I left for work with very little time to spare this afternoon, having waited for an extra hour in case someone came to collect something (they didn't; I left it with my next-door neighbour: I shall have to check). As a result, I feared being late, and hurried to the bus stop. In my haste, I noticed when I sat down at the back of the bus, I'd forgotten to change into my work trousers - some pretty good ones which I'll be wearing at 'con tomorrow (after I've asked my dad to iron them, of course...).
I was still wearing my scrappy tracksuit trousers. This isn't the first time it's happened - I was also fairly sure that my boss wasn't going to be there, and nobody else mentions anything about my appearance.
It was only halfway through my shift, of course, that I noticed there was a large, obvious stain on the front of my joggers. A cum stain, in fact - it was still a little white. A big, white stain right across the knee.
And I know when it got there as well. I masturbated before leaving for work. A nice, functional wank culminating in a nice, functional orgasm. Three or four pulsations with some thick ropes of cum, accompanied by a few deep, breathy sighs. I didn't look to see where it had all gone once I'd wiped down my hands and stomach - I assumed, as you do, that I'd gotten it all.
Rookie mistake, ILB.
I fully intended to sponge it off once I got to the break, but completely forgot, opting instead for making myself a cup of sweet tea. Again I returned to a client-facing rôle, the offending article still in place, obvious to the onlooker and on display as I walked around. A giveaway for my transgression - the mark of shame, or pride, or lust. Whichever sin, really.
Only nobody said anything, because this is Britain.
And I'm counting myself fortunate that a washing machine hides any and all evidence of wrongdoing. Nobody need ever know... were it not, of course, for the fact that I've just put it on my blog.
Nine years, ILB. You've been doing this for nine years. You'd think that... by now...!