Originally Posted by
jjgold
This would be about 9 years ago -- I'd just gotten a job in a new city, and so didn't really know anyone yet outside of work. I had a small bachelor apartment, which was almost completely unfurnished. At the time, I think I slept in a sleeping bag. I had a couch, a chair, a TV and TV stand, a lamp -- not much else. Sort of the bare essentials. No curtains either, by the way. That's important, so hold onto that.
As it turned out, the apartment complex I chose was in the middle of the gay district. Since I was new to the city, I hadn't known this. I'd been walking around town on my lunch hours at work, trying to find a place to live (I crashed at a friend's place my first few weeks until I found one). I eventually found a great-looking bachelor apartment, which was inexplicably $100 cheaper than any of the bachelors in the surrounding area. Hardwood floors, a deck, track lighting -- I couldn't believe my luck, and signed the lease right there on my lunch hour. It wasn't until my father brought the truck into town and helped me move in a week later, and we showed up to find two leather bull-queers necking in the lobby, that I realized what was going on. My father, I remember, gave me a long look -- waiting, I think, for me to officially come out of the closet right there in the truck. Much explaining ensued that I wasn't gay -- just an idiot who doesn't research apartments well.
As luck would have it, within a month of my moving in the landlord announced a total overhaul of all the decks by a construction crew. Suddenly the outside of my building looked like a war-zone, with lumber and cement mixers and dolleys running up the sides of the buildings. All the decks were ripped off the building, the doors were sealed up from the outside, and crews got busy laying the steel frame foundations for all the new decks. This took place over the course of months -- it's a thirty-storey building, with about eight apartments per floor, and a deck per apartment. So a little math tells you this wasn't finished in a day. As weeks turned to months, I stopped noticing them entirely.
One morning, I woke up hard, and I woke up early. Usually I trot off to the shower, have a little breakfast, get my shirt and tie pressed, and I'm off to work. This time I had a little time to kill, and so popped on the TV, found some hotty, got comfortable on the couch, and... well, started having some fun, if you catch me.
So I'm stroking away, and because I was already pretty revved up to begin with, it wasn't taking long. Tissues were at the ready. I revved up the pace a little, and...
...I orgasmed. Shot my load.
Just as four construction workers on a machine-lifted scaffolding appeared in my window to install my deck.
Sadly, I noticed this just before the load-shooting. As anyone who's shot a load or two will know, this isn't actually something you can stop. So, just as they appeared, and caught my eye, I... ejaculated in front of them.
Having done the deed, I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. So I very casually removed the tissues, gave a slight nod in their direction, as if to confirm their presence and pretend it was business as usual -- that gay construction workers watch me spank off every day from the window and this just happened to be their turn -- and casually waltzed into the bathroom.
You'd think this would be the end of the story. And well it should be, since it's already extremely, extremely embarrassing. And yet it's not the end of the story. Because since I'd rushed into the bathroom in a shamed state, I hadn't actually taken anything in with me. Like, say, clothes. I just had the underwear I was wearing. My only hope was to go about my morning bathroom routine very slowly, hoping they might move on before I finished so I could leave my bathroom and get a change of clothes.
I brushed my teeth. Hammering noises from outside. I showered. Drilling noises. I shaved. Silence. Ah!
I walked out in my underwear. The four of them were sitting around having coffee out of a thermos. Still there, of course. Still watching.
At this precise point I realized I'd simply have to get over this, and so went about the business of getting dressed in front of the construction workers. Pants, shirt, tie, socks. After I'd finished lacing up my shoes, I grabbed my briefcase and, turning to the window, gave a small bow.
They clapped.
That night I nailed bedsheets up against the windows.
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JJGOLD - Why are you moving around so often ?
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