Bonnie & Clyde at Starbuck's in SoHo

We had coordinated our watches while IM’ing each other in the morning. Or we had agreed to both set our watches precisely to the clock on New York One. I told you that seconds would count and you had to get a new digital watch with stop function for $12 on Canal Street just for the purpose of our encounter. When I first saw the watch on your wrist, it felt as if you were tied to me or us through the black strap on your wrist. We had entered the café five minutes apart to make things even less conspicuous than they already were. Because we were on a strict timetable, the pressure to fulfill all the assigned tasks according to schedule added to the thrill of doing something sexual and forbidden almost in plain view of the public.

I felt for the little camera in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. It was around ten o’clock on a rainy Thursday. Most of the tables weren’t taken, probably because people in SoHo didn’t wake up before noon if they didn’t have to be at work. The Starbucks on the corner of Spring Street was busy with people rushing in on their way to work, but very few of them lingered and had time to make themselves comfortable at one of the tables. It was a stretch for both of us to fit the realization of our plan in our busy schedules. We both had to travel from far away and would only have a relatively short time for what felt like a well planned bankrobbery. Until the last minute, I was doubtful whether the subways would cooperate or whether something unexpected like an “out of order”-sign would throw everything off. I was still doubtful whether one or both of us would actually come –“come” as in “coming” or “cuming”- because it is hard to reach an orgasm quickly … on demand … and (almost) in public. But the whole perversity made our plan worth it and I was sure that both of us had come often and hard while fantasizing about our plan and that today’s “job” (still thinking in terms of the Bonnie & Clyde metaphor) would be the beginning of a string of other, similarly arousing encounters.

You didn’t seem nervous at all when you walked into the Starbuck’s, almost to the second on time, your hair a little wet from the drizzle outside. I imagined that the wet curls of your pubic hair might be as moist as your hair. You seemed as composed as when you were presiding over the conversation with your brother and his girlfriend in the “Red Rail”. I looked at the black girls behind the cash register and the coffee bar to check whether they had picked anything up. But how should anybody guess that we knew each other? I had the Times on my lap. I was still on the first page, because I hadn’t been able to concentrate on the subway ride into the city. I thought about your subway story … the fact that we both came from Brooklyn on the subway on the same morning … me covering my erection in the subway with the Times on my lap that very morning. That very second I knew that I already had a plan for another encounter which would follow if our Starbuck’s plans succeeded.

I regretted that I hadn’t paid attention for a second. You had already paid for a coffee or tea, did it really matter? I had gotten the cheapest herbal tea, appropriately named “Passion”, and I wasn’t planning to finish my cup. You looked for a seat. You started to appear nervous. Nobody noticed, but I did. I liked it. Maybe you doubted whether we should go along. Maybe you were anxious. I imagined how fast your heart was beating. I liked it. I checked my watch. You sat down. It didn’t matter where. From now on you had only three minutes to get up. From my seat near the window I could watch both the only entrance to the Starbuck’s and the hallway leading to the phones and the restrooms. We had agreed not even to look at each other, in case anybody would notice that. We just looked around, taking it all in, studying the faces of the other people, who were completely clueless that both of us would be moaning, screaming and getting off in a couple of minutes.

My stop watch showed 3:04. You got up, again a little too hasty, a little too fast. You walked up to the coffee bar. The black girl shot you a glance. You reached for the key with the wooden panel attached to it. She lowered her eyes. You took the key out of the basket. The white paper cup on the table were you had sat was still steaming. I looked at your ass while you were walking along the bar and then disappearing in the hallway leading to the two restrooms. I didn’t know which one you would use. I would knock four times, two times long, two times short. In exactly three minutes. That was the time you had to take your pocket vibrator out and get completely naked.

We had agreed not to speak at all. We would only speak in an emergency, if we were caught and had to make quick arrangements. The only exception was talking dirty, as in “Take your dick out!”, “Show me your prick!”, “Spread your cuntlips for me, slut!” We both hoped that we would get off, but our plan was primarily about the job which had to be done. I reached again for the small camera. 36 shots of highly sensitive 800 ASA film. How long would it take us to snap all these shots?

Time was up. I stood up, followed you, without looking at anybody. I wasn’t nervous. I had been in similar situations in the past, although not in the last year, because school didn’t allow for it. I decided to try the second door first. I had checked out the bathrooms before and they were both large. I was sure that they were still clean, because it was early in the morning. I thought of your naked body and my cock stiffened inside my jeans. I wasn’t anxious at all. I enjoyed what we were doing and I was proud that we had the guts. I knocked, the door opened and I pushed in quickly. Everything happened so quickly that somebody would have had to walk two steps behind me in order to realize what went on. The black girls behind the cash register didn’t notice, didn’t give a damn or thought I went to make a phone call. They would probably giggle if they would know that you were waiting completely naked right behind that door.

You were hiding behind the door and you were trying to cover your crotch and your breast with your hands. I pulled both of your arms behind your back. You instantly reached for my cock. I slapped your ass. We had agreed on a plan in which order we would shoot the pictures. It had to be clear that we were in a public bathroom, preferably a Starbuck’s bathroom, as if this could happen anywhere, any time. As if each woman and each man heading for the Starbuck’s bathroom could be walking into their private orgy room.

I pushed you against the sink in front of the mirror, grabbed one of your legs and put it up on the sink. You had to lean against the wall not to lose your balance. I looked through the viewfinder. You were unsure were to put your arms. I saw part of myself in the mirror over the sink.

“Bitch, spread your cuntlips for me!”

You hesitated. I took your hand. Your fingers were cold and your pussy lips seemed glued together. I took the bottle of lube out of my jacket, put a couple of drops on my finger and reached for your clit. You moaned and your posture softened. I took a step back. You sighed with rebellion. I aimed the camera lens at you.

“Spread your cuntlips!”

You complied. The shutter rattled.

“Wider!”

Click-click.

“Squeeze your nipple with the other hand!”

You didn’t know where to look.

“Look right at me!”

Your moved slowly.

“Rub your clit … and smile!”

I heard steps on the hallway. I knew that the door was locked. You didn’t even notice the noise outside. Your face was on fire.

“Employees must wash hands”. I wanted to have the sign in some of the pictures. Too bad that there wasn’t one Starbuck’s logo to be found in the whole bathroom. I pushed you under the sign. This time you were clever enough to place your foot on the silver aluminum reeling for the disabled. I threw you the little pocket vibrator which had been balancing idle on the edge of the sink. I cursed. The damned thing was so small that it wouldn’t show on the pictures. It let out a whimpishly humming sound. You placed it near your clit. I snapped three pictures. I looked at my stop watch. We had been in this bathroom together for ten minutes and you had gotten the key thirteen minutes ago. When would the black girls notice that the big key wasn’t in the basket anymore?

I pointed towards the toilet bowl. You sat down. I pushed your knees apart, as wide as possible and handed you the vibrator. I opened my fly, took out my dick and rammed it into your eager mouth. I jerked back your head by your hair. There were less than a dozen shots left on the roll.

“Now listen, Bitch. I want one with you just licking the tip of my dick. One with you kissing it gently. One with you sucking it and another one with you taking it all in. And don’t forget to look at me while you do it!”

I don’t know how close you were, whether you could come or whether you were paralyzed by anxiety. The longer we stayed in the bathroom, the higher the risk of somebody banging against the door and discovering us. I snapped the pictures. You jerked on my cock, furiously. I hoped that it was good for you, too. I tried to see whether the vibrator was still circling your clit. I felt my juices welling up in me and thought that you wouldn’t jerk me off with so much determination if you weren’t willing. I didn’t want to come over your face or body because I was thinking about the clean up which would prolong the time you would have to spend in the bathroom. You didn’t want other people to smell my cum on you later in the subway or at work. You still worked my cock. Now it was me who was on fire. Why should I ruin my orgasm by worrying about things which might not even be problems for you? We would talk about our encounter by e-mail, about every aspect of it and I trusted that we would be able to straighten it out in case there were any misunderstandings. You had me at the point where I just wanted to come. I couldn’t stop it anymore. A whole double-decker busload of SoHo tourists could have watched and I still would have just liked to explode.

You started grunting with the vibrations of your voice going straight into my cock. Did you know how close I was? Did you want me to come? What did you want?

I already pictured myself quickly leaving the bathroom, walking down the hallway, crossing the whole length of the café, not looking at the girls behind the counter, opening the door casually and then quickly ducking into the pedestrian traffic on the rainy sidewalk. It was like an out of body experience. I looked on your hand pumping my cock. Our eyes met. Had you been studying my face the whole time. I knew that I couldn’t hold back any longer. I thought about what I would write you and how I would describe my experience as soon as I reached my computer terminal at school. Part of our plan was a feedback e-mail as soon as we got to work or school, when the experience would still be raw and fresh.

I felt the first wave of my climax exploding in my dickhead, traveling down the shaft of my cock and hitting my spine like lightning. I looked down at you and waited for the first spurt of my cum to shoot out. I wanted to scream. You smiled.

*****

Appreciative of all kind of feedback, especially from women and couples in the NYC area