Bathroom Delight

In my fantasies it was always more spontaneous and oddly romantic. But real life is always more crude, isn't it?

When he stepped off the escalator the first words out of his mouth were "where's the bathroom?" No hello-darling-I'm-so-happy-to-see-you. Or look-how-delicious-you-look-I-must-taste-your-juices-immediately. Nope. Just "where's the bathroom" as though he was asking where I had parked the car. I said this way and started to walk in the direction of the family restroom I had scoped out over a year ago. The one I always imagined myself in every time I rehearsed this fantasy in my head. The thing is, I had never actually been inside this particular bathroom so I hadn't really thought out all the technicalities.

We got to the baggage claim area and there were your usual men's and women's rooms and then the one family room to the side. You know, the kind where you can lock the door behind you. As we approached the entrance a man stepped up to the door and went inside. I found it kind of humorous but Papi seemed exceedingly irritated at the lout for interfering with our Bathroom Delight, as he had dubbed our covert operation. He huffed and gave me a look, one of those looks that makes me kind of jittery and feel like I have to make everything OK, so I suggested we have a seat and just wait our turn.

We made our way over to the Eames bench seats just like the ones you find in every other baggage claim area at thousands of airports around the world. There was an older couple next to us who were too tired to stand with the baggage vultures at the carousel. We anxiously watched the door waiting for our gentleman friend to exit. Didn't he know that was our airport love nest? Papi seemed more agitated than excited. He grumbled something about what would happen if people saw us enter together. I had never noticed that there was a very busy baggage claim office immediately adjacent to the bathroom that shared a flimsy sheet rock wall. Sure, he was right to think of the possible consequences, which, were we to be discovered, would have impacted him more severely than I. I don't doubt the Transportation Security Administration would find a big old black trans man caught fucking a pasty white genetic girl in a public facility to be a great threat to national security. But right now his fretting and crankiness was bringing me down and what had started as a sense of thrill and adventure and arousal was fast turning into an ordeal.

Our friend was taking a long time, perhaps having his own personal Bathroom Delight, and we were now both equally impatient. I was nearly about to go knock on the door so I could just get the whole thing over with when a well dressed white couple with matching baggage walked up to the door and started their own line. Papi and I looked at each other wryly, both pissed that our turn in line had just been bumped by two yuppies and amused that apparently we weren't the only couple who wanted to use the family bathroom. Unfortunately for us, Bathroom Delight etiquette dictated that we wait our new turn in line or move on.

Before giving up altogether we decided to go check out the bathroom situation on the new wing of the airport. We followed the restroom signs until we got to what appeared to be just the usual men's and women's facilities. I really had to pee by now so I said I was going in. As I got closer I saw that there was indeed a family room but it was tucked away in the entrance to the men's room. Go figure. So I quickly darted in, the only thing on my mind being that I had to pee. A second later I realized that Papi may not have noticed that it was the Bathroom Delight door so I stuck my head back out to tell him. He scowled at me and snapped "I know!" I felt really stupid and awkward like a high school freshman trying to act smooth before losing her virginity to her senior boyfriend.

I went back in and locked the door while I peed and pondered whether I should unlock the door and risk some stranger walking in, or lock it and hope Papi would knock. I decided what the fuck, who cares if someone walks in and unlocked the door. There was a little metal bench kinda thing so I sat on there and fumbled around in my bag for some gum. A second later Papi walked in and I felt very relieved to finally be alone with him without all the airport people looking at us thinking "those two are looking for a bathroom to fuck in, I just know it."

Now at this point in the fantasy I had always imagined my lover overwhelming me passionately with kisses while backing me up to the sink. He would hoist me up effortlessly (well, it is a fantasy after all!) and my ass would rest comfortably in the cold porcelain bowl while he fucked me. But the thing about fantasies is they don't have to take into account the reality of lost baggage offices, disgruntled lovers and the physics of hefty fuckees. Not to mention automatic eye sink faucets and self flushing toilets.

Papi hung his jacket on the hook conveniently placed on the back of the door and stood in the middle of the room taking in the situation. He said "the one at the Philly airport would be better... it has lots of wall space." I guess in his mind the fantasy had involved wall space, something that had never occurred to me. Here we had a door, a sink with a large mirror mounted above it, a toilet with a long handrail running next to it, a changing table that popped down on the wall, a large used sharps container for needles, a paper towel dispenser, and that metal seat. But no free wall space. We spent a good two or three minutes just looking around and wondering what to do next.

I smiled up at him from the funny seat shelf thing, trying to convey my appreciation for the fact that he was doing something that made him anxious and uncomfortable in order to fulfill my fantasy, but I think what came across was probably more an appearance of naivete and thoughtlessness. I wanted so bad just to wrap my arms around him and kiss him and tell him thank you and I love you and let's just hold each other for a while right here in the middle of this airport family bathroom. But right about then he said brusquely "stand up."

I did so. I wasn't really sure where to put my body in the tight space. I saw myself in the mirror and quickly looked away. I felt awkward and was beginning to regret ever telling him about this fantasy. Suddenly it felt like a lot of pressure to try to live up to the expectations of my own dream.

"Turn around," he said matter of factly and motioned with a twirling pointer finger for me to rotate toward the changing table. His directions confused me, not knowing what would happen next, but were reassuring as well. He was in control. I could relinquish the responsibility to make sure everything turned out ok. As long as I did what I was told it would all be fine.

As I faced the wall he reached around me and grabbed both my wrists in one hand while he leaned into me. I relaxed face first into the changing table, which felt kind of silly and kind of sexy at the same time. The top edge made a nice ledge to rest my arms on. He slopped kisses and rough nips on my neck while his free hand slid up under my skirt. He kneaded my ass like play dough once or twice and then he was grabbing at me through my panties. I could feel the lacey thin fabric slide between his fingers and my pussy, already slippery and wet from my juices. A second later I felt a quick yank and heard a rip as he tore my panties off my body. I could hear male voices as they exited the men's room, and I knew I had to stifle my sounds as a loud gasp escaped me. I bit down on my own wrist, sounding like a snuffling horse as I began to breath through my nose.

Without any fanfare he stuck two fingers inside my cunt and began to fuck me briskly. I could still feel his breath on my neck and his chest heaving against my back. I arched my lower back and ground my ass into his groin. His hips automatically began to rock against me in a rough thrusting motion that pushed me up against the changing table with a slight thumping noise that we both knew would grow louder if we kept at it.

Suddenly he pulled his fingers out of me as quickly as he had shoved them in. He told me to turn around and I did. "Lean over" he said, nodding his head toward the bench. I bent over with my elbows on the hard metal and my ass sticking up in the air behind me. I felt self conscious since I had on a short skirt that certainly must have revealed every tiny freckle under those bright bathroom lights. And even though my Papi is most definitely an ass man I'm self conscious about that particular view nonetheless.

He placed one hand on my hip and the other he forcefully shoved inside both holes as my face was pushed down onto the cold stainless steal. He fucked me hard and fast and deep, and it hurt. It hurt and I didn't want him to stop. To the contrary, I wanted him to fuck me harder. But since I was restricted from saying so by the surroundings, I tried to convey this by pressing myself deeper onto his hand. He began to fuck me like a piston so fast and hard that I was forced to crawl up onto the shelf as I tried to get away from the very thing I craved. My arms were wrapped around my head now and my neck bent forward into the corner of the wall. I felt like I did as a small child hiding under my desk in an air raid drill: trying to protect myself from an unpredictable force that I knew I was powerless against.

The angle of his wrist that this position necessitated made each thrust sting as it pulled and stretched the sensitive skin around my asshole and cunt. My hands somehow found the wall mounted sharps container and then I was crawling up the wall until I was standing on the seat, face and hands pressed flat against the plaster. He continued to fuck me, pausing to gently kiss my bare ass. His lips felt soft and warm in contrast to the cold, hard surfaces touching my skin. I wanted them all over me, hot and sweet and sucking.

"Turn around," he commanded. This sounded simple enough until I realized neither one of us intended for him to take his fingers out of me. Slowly I twisted my body around counterclockwise until I could feel his scruffy beard pressing against the outside of my left thigh. Then I lifted my leg over his head while he ducked and then I brought my foot down on the handrail. Once again the ADA proved equally useful for the able-bodied. Hunching down slightly he began to suck on my clit as he continued to treat me like his own personal puppet. I leaned my shoulders into the wall and pressed my pussy into his face. I wanted to cum for him so badly. It was so nice to see him, to finally be with him, to finally be here, I didn't want him to stop. I entwined my fingers in his twisties feeling the soft lamby hair at the base of his scalp and held his head against me as I thrust my hips back and forth. I was feeling woozy and dreamy and light headed when suddenly he turned to the right and bit down on the soft skin of my inner thigh. He sucked in my flesh and I gripped his hair; I wanted to scream and pummel him but I could only whisper "ouch Papi, you're hurting me."

"You like it when I hurt you," he replied with an a priori understanding I would nod my head in agreement.

I looked down into his eyes for a long while. He looked back at me dispassionately. And as long as he kept his fingers inside me I felt anchored and immobilized; tethered to this man who I was powerless against.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled his fingers out of me. The blood rushed from my head and I swooned. "Let's go home," he said.

"OK," I said and stepped down onto the floor. That must be what it feels like for a bird to land on the earth after soaring in the sky I thought. Everything looked so close and grounded.

As he washed his hands I thought about how handy it was to have a sink right there. We gathered our belongings and I picked up my panties, torn asunder and smelling like my pussy, and wrapped the lacey pink fabric around his neck.

"Nice ascot," I said.

"Why thank you Miss Pussy," he sassed back.

Then we walked out into the stream of men exiting the men's room and headed home.