Books and boxes are strewn everywhere. Michael is exhausted and covered in sweat and dirt. But it’s not a shower that he’s thinking about right now. Right now, all he wants is a quiet moment. A quiet moment to himself to masturbate.

He’d just moved into his own place. Away from all the bullshit and drama of parents and college. He looked at his new abode... it would need a lot of work. But it was his. “Not yet,” he muttered to his own thoughts. He needed to christen the place. Make his mark.

He slipped his hand over his jeans and rubbed. He was already half hard. He smiled as he stroked his length through the fabric. Pausing to take something out of his pocket…. his wallet and , from that, a condom. At the sight of it, he felt his dick grow fully hard. Aching. Eager. And Ready. Something about condoms. The feel of the slimy latex on his dick. It made him so hot.

Next he looked around for a window sill or a wall or something to brace himself with. This wasn’t going to last long. Drunk on his own grungy scent, he grabbed the bar top ledge near the window, dividing the kitchen from the living room. Then he unzipped his fly and let his jeans fall to his ankles.

“Oh god. This is gonna be so good” he moaned out a whisper. He needed this. Cindy, his now ex, didn’t believe in sex before marriage and Michael didn’t believe in marriage. So after nine months of tension, it just fizzled out.

After ripping open the packet with his teeth, he slipped the condom down his hard length. He whimpered openly. There was no one here but him. He could make as much noise as he wanted.

Leaving a little room at the tip of the condom he flicked his dick and watched it bounce. Pressed it down like a lever to feel it (the torture) spring back up, sending surges of arousal in chills and shivers throughout his body.

Lifting his shirt over his head he pressed it to his face and inhaled his own scent.

The image of a stranger came to his mind. Well, not really a stranger but the young androgynous person he ran into at the laundromat with piercings and strange tattoos. Michael saw himself there, at the laundromat, the sounds of swirling washers and the drums of multiple dryers, like some sort of strange urban mating call, that made the androgynous person sink to his knees before Michael and take him into his mouth.

Just as the open mouth was to take him in, the image changed and he saw Cindy on her knees instead. Michael gave a gasp-like groan as he imagined her tongue over his dick. This was what he wanted so badly when they were together.

His nipples were agitated and as hard as his dick that he was stroking feverishly. He held Cindy’s head in place and fucked her throat hard. His anger at her denying him starting to surface. Thrusting hard he felt it about to burst, about to climax. He reached a hand up to play with his nipples. And with a long expletive moan he came, filling the condom with his seed.

Seconds later he opened his eyes, startled a little that he wasn't in the laundromat for real. And looked down to see that his load was making the condom slide off his quickly-softening dick. He pulled it off and tugged up his pants and zipped up. He smiled. He felt somewhat purified. His feelings about Cindy folded neatly as a memory rather than a jagged pain of shards of glass.

He yawned as he threw the condom away. “Time to unpack,” he said, stretching. “At least unpack a pillow, so I can take a nap.”

At a box labeled ‘bedroom,’ he pulled out a pillow and did just that.