Define quickie.

Barely fifteen minutes: from the time I entered his house until the time I got out. I checked my clock.

I was supposed to meet someone else, but he stopped replying after I sent my photos. Oh well. But he lived two rides away and I wasn’t looking forward to going there under the afternoon heat. At least, supposedly meeting him gave me an excuse to get out of bed and take a shower.

I will need another shower when I get back home later.

So this other guy then invited me over, and he lived just a few hundred meters away. He insisted that I go to his place immediately because he was also going elsewhere afterwards.

He didn’t ask for my photos, I didn’t ask for his. We didn’t even ask each other’s names, aside from the usernames we used. I don’t know if he was disappointed; I wasn’t. He was a tall, cute, young otter.

And he wasn’t kidding when he said we should be done quickly. He admitted that his sister was on her way home and was in a mall less than a mile away. If it was really his sister. He was practically begging me to go out before I can finish putting my boxers on.

But no, it wasn’t disappointing at all. There was still a heady excitement in quickly trying to get away with something. It made up for the lack of finesse.

But if there is a next time, I want it to last longer. The guy was too pretty when undressed, too pretty for me to be content with merely a quickie.

And anyways, I still don’t know his name. I’ll ask for it maybe on our third encounter.