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Cody and Me In The Washing Machine

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It's a work in progress, please let me know your thoughts on it as it exists below, thanks for your time.


Let’s start with the basics: fifty cents for the little orange box of Tide, seventy five for the washing machine, another fifty for the dryer and my hands reaching in and out of every shot except for the dryer bit because I never got that far.
It’s like when you watch something on television and you see through the eyes of a character, sometimes you see their hands in the shot, like you’re them, although you’re not me. You wouldn’t want to be me cause I’m stuck inside a coin-operated washing machine. It’s not like I’m dying to get out though I’ve been here for a good ninety minutes. No, I’m enjoying this. By the way I’m not in the machine that’s got my clothes in it, no, that ones at the other end of the store, I’m in the one that she’s using although I don’t see her, she left shortly after the pre-soak cycle.
I’m here because I’ve seen her here before, in this laundromat, must be her favorite or most convenient. If you could still see through my eyes you’d be seeing this wet red polka-dot dress that I saw her wearing the last time she was in here. Though it’s damp and smells Tide-clean now I can still smell her skin and those menthol cigarettes I’ve seen her smoke on occasions. But maybe you can’t make out it’s color as it’s dark in here and it’s out of focus as it’s pressing against my nose, but I remember how it looks, it’s how I see her when my eyes are shut.
She always uses this machine, every time, I should know, but this is my first successful attempt at being inside. I was in here just fifteen minutes or so before she shut the door and popped the coins in. She could have left me to be with her dirty clothes for longer before the whole process began but that’s okay I can still smell her from her feet to her shoulders.
In here are three pairs of yellow ankle-high socks, four cotton panties in four different colors and styles, a pair of blue skinny jeans, a plain black top and that red polka-dot dress. I wish I could poke around and feel them but I don’t sense my body, maybe it’s numb from the spin-cycle or maybe because it’s lying on the floor by my machine across the store with her strapped on top of me. I guess that’s where we are, making love on the floor of the laundromat. Her, straight jet-black hair to her shoulders in zebra-frame glasses, me, just a lifeless corpse because I’m not actually there.
I could be there, but right now I’m stuck in her washing machine with her wet clothes waiting for her to come back, it’s been two hours now. I’m not waiting to be released I just want her to climb in here with me where we can be alone. She could tell me all the things that she’s done in these clothes, all the places she’s been and I’d have nothing to say. I don’t think I’ll be able to tell her anything. I would just listen to her until she ran out of sentences, until she remembered that her clothes needed drying and she would take me into the dryer with her where she would ask me why I’d been so quiet and I wouldn’t reply.
Jumping back to now as she returns opening the door, I forgot just how cold it was in the store before I climbed in. She is smiling at me, she notices that I’ve been waiting. That lingering of menthol cigarettes on her, she’s been smoking. She whispers to me that she’s sorry she took so long and that she is now ready to talk and enters the machine pulling the door shut behind her. I now know that my body is here as I can feel her warm thighs pressed against my lower back. She’s wearing a short wasabi-green dress and she’s barefoot as she left her shoes in front of the machine before getting in. She said that she didn’t want her heels jamming into my gut. With the way we both are positioned I don’t blame her although I wouldn’t have minded the discomfort.
She starts off by introducing herself, tells me her name is Cody and that she stars in adult films. She says I shouldn’t get her confused with the other Cody, Cody Lane as it’s merely a coincidence and that she’s not nearly as well-known so-to-speak as her. I knew that as she looks nothing like Cody Lane. She tells me that up till now she’s done mostly amateur stuff but is working her way through the business and seems truly enthusiastic about it. She asks me if I would do her and I nod yes then she apologizes for being too forward. She goes on about this story of how this afternoon she had to do anal for the first time on camera and how liberating it was for her then gets into telling me about her clothes just like I imagined.
She tells me that she wore the red polka-dot dress for the scene, the director seemed to fancy it. I want to tell her how I fancy it as well but I can’t seem to speak. I don’t think she minds my silence, she’s the type who would say something about it if it bothered her but I guess it doesn’t.
She talks about her yellow ankle-high socks and how she likes yellow socks because they remind her of her childhood, I don’t ask why and she doesn’t explain. She moves on to telling me about her skinny blue jeans that she wore last night when she went out to watch “The Forbidden Zone” at some independent cinema with her girlfriends and how she spilt nacho cheese on the crotch and how she tried to get rid of the stain by pouring on some diet coke, she says it turned her on.
By now we’ve been in here for half an hour, she says that it’s time to get out, the clothes need drying. She pushes on the door, it opens, she crawls out. I gesture that I need a hand and she reaches in to pull me out. There is no one else in the laundromat but us, it’s late night and still as cold as ever.
She stretches her damp body and tells me I should do the same for I had been in there for much longer, I do. She reaches over kisses me on the cheek and tells me that she likes the quiet type then proceeds to transfer the clothes in the washing machine to a dryer across from it. She asks me if I’ve got any quarters, I fish in my pocket and hand her two, she pops them in and asks me to join her in the dry-cycle, I nod yes.
It’s not as hot as you would think in here, we’re tumbling in low-heat. I’m still thinking of what I would say if it were to happen, if she were to ask me why I haven’t said a word yet but she hasn’t. She’s talking about how she loves meeting new people in new situations and that she’s never been inside a washing machine or dryer before today and that she wishes she could do this all the time. She asks me why we haven’t done this earlier like two weeks ago when she first noticed me take interest in her, I don’t reply.
She asks me if I can see us on the floor by my washing machine and why I chose not to be there with her. Why I trapped myself inside with her wet clothes waiting for her to join me, for her to tell me about herself and for me to do nothing but to listen. She asks me to say something and I do. I tell her that the woman resting on my body on the floor of the laundromat is not her. I tell her that she is nothing like her and that’s why I’m here. I’m here to find out more about Cody. She tells me that it is her and that she’’ll prove it.
Going back to the shots of me with the little orange box of Tide, emptying it out into washing machine number six with my dirty clothes in it. The seventy five cents for the load, me closing the door and hitting the button. She’s out the front in her wasabi- green dress smoking a menthol, I join her. She tells me that she’s ready, I tell her to finish her smoke.
Jump back inside where I’m setting up a video camera on a tripod with some lights, she enters locking the door behind her. I get down on the floor, she gets on top of me. We kiss then she undresses herself and moves her face to my crotch. I look in the camera knowing that it’s not recording, she unzips me. I ask her how old she is she says she’s nineteen but I know she’s twenty-something. She tells me her clothes are in the washer and that we have forty minutes, I tell her that’s fine. I could tell her that there’s no tape in the camera and that I don’t want to do this but I don’t.
Two weeks back when she noticed me staring I did talk to her, not in the washer but out front. That’s when she told me what she does and about the yellow socks and the nacho cheese stain on the crotch of her jeans. I told her that I worked at the laundromat and that I wanted to shoot us, she said she’d do it for a grand, I agreed. I told her it was for me and that no one else would get to see it, she said she was turned on to the idea and she could do with the extra cash.
Now I’m here still staring up into the camera while she’s riding me but I don’t want to be here, I’d rather be in the washing machine with her on the first day we met. Maybe this time I could be silent and just listen to her talk, I don’t need to say a word. We could meet every week in the laundromat in a washing machine and just talk but right now I’m here and we’re done.
She rests her head on my chest, she’s cold now like the room.
She says, “Do I still have to prove that I’m Cody?”
I say, “Never.”