough to load their clothes into the washing machine.

As I fantasized, blood started to pump into my dick. I could see its bulky outline pressing against the towel; it wasn't erect, but it was firming up. The thin white cotton contoured to its defined shape, accentuating the bulbous head. I felt a powerful urge to caress it, but I resisted.

A soft hum emanated from one of the dryers even though it wasn't in use. I traipsed over to a corkboard on the wall near the door that was plastered with flyers. It was the only thing in the room to occupy my attention. I scanned through the frayed, outdated flyers advertising babysitting services and nutritional supplements.

The clock on the opposite wall read 12:20 a.m. I journeyed back over to the dryer, knowing that I only had five more minutes before I could go back to my room and shoot a thick load.

CREAK!

I watched as the door began to open. I was in disbelief that it was finally happening after months of tempting fate. I spun around and faced the dryer as quickly as I could to look more natural. I stealthily peered over my shoulder so I could continue to assess the new development.

A young guy, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, pushed into the room holding a crumpled bunch of sheets in his arms. He was so focused on trying to squeeze past the door with his arms full that he didn't notice me at first. He was about six feet tall with an athletic build. He had slicked-back black hair, green eyes, and a smattering of stubble. He was wearing a white T-shirt, black joggers, and slip-on shoes.

"Fucking hell!" he yelled as he finally looked up and registered me standing there; I jumped the slightest bit in response. "You scared the shit out of me!"

He shook his head from side to side and let out an awkward laugh. I could tell that he truly had been startled, although it seemed he was more shocked to find me there at all, rather than being fazed by my lack of attire.

"I didn't think anyone used these this late at night," he said as he walked to one of the washing machines a few feet to my right. "I mean, this is the first time I've ever been here this late, but I just assumed."

I looked at him with a disarming smile and nodded. My nerve endings were sparking with delight; I was terrified and thrilled. I knew that I needed to say something, but I wasn't sure what would be appropriate. I should have, though, since I had thought about it countless times.

"It's the best time to do laundry," I said. "Everyone is sleeping or out having a good time."

"You got that right," he said. "I wish I could be out, too, but I'm trying to clean before my sister comes to visit tomorrow. She'd freak out if she didn't have clean sheets for the air mattress."

He continued to load his sheets in the machine. I opened the dryer and started to copy his actions in reverse, pulling the clothing from the drum into my hamper.

"So... were you completely out of clothes or something?" he asked with a bewildered chuckle, nodding at my towel.

There was a small twinkle in his eyes, as if he was amused by the situation. I felt warmth spread across my cheeks. Something about his amusement made me feel even more exposed. It was different from what I'd felt in response to the shocked reaction of having been caught in the shower.

"Um, I live right across the hall," I stammered. "I was finishing up my shower when the alarm on my phone went off telling me the cycle was done. I guess I was on autopilot and just threw on a towel."

He was nodding as if what I said somehow made sense, but I didn't even believe it myself. My nerves drove me to further expand the story; I had always felt a need to explain myself in detail whenever I'd felt like the veracity of my explanation was being questioned.

"And I guess living right across the hall is weird. It's like sometimes I forget that the laundry room isn't just a part of my unit, instead of actually being in the hall."

He finished loading his clothes with the detergent and started the machine. I realized I had stopped unloading mine during my bizarre explanation. He began closing the gap so that there was only a yard separating us.

"I get it man," he said. "I think people get too caught up with jumping through all these formalities when we should just do what works for us, right? Like does it really matter if you wear a towel to grab your laundry? Who cares!"

He seemed oddly spirited, especially considering the hour. I wondered if he was amped up after having been frantically cleaning in preparation for his sister's arrival. I pulled the last few pairs of boxers into my hamper.

"I'm Luke, by the way," he said, extending his hand.

"I'm Beau," I replied as we shook. "Well, actually, Beauregard. But who would choose to go by that name?"

Luke smiled, showing his near-perfect teeth. He playfully tapped his fist on my bicep as he shook his head.

"Beau's a cool name," he said. "So, you live across the hall? That's convenient. I have to lug all my stuff down from the third floor."

I turned to better face Luke, leaving my hamper by my side. He looked down at my bare feet and seemed to smirk again. He slowly surveyed my body from my size fourteens to my pecs.

"You must lift all the time, huh?" he asked. "I wish I had that level of commitment."

"Every day," I said, trying not to sound conceited.

"Shoot, I'd walk around the whole damn building half-naked if I had your body."

I blushed again; he seemed to like that he was making me feel more embarrassed as he talked about my exposed physique. I wasn't sure if he had low self-esteem, or if he was just playing with me, but I didn't see anything wrong with his body. He wasn't a bodybuilder, but he obviously cared about his appearance.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked. "This must be weird for you, I guess. I should probably head back to my unit and leave you be."

"No, um, I mean," I fumbled. "I'm not embarrassed... just surprised."

Luke looked interested in what I was saying. He slyly glanced down at my crotch; I could tell he was taking stock on my fat rod through the towel even if he didn't want me to notice. My heart skipped a beat.

"It's like what you said earlier," I replied. "People should do whatever they want. Everyone gets too caught up on following convention. I mean, we're all born naked, so what's the big deal?"

It sounded much stupider than I had hoped, but Luke was acting like it was incredibly insightful with his nonverbal affirmation.

"Totally," he said. "Well, I really do have to get back to cleaning. Hope the rest of your night goes well, though. I'm sure we'll see each other around. It's a small building."

Luke gave one last big smile before he made his way out of the room. My knees wobbled as soon as the door shut behind him. I had to lean against the dryer to keep from collapsing. Once I regained some composure, I grabbed the hamper and bolted back to my apartment.