It was a slow Tuesday.
The air inside "The Suds & Silk Dry Cleaners" was a stifling humid soup of industrial-grade detergent and pressurized steam, a recipe ripe for heat induced suffocation and certain depression.
It was certainly the case for one Quill Steven, the only attendant in this particular laundry mart.
Sighing, Quill wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the smell of bleach on his skin not phasing him.
He was a twenty-four year old college dropout and had been working at this job for the past two years to pay off the debt his dead father had left him, the old man having never informed him of collecting such a massive amount of loans.
He and his dad had never been close but the banks didn't care about that when they would deduct the payout of that month.
Cleaning his hand on a damp rag, he glanced toward the front window.
The "Open" sign flickered weakly in the rapidly darkening daylight.
Satisfied that no one was approaching, Quill reached into a wicker basket labeled
Express Service: Mrs. Gable.
You see, Quill didn't have a lot of good things in this life.
His mother had abandoned him when he was barely a year old and his dad had been a mean drunk for years after she left.
Quill had practically raised himself and even managed, even with his a bit higher than average grades to get into a cheap enough college and had dreams of studying, finally talking to a girl, graduating and getting a good job when he was out
But John had to go and die on him in the midst of a bar fight two years ago like the dick he was.
Hence, Mommy issues and daddy issues, plus the isolation of not having any friends and having ot work day and night, had left him with no other option but to become a pervert to stay sane.
And not just any pervert. Noooo, he was the pant sniffing, nose bleeding and general women obsessed but still a virgin kind of pervert.
It was a solitary existence but he made due.
And with the kind of job he had, he had the best means of acquiring what he needed to sate his cravings.
Case in point the used load In front of him.
Mrs. Gable was a high-powered Business oriented divorcee who lived two blocks away in a luxury apartment, who also had a penchant for expensive, silk-satin lingerie that cost more than what Quill made in a month .
Hands trembling in anticipation, he pulled out a pair of deep emerald-green panties from the pile of clothes.
"Fuck yes," he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
This was his ritual.
The illicit thrill that kept him from ending his miserable life and jumping off a bridge into the polluted city river.
He didn't have a girlfriend to take out all his perverted desires on nor did he have the confidence to approach any woman who wasn't a character in an otome game.
So this had to do.
With a small sigh, he brought the fabric to his face, closing his eyes.
The scent hit him—a mix of expensive floral perfume and the warm, salty tang of a woman's body.
A low groan escaped his throat.
His dick, already straining against the cheap polyester of his work trousers, throbbed with a rhythmic, demanding heat.
'God, just once,' He thought, his mind spiraling into a familiar, dark fantasy of storming into Mrs. Gable's apartment and throwing her down on her own floor where he would have his dirty little way with her while she broke from the force of his lust.
'Just once to be the guy who gets to take these off her instead of the guy who has to scrub the stains out.'
But he knew better.
He was a loser.
He washed people's shit because they didn't want to do it themselves and he had never even been approached by a girl back when he was in school if it didn't have anything to do with class assignments and the fact that he didn't meet the beauty standards of society today didn't make it any better.
He had no prospects.
He was in debt.
He only had this.
"Andddd there goes the mood." He huffed, bringing the panties down from his face with a frown.
He couldn't even beat his meat without letting his cynicism and depression get in the way!
With a curse that would surely make his absent mother blush, he shoved the emerald silk back into the basket, eyes automatically moving to the back of the store where the manager's office was located.
He couldn't let anyone find out about his more….. deviant proclivities.
If he lost this job, he lost not only his source of survival but his only connection to the feminine world, however pathetic and vicarious it was.
As if on cue, the chime above the door rang, a sharp, metallic ping that made Quill nearly jump out of his skin.