There’s a Circle K open 24 hours just over 100 meters from my dorm. Except for midday when the sun blasts straight into the eating area, the place is almost always packed at other times. I’m obsessed with their cà phê sữa—super strong and thick. Out of ten times I drink it, I get caffeine jitters nine times.
Even a lazy guy like me occasionally feels the urge to leave the dorm and do something vaguely useful. Early Saturday morning, I hauled my laptop to Circle K to set up camp. I ordered a large iced cà phê sữa and a sweet pastry, then headed upstairs to the seating area.
In my imagination, the place would be empty. It was quiet—only five or six customers—but everyone sat alone. Same as me; I didn’t want to share a table. After looking around, I sighed in relief when I saw the corner table still free.
I sat down, set up my laptop, and hunted for a power outlet. That’s when I realized why the table was empty: the outlet here was dead. Plugging in did nothing—my laptop stayed off.
At the table next to me sat a guy with glasses—bookish, fair-skinned, probably my age. He watched me fumble with the plug for a while, then said: “That one’s broken. This side’s free. Hand it over.”
He meant pass him the charger so he could plug it in for me. My laptop finally powered on. I breathed a real sigh of relief. I’d brought notebooks and pens to take notes—though I wasn’t sure I’d ever look at them again after today, or if they’d just end up collecting dust.
Every now and then I stole glances at the guy next to me. Maybe because he’d helped me, but damn—he was handsome. Eyes focused behind his glasses, staring at his screen with total concentration. That serious look made his masculine face even colder, and I got completely hooked without realizing.
A while later, another customer came upstairs. Habit made me glance toward the stairs. It was a guy who’d clearly just finished a morning run—stopped by Circle K for a drink and a break. Tank top clinging to his sweaty body, short tight shorts, running shoes. He stood at the stairs scanning for a seat, but the only empty one was mine.
He looked around the whole place. When his eyes landed on me, our gazes met. I panicked and dropped my head back to my laptop. Then he started walking—straight toward my table. Just as I’d feared, he asked: “Mind if I sit here for a bit? Won’t be long.”
I nodded without looking up: “Sure, go ahead.”
He sat across from me. From that second on, I couldn’t focus on my notes at all. Sharp jawline, too attractive. Forehead still dotted with sweat that hadn’t dried. Shirt soaked in patches. But from him came a clean, cool scent—definitely some kind of cologne.
He munched on his pastry. I kept my face down toward my notebook, but my eyes kept flicking up, secretly watching him. Every time he caught me staring, I pretended to type furiously or scribble something to cover. He obviously knew, but just smiled—didn’t seem annoyed at all.
I thought to myself: This one’s mine.
The table was square, legs round, connected to the top by a thick metal pole. Sitting here forced me to spread my legs wide on both sides. I have a habit of bouncing my leg—no matter where I sit, it’s always shaking.
When I was alone it was fine, but now with someone across from me I tried to control it. Still, habits die hard. One small slip and my knee knocked into his. I panicked and froze—knees locked tight against the pole under the table.
After a while, nothing happened, so my legs slowly relaxed. Then—unexpectedly—he gently pressed his knees against mine. His legs were spread even wider than mine, so both my legs ended up trapped between his.
One press, two, three… He kept closing his knees until they touched mine, then opened them again. Sometimes he held the contact for two or three seconds before releasing. I’ve always been insanely turned on by secret teasing in public places like this. Less than thirty seconds after he started, my cock was already protesting under the table.
I was in the corner—left side his table, right side the wall. Across from my right leg was his left. His other leg was still moving, but this one had been pressed against me the whole time. The warm skin-on-skin contact sent my hormones into overdrive. He was probably the same.
I held my pen, tip down, resting the end on my chin like I was thinking deeply. In reality, all my attention was on the point where our knees met. Suddenly the guy next to me stood up fast. I nearly jumped out of my skin—like a thief caught red-handed. I flinched so hard my pen fell. The guy across from me jumped too.
Turns out the glasses guy hadn’t noticed anything—he just needed the bathroom after drinking too much. I sighed in relief, quickly bent under the table to pick up my pen. But before I found it, I saw his pen—sticking out of his shorts leg, fully hard and twitching teasingly.
Seeing me bent down, he started bouncing his leg again—knees opening and closing. His cock followed the rhythm, sliding in and out of his shorts leg, rubbing between fabric and thigh. Pre-cum had already leaked several drops—he was clearly getting off on the friction.
I “searched” for my pen forever, secretly wondering if I should say: “I lost my pen—can I borrow yours for today?” His leg bounced faster, veins popping on his cock from arousal. The glasses guy still hadn’t come back—maybe he got the runs.
He showed no sign of stopping. Was he planning to cum right here? The thought made me nervous—four or five people still around, plus cameras. If he came under the table, no one would know… but how would he leave with a load of cum all over his thighs?
Before I could finish the thought, I saw his abs clench hard—probably from breathing too fast. Then his cock twitched violently. Yup—he was about to cum right here. I braced for the worst: a sticky mess on the floor that someone would definitely notice.
Then suddenly, his hand reached down, holding a towel. Must’ve been the one he used to wipe sweat during his run. He spread it and brought it to his cockhead. One more twitch—and thick white ropes shot out. Four or five strong spurts before he stopped.
I finally found my pen and sat back up. The people around didn’t seem to care—probably had no idea what just happened. And if they did… he clearly wasn’t scared. If you’re bold enough to do it, what’s left to fear? The glasses guy still hadn’t returned—maybe he really did get the runs.
He cleaned up, tucked himself back in, folded the towel (now only a quarter of its original size), set it on the table, and shot me a knowing smile. I felt a strange admiration—not just for his 15cm monster cock I’d glimpsed, but for his sheer courage doing this in public, and the clean, quick cleanup that left no trace.
With his snack and drink finished, he gathered his trash and left—leaving me with a still-hard cock that refused to go down and a memory I’d never forget!