KissingI’m a simple guy.  I like simple pleasures: a cold bottle of beer on a hot summer evening, coffee first thing in the morning, sleeping-in on the weekends, accidentally getting free cable, etc. This is a story of how I experienced one such simple pleasure.  Today, with no intention of seeking it out, I was able to enjoy some girl-on-girl action.

It all began easy enough.  I was at work and I went to take a shit in the bathroom (I’m not going to mince words about it).  Due to various office politics and behind the scenes manipulations, I no longer use the men’s room on my floor.  So I had to choose to go up to the ninth floor or down to seven. Oh faithful reader, my body quakes just thinking about if I’d chosen to go downstairs—how things would never be the same.

As soon as I walked into the completely empty men’s room, I could tell something was different, a kind of electricity was in the air, but I brushed it off and went about my business.  The slam of the metal bathroom stall door, the clang of the toilet seat, the rustling of the newspaper, and then silence…wait, there was something.  It was muffled.  It sounded like… “Is that a woman crying?” I thought, and then realized it was coming from the women’s room that was right next door.  My mind immediately flashed to the cliché of an emotion distraught young lady weeping in the bathroom stall, her purse by her feet and a Kleenex in her hand (to wipe away the running mascara).  The sound grew louder, the voice more passionate.  It was a sound that every man knows, either from first hand experience or Kim Cattral’s impressions—it was the sound of a woman in the midst of a full blown orgasm.

Immediately I began texting a coworker: “I’m in the bathroom on 9 and someone is getting it on in the women’s room.”

“No way!” He shot back.

I then realized that in between the female voice’s passionate moans, there was no gruff male voice.  “He must be the silent type,” I thought to myself. And that’s when I heard a distinctly different woman’s voice saying what sounded like “Do you like that?”

“I think its two women,” I texted to my coworker.

“SHUT UP! Two women????” He responded.

I listened to the orgasmic cries for a minute or two longer, until the woman making them yelled what I, whoever was doing whatever to her, and probably most of the ninth floor of 149 Madison Avenue already knew: “You’re making me come so hard!”  After which there was some more murmuring, confirming that it was two women, and then the sound of much pumping of the paper towel dispenser.

As I flushed I heard the door of the women’s room open and close and again as I was washing my hands.  They were leaving separately so as not to seem “together.” Smart. I caught a glimpse of one of them I was leaving the men’s room. She was tall, thin, with blonde curly hair.  Yeah, she was good looking—that made it even hotter.
When I got back to the office, my coworker demanded details. At each aspect of the story, he ohhed and awwed.  At the part where I quoted her climatic line about coming so hard, he punched the air.  I told another coworker via instant messenger.  “Wait…” He typed.  “Right now?!”  I then saw him run past my open office door.   “This is a dream,” a friend said when I gave him an early draft of this post.  “I’m holding a dream in my hands right!”

Why are we men so obsessed with lesbianism?   What would I do if I’d gone in there? There are two women getting each other off without even thinking of a man. And I’m a pretty sure that if I tried to join in—they wouldn’t let me.  I honestly don’t know what the attraction is. I just know it’s hot! And this was the best Friday (at work anyway) ever.