It’s a Saturday in Dunedin. But this isn’t a story of a Saturday night where you go to a flat and get super wasted while eyeing up the person you want to end up fucking later. No, this story is different. It was the middle of the day – 12:34pm to be precise. I was working my shitty retail job, I had spilt something all down my top and customers had been yelling at me all morning. Instead of telling them all to get fucked (which would sadly result in me losing my job) I opted for a different approach. First I would change my top, but then I would be the one to get fucked. Stress relief, right?
My lunch break loomed, so I got changed and messaged the guy I’d been sleeping with recently, who just so happened to also be working a shitty retail job that day. I picked us up some food and decided to take it over to his work. We went to the top floor of the establishment, which was used mainly as a storage room, and has a great view of George Street, might I add. I ate my lunch in record time and suggested we have a quickie. Naturally he obliged.
Next thing you know, my skirt was over my head, his pants were around his ankles, and I was bent over a table, looking down on the general public doing their leisurely Saturday shopping. Life was good. I had quickly forgotten about my below average morning and the afternoon had definitely perked up. It was getting pretty heated, and right as things started to get harder and faster, the loud noise of a woman exercising her right to freedom of speech echoed down George Street. As I had a perfect view, I gazed out the window and lo and behold: it’s an anti-mandate protest.
Bit of a buzz kill, I'm not gonna lie. But the show must go on.
As the protestors marched closer and closer towards my upstairs sex attic, their chanting got louder and louder as the thrusting got harder and harder, and I was soon adding my own louder and louder moans to the chants. I also locked eyes with several young children who were a part of the protest (probably because their parents made them), which means the children experienced two things they probably didn’t want to that day.
But I didn’t want to think about that. I was trying to pretend the protestors' chants were not for the protest but in fact cheering us on, so with that in mind, we went a little harder and faster. Yet in an ironic twist, he decided to pull out right before he came. Like, right before. So, thanks to him behaving like a poorly trained snake charmer, I had my third outfit change of day as my backup top was… soiled.
In the end, my rage subsided, I had most likely traumatized some children for life, and I was forced to buy a new top (but hey, it’s actually really cute).
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