I’d gotten into a kind of rut: hitting the ABS on Fridays with the same old result. I’d buy five bucks of tokens, head back to the arcade and some sex-starved guy would suck my boner and balls through a glory hole. Yes, it allowed me to predictably blow a steamy load, but the predictability became almost boring.I could pretty much predict who would be my sucker. The early birds, those waiting in their cars for the store to open at 10 am, tended to be retirees, professionals, or clergy. They were great at servicing a hard dick, took their time, and universally thanked me for my jizz. I liked these guys without ever seeing their shy faces.The guys on their knees between 3 and 5 pm tended to be blue-collar workers. Not to be negative, but these cocksuckers always seemed to be in a hurry (? had to get home to the little lady) and frequently asked to be fucked. Fine, but topping a hairy crack was not my thing.And then things changed. Donna was asked by her sister to babysit the niece and nephews for a week while her sister recovered from knee surgery. Oh, my! How could I possibly get by for seven days and six nights? I’d starve, I’d run out of clean clothes and I’d forget to set the alarm. Right.As it turned out, I had a tough install the Friday Donna Escort left town. Between the installation taking almost six hours and the need to make an airport run, my routine of blowing a load at the ABS was interrupted. On the way back from the airport, the little brain ensconced in my little guy’s head told me to swing over to the ABS, some four miles out of the way. My big brain told me I was pooped, hungry, and I had seven days to satisfy my lust. No rush.I was actually starving and needed a cold beer. As I drove down Old 25, I passed an Applebees, an O’Charleys, and a Red Robin. No doubt I could get a burger and a beer, but I was in no mood to sit around with a bunch of soccer parents and their bratty kids. Thankfully there was a Hooters on the next block. What came to mind were cold brews, a basket of wings and tight asses in tiny orange shorts.Although the parking lot was pretty much full, thankfully there was no waiting line inside. A cute twenty-something greeted me and asked whether anyone would be joining me. I answered to the negative and without thinking stated I was just one of those old pervy dudes who come in to ogle the waitresses. She laughed and said over her shoulder as she was taking me to a booth: “Yep, I Escort Bayan can spot ‘em a mile away. Janet will be your waitress.”Janet was surprised in that she both did and did not fit the stereotype of a Hooters girl. On one hand, she had the body style of a cheerleader: maybe 5’ 2” with small perky breasts and what my older brother used to call star gazers (high-set erect nipples). Her orange spandex shorts were two sizes too small and hiked up to accentuate luscious camel toes split by the inseam. On the other hand, she was thirty-five, maybe even forty. Great looking with raven-colored hair and porcelain skin.She too asked if anyone would be joining me. When I said no, I could have sworn she licked her lower lip. Nah, I’m just horny, I mused. Besides, I’m here for food, not pussy. I ordered a Bud, a dozen hot wings, and fries.I didn’t see much of Janet other than when she brought me a second Bud and ultimately the check. She asked if there was anything else she could bring me. I thought, “Hell, yes. How about some poon!”She lingered, once again bit her lower lip, and then went back to work. Instead of the usual cutesy thank you message and a drawn heart, there was a handwritten note to text her and a phone number. I paid, Bayan Escort left her a generous tip, and shoved the receipt into my shirt pocket.All I could think about on the way home was Janet’s small orange work shorts and her full labia displayed proudly for all to see. I imagined running my cock head up and down the seam, adding my precum to her musty wetness. By the time I pulled into the garage, I had a raging boner and an expanding three-inch circle of wetness on my khakis.I needed a cold shower ASAP, both to wash off the work grime, but additionally to cool my jets. I knew that if I didn’t get this woman out of my head, I’d do something I’d regret. You see, I had promised myself years before that I’d never cheat on Janet. I know what you’re thinking. Is this the same guy that gets his cock sucked every Friday at an ABS? Isn’t this the same guy who sucked a total stranger’s dick not more than a month ago and even let this stranger top him bareback, breeding him deep and raw? Yes, to both questions; but somehow I’ve rationalized it.I dug the receipt with Janet’s number out of my shirt pocket and threw it in the trash.As far as I was concerned, Janet was old history, so I no longer needed a cold shower. I hopped out of my clothes and tossed them into the hopper, making sure my khakis with the drying precum spot was on top: a reminder to wash them before Donna returned. I turned on the shower and added the steam function. By the time I hopped in, the shower was toasty warm.