I do something i shouldnt i feel stupid
I’ve been feeling different lately. Braver. More curious. I’m not sure if it’s right, but I’m still enjoying it. Today had already been a lot… but on the drive home, I found myself doing one more thing.
—
The afternoon had already felt charged.
I’d been in the clothes store with my boyfriend earlier, in that too-short plaited skirt, knowing I wasn’t wearing panties after slipping them off in McDonald’s. The changing room moment had been mine alone — private, frantic, leaving me flushed and shaky when I stepped back out to him.
I thought that would be it for the day.
But driving home, the early evening light stretching across the road, I saw it.
The roadside lay-by.
Empty.
No cars.
It was just part of the route to my parents’ house — a squat brick toilet block I’d barely noticed before. But over the last few days, the thought had started to stick. What would it be like to walk into the men’s room? To sit there in the wrong place, in the quiet, just because I could?
I slowed before I’d even decided. My indicator clicked, gravel crunched under the tyres, and suddenly I was parked.
The men’s entrance was around the side, half-hidden from the road. I glanced over my shoulder — nothing but trees, the faint hum of traffic far away — and stepped inside.
The smell was sharp with disinfectant, the air faintly damp. My footsteps echoed on the tiles. Urinals lined one wall, the paper towel bin slumped in the corner. My pulse quickened, though I didn’t know why.
I went to the nearest cubicle, stepped in, locked the door, and sat down.
Cool seat, skirt falling loosely over my thighs. I pressed my knees together, listening — to the fan, to my breathing, to the silence. No footsteps. No door opening.
After a minute, I stood and smoothed my skirt back into place, stepping outside into the warm air. My cheeks felt hot. My chest was tight.
Back in the car, I felt it wash over me — the rush, the tingling heat in my stomach. Addictive.
I’d barely driven a minute before I spun the wheel, turned back, and pulled in again.
Still no cars.
Still empty.
The second time, it felt sharper. I walked in quickly, almost before I could think, shut myself in the same cubicle, and sat down again — hands resting lightly on my thighs, heartbeat quick and hard. This wasn’t about needing to be here. It was about choosing to come back, and the way that choice made me feel.
Then — footsteps.
The outer door creaked open, heavy on its hinges. I froze, every muscle going rigid. The sound of shoes on the tiles echoed closer, steady, deliberate.
My chest tightened — but so did something low and deep inside me. My breathing slowed to near nothing, my ears straining.
The steps stopped by the urinals.
A zipper.
The splash of water against porcelain.
I was terrified… and so turned on I could barely think. Each sound seemed to slide straight under my skin — the faint shuffle of feet, the quiet, private rhythm of what he was doing, the almost shocking intimacy of hearing something I shouldn’t. My thighs pressed together instinctively, the cool seat grounding me.
I stayed perfectly still, afraid even the smallest movement might give me away, but inside I was thrumming with heat. It felt like my heartbeat had dropped into my stomach, deep and insistent.
Then silence.
A pause.
The footsteps started again, crossing the tiles toward the door. The hinges groaned, and the door closed behind him.
I sat there for another half-minute, my pulse still racing, my whole body awake and aching.
When I finally stood, my knees felt unsteady.
Stepping out into the open air, I felt alive in a way that was addictive. The danger, the wrongness, the fact that I’d come back for more — it all tangled into one sharp, restless hunger.
But walking back to my car, a different thought started to creep in.
Why was I doing all this?
Was it just for myself… or was I trying to impress the strangers who read my stories?
Maybe it’s time I stopped.
🔞 Candy.AI 🔥 AI Sex Chat – Roleplay, Erotic Stories, Try for Free 🕹️