6:58 AM – The unrelenting death march of corporate existence.
I’m late again. It’s to be expected I suppose, as I am uninterested in the inter-personal office masturbation that my workday consists of. I have to consider the possibility that I was lobotomized while sleeping or drunk. That’s the best way to explain how I can contently saunter through this insipid marathon called life. Happily pressing forth, even though my inevitable reward is only a comfy box that I get to lay in ‘til I’m dissolved into a cloud of dust and gas.
Jesus, employment seems to bring out the best in me.
I’m ashamed that I’m indulging in the cliché mindset of the corporate drone. I should be thankful, considering this place affords me a very comfortable lifestyle. Still, I wonder if the comforts I’m so lucky to have are supposed to go into the empty spot where my soul used to be. Perhaps I should remind myself that it could be far worse. I mean, I could be digging ditches for a living.
Sigh.
How long will today’s schizophrenic debate go on?
I have got to get some additional caffeine in me, and maybe a bear claw.
- BUMP -
What the hell? I know the lobby of this building is a popular place at the unholy hour of 7AM. However, I think there is enough room to navigate without the impromptu morning mosh-pit. Who just bumped into me? I’m going to freaking….
“I’m terribly sorry.”
Oh….
Hello disarming and feminine voice. How unfortunate. If it were some crotchety old man, I’d have had no problem screaming and spitting in his face. At least start the day off doing something different.
Hmm.
She’s quite lovely, actually. I think I’ve seen her before. Yeah, she works on the 28th floor with me.
“No biggie.”
Aren’t I smooth with the words this morning?
Wow, she is quite lovely. One would think that the conservative garb of the corporate zombie would not be flattering, but for her… A black designer skirt suit that hugs her body closely and a neckline that plunges just low enough. She has the tasteful accents of simple makeup, mysteriously suspended black hair pulled back into a knot, and a stunning face adorned with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s allowed one of those “whimsical” locks to find its way out; a perfect wedge of darkness framing her brow and resting on her pale cheek.
Is this one of those rare occurrences when the proverbial knock of opportunity is, well, knocking? That would be a terrible shame considering the best I brought to the table was “No biggie.” Interestingly, though, the mad conversation in my head has stopped. All my personalities must be getting a good gawk in.
Christ.
Probably best that she know me no further than our little collision. I am utterly insane.
7:02 AM – How to get lost standing in one place.
He moves his right hand slowly around her waist, pulling her closer. His left makes its way to the soft skin of her neck as her head tilts back. She is looking up at him now. Her mouth is slightly open, as are her eyes. She is not looking past him, or avoiding his advances in any way. She traps his soul in her lazy gaze. Her hands progress in unison along his sides, to his back, finding a resting place between his shoulder-blades. His clothing provides no insulation; the warmth of her touch conducts through silk and wool like electricity through silver. He can only imagine what that touch would invoke were it upon his exposed flesh. He is closer now. He can smell the subtleties of her perfume mixing with her breath. He takes his hand from her neck, draws his fingers along her chin, and then places his palm on her chest just above the neckline of her suit. Her heart is beating in his hand, and the slow rhythm of her breathing calls him like a siren’s symphony. He moves even closer now, close enough so that their bodies touch. He can feel heat radiating from her. The curves of her body fit him precisely. His face is so close to hers now, he can touch her lips with his own. He waits just a little longer, savoring the whole of his senses, knowing that the inevitable will blind him like an explosive flash.
They kiss.
For a moment he is indeed lost, as there is nothing but the soft probing of tongues and the stoked furnace of carnal appetites. His rational mind is overwhelmed, and the lustful imp of instinct assumes control.
He brings his right hand to her hips. There, he acquires a fistful of silk from her skirt and pulls her pelvis into his own. His left hand moves further down, gliding along, until he detects the faintest note of rigid flesh under her thin jacket. He gently grasps her breast, careful to attend to her awakened skin. The whispers of her breath are interrupted by a low, purring moan, and the soft touch on his back transforms into forceful clutching. She drives her hips forward against him, kisses him deeper, confounding his intuition to be in control..
He pushes her back, each hand moving up and gripping her jacket collar, bracing himself so that he may tear it apart…
- BING -
Shit.
How long have I been standing here? Do the people around me know what I was just thinking? Body language the powerful thing that it is, my God, that would be embarrassing.
Although maybe it shouldn’t be, I mean, we all have our little manners of coping with the over and over of our days, don’t we? Little ways we manage to endure our commutes, work, our home-lives and routines. Few of us find solace in the unbending organization of mundane existence. More likely, we are defeated by it, or in some cases, infuriated. For the unlucky majority who feel as though the progression of a cog’s life is too much to bear, we turn to our vice. Whether it be liquor, love, or loss, we all have our addiction.
I should be allowed to indulge my overactive imagination without anxiety or guilt.
- BING -
Damn it!
Or maybe my internal dialog is a wee bit verbose and I should get on with the day. A good start would be to get in this elevator, considering I don’t know how many I’ve missed while staring off into space.
Excellent, I got ahead of the crowd and secured a spot in the back corner. I can comfortably rest against the wall. Well, as comfortably as one can manage in a ten by ten box populated by the lemmings with whom I work.
Huh.
What a deliciously predictable turn of events. The lovely young woman from the lobby will be sharing my ride up. I guess I didn’t miss that many elevators. Or she’s been waiting behind me all this time.
“Hello again.”
Meh, is that the best I can do? Hello again? Opportunity has gone from knocking to slapping me in the face and all I can muster is “Hello again.”
“…”
Oh, how unsurprising! Aside from a condescending smirk and head nod, a tasty reply of silence. Maybe I should have laid into her when she assaulted me in the lobby!
Wait.
She positioned herself right in front of me, very close.
You know, I’d have unintentionally insulted her had I said aloud that she is merely lovely. I can’t come up with a better word right now, but...her perfume is…her skin…my God, her eyes are like…Holy shit, her eyes, she’s turned her head and is looking right at me.
- BING - Second Floor
God damn it!
Did I push the button for my floor? Well, someone did. Actually, every floor is called, from lobby to 28.
She’s turned back around now. What just happened there?
7:04 AM – What did Murphy define as “wrong” when he wrote his law?
I could swear that she keeps looking back at me. She plays it off like she’s adjusting her hair, but I think she’s sizing me up.
Jesus, my ego is bloated this morning. Must have been something I ate.
I know I’m not the best looking guy in the world, but I do think I’m the best looking guy in this office building. I take very good care of myself. I’m tall and fit. I dress well, albeit conservatively.
Why wouldn’t she be looking at me?
- BING - Fifth Floor
Shit, there are 30 more people waiting to get in here. It was packed before, but it’s about to get positively intimate in a second.
Here we go.
Wait. Was that a hand on my leg just then?
“I’m so sorry… sir.”
“Uh, no biggie?”
Ok, I’m allowed the “No biggie” there because I’m very confused right now. What’s going to happen here, seriously? Is she going to press against me closely, her proximity camouflaged by the number of people in the elevator, hand moving behind her to my leg? Will she gently squeeze my thigh, then slide her hand along the crisp crease of my pants, upward, careful to attract no attention to her actions?
She draws her hand slowly along his thigh, occasionally pausing and tickling him with the tips of her fingers. However, her hand is not satisfied with only the firm muscles of his leg, so it travels elsewhere, a single digit coming to rest at the bottom of his fly. She moves her finger in a slow circle over the fabric, massaging the responsive organ underneath. The boldness of her actions is commendable, the lewdness undeniable, and the stimulation absolutely intoxicating.
In his eagerness to reciprocate, he momentarily takes stock of his position. Standing against the wall of the elevator car as he is, small actions are not easily detected by the other passengers. Emboldened, he brings his right hand to the back of her thigh and drags his fingernails up her slippery nylons. He daringly raises her skirt slightly, running his fingers along the curves of her shapely rear.
Like him, she is not deterred by the proximity of persons, nor the potential for discovery. She teases him further with warm palms and gentle kneading. His head swims in the sensation. Playfully embarrassed, he turns his body slightly so as to conceal his excited condition from his ignorant coworkers. With a mind of its own, his hand creeps upward and makes its way underneath her blazer. He anticipates a silk blouse underneath, but he finds only silky skin.
He grazes the small of her back with his fingertips and her body responds with the silent utterance of gooseflesh. His hand continues on, first caressing her sides, then forward to her navel, the waistline of her skirt guiding his way. His fingers slip just beneath the elastic, where he detects an edge of lace and the heat of excitement. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing becomes heavy.
She changes her position slightly, turning towards the wall, affording him discrete permissions to journey further. He obliges her unspoken request and moves lower, his hand now wrist- deep in silken darkness. Below the intriguing textures of her garter, he finds flesh uncovered and shaven. His fingers slide lower, gliding across thrillingly slick lips that he longs to kiss. He leans forward subtly so that he can draw her scent into his lungs. As he slowly exhales, the heat of his breath arouses the sensitive nape of her neck, and the fine hairs there reach out to his lips. She steps back and presses her body against him, turning her head so that their lips can meet.
I got lost again. I didn’t even hear the ring or the floors being announced by the elevator. Where exactly are we?
Ok, tenth floor. So we haven’t moved that far along yet.
We’re still pretty well cramped in here though. Guess there hasn’t been that many people getting off, so to speak.
Anyway, I don’t know what it is about this woman. I’m not usually prone to such graphic fantasy. But, my
God, I just want to…
Ok, that wasn’t even remotely subtle. She just turned her head and looked me right in the eye again.
7:07 AM – Daydreaming or: How I learned to question my sanity.
I have to go back to the lobotomy thing. Or at the very least, the possibility of brain damage, because at this point I’m entertaining an unlikely scenario. I’ve never known a woman who was as forward as she appears to be; therefore, I must be misunderstanding her. Maybe I spilled some coffee or something and she’s pissed. She’s looking back waiting for an apology. Otherwise, this is opportunity blasting me with an atomic bomb.
Fourteenth floor, a lot of people work here.
It’s clearing out, but she hasn’t moved away yet.
Holy Christ, everyone is leaving. It’s just going to be the two of us here shortly.
Perfect, just the two of us for at least a minute. Sixty seconds of I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-to-do. Let’s see how badly I’m going to humiliate myself.
At least this morning has been interesting.
Will she move? She’s still right on top of me. Oh no, she’s talking now.
“I think you and I work on the same floor. What’s your name?”
“No biggie.”
Fuck fuck fuck!
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry. I’m Jack Daulington. I work on 28, in infrastructure.”
Thank Christ she’s moved off of me a bit. Although, she’s turned to face me now and I think that’s more intimidating.
“Hello Jack. My name is Shay. I work on 28 as well, in records.”
Her hand is so small, practically lost in mine when she shakes it. Hell of a grip though. I think I’m trembling.
“Records? I didn’t even know we had an on-sight records department. I thought all of that was in Tampa.”
“No, I’m here.”
We just passed the fifteenth floor, no one to save me.
“I’m really sorry I bumped you this morning. I nearly cost you a spilled coffee.”
“It’s really not a problem… No coffee no foul!”
Oh Lord, what exactly does that mean? I have no skill with this language.
“Maybe so, but I’d like to make it up to you. Why don’t you come see me later and we can do… lunch.”
There are times in life when one has to wonder if imagination has taken over and you’ve lost your grip. Whether the scene is too good to be true, or as in this case, hilarious in its horror, you stop and ask if what’s happening is happening.
I am wondering that right now.
“It would be a good excuse for me to have a visitor, Jack. No one comes to records.”
“Well then, it would be inconsiderate and cruel if I declined.”
There is no precedence for how reality is behaving. Despite my swollen ego, I just can’t accept this. Unless I’m the subject of a very clever joke or I’m straight lucid dreaming.
Door’s opening, DOOR’S OPENING!
My savior is the sixteenth floor. There, soulless drones are waiting to fill up this terrible, empty space. They’ll swarm in here and around this building so that they may ingratiate themselves with the faceless management, compensated with lost years and cocooned in the vapid husk of what they call a productive life.
Ok, I think I’m coming back down to the real world again. The brain is starting to get back to normal.
What is she doing?
“I hope you don’t mind, I’d hate to keep talking with my back turned to you.”
Ok, she is pressed up against me again, but we are face-to-face now. She’s very good at keeping eye contact; I can’t seem to look away.
“Crowded in here again, huh Jack?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t find my unexpected closeness offensive.”
“Not at all, Jack. Not at all.”
Her skin is like… Aside from her eyes, and her lips, is she wearing any makeup at all? Unblemished alabaster is what her skin is like. Did I read that in an Anne Rice novel once? Her face is angular, almost feral. Her eyes are perfectly shaped, those crystal blue pools, a soul-trapping gaze.
She’s touching me with both her hands, on my sides underneath my jacket, and seems unconcerned with the fact that we are the only people in the elevator facing each other.
7:10 AM – I can’t hear what you’re saying due to the high volume of brain static.
He surrounds himself with a cloak of indifference, rendering the other travelers in the car invisible. Her hands on his body and the song of her breath are all that matter now. They embrace, his hands busily sliding over her silken suit, pulling her closer so that he can feel all the nuances of her body. He reaches down and grabs the taut flesh of her rump, thrusting his steely resolve against her, leaving no questions about his arousal. She pushes him away for moment so that she can look him in the eye. With appreciable skill, her left hand unbuttons his shirt and loosens his tie, her right discards the fastening of his belt and trousers. She pushes his boxers aside and greets his hard cock with a gentle squeeze, then proceeds to stroke slowly, her thumb massaging him at the same time. He grabs her by the lapel and pulls her toward him, realizes a kiss, and again drives against her. His body is overwhelmed and nearly incapable of processing the sensations, yet he craves more. As if she can read his thoughts, she slips her hand underneath his open shirt. There, she traces a line upwards to his chest and then around his ribs. Finally, she reaches around him and tickles his back with her fingernails. Her touch seems beyond physical, stunning his mind and spirit. Without warning the hand on his back becomes a claw, and she cuts a path down his flesh while kissing him deeper. He gasps, reveling in the pain and pleasure.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I was just wondering about you. You don’t seem like the cable and wire type. I always thought they were a lot less… Well, you know.”
He longs to feel the fire of her skin unfettered against his body. Silken threads are no match for his determination. Reluctantly, he makes space and hastily does away with the buttons of her jacket. While he lacks the refinement and dexterity that she possesses, he more than makes up for it with force. She assists him in the endeavor, tearing her skirt loose and doing away with her restrictive undergarments. The jacket and blouse are open, the skirt barely tethered to her body. He brings her close again, and when his skin meets hers it’s as if a great capacitance manifests between them. The electricity discharged will be like a lightning strike.
“I really like, uh, well… What about you in records? I imagine you in a different position.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, I can’t imagine you being locked away with a bunch of files. I imagine you somewhere else… in the company… doing something stimulating… more, better.”
“Are you okay?”
After another passionate kiss, she encourages him to feel the delicate places that are hidden beneath the black silk of her suit. He brings both his hands to play, softly grasping her breasts. As she had taught him only moments before, he uses his thumbs to lightly caress the sensitive and hardened points, going so far as to gently pinch her. Now both her hands are on his back, bloodletting, and her eyelids lower slightly as she draws breath through clenched teeth. Defiantly, she never surrenders eye contact. She looks into him as if she could break his spirit, bend him to her will. Amused, he moves a hand into her hair, dislodges the knot, and grasps a fistful of brunette. Her eyes open wide for a moment and he sees the tiniest curl of a smile reach her lips.
He feels her weight shift, her position changing as she crouches down. He lets go of her hair, curious to see where she is going with this. When she is eye-level with his waist, she pulls his trousers and boxers down to his knees, careful to accommodate his swollen lust. She grips his hard flesh again, bringing her mouth very close to his skin. The heat of her breath washes over his cock, and she teases the tip with a flick of her tongue.
“Oh God, yes.”
“Are you sure? You’re shaking. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Mmm hmmm, yes. NO! You’re good. Real, good. Just, uh...”
She carefully brings her mouth over him, rolling her tongue along his shaft, taking him impossibly deep.
“Just very close in here, I guess!”
“Oh, I totally know how you feel.”
His head swims in tactual pleasures and the only way he can mark the passage of moments is by the succession of carefully stimulated nerves. She rocks her head back and forth, enlivening his hidden places with her hands, summoning an indescribable physical awe.
“Jack, I used to get really nervous in these crowded spaces.”
“I’d like to feel...”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I was just saying I’d like to hear how you feel... about that. All the people in here, it’s hard to hear! You know, the crowding, in the elevator and… Yes.”
For a brief moment, he remembers the passengers in the elevator with them. He had blocked them out. He realizes that they are nothing: faceless voyeurs who wouldn’t dare meddle with such glorious and spontaneous delectation.
“Well I’m no therapist, but I’d love to tell you how I got over my fear of crowds.”
“You know, questions are a great way to get to know someone. You can show me the ways to your, well you know, places if that makes sense.”
She takes her mouth away and proceeds to stroke his now slick member with her hand. While maintaining her grip, she stands up and calls him to kiss her, only to deny him when he is close. She pushes him in to the corner and lifts up her skirt. He hears the sound of nylon being torn. Raising up on her toes and spreading her legs slightly, she leans on to him. He feels heat upon heat, and the slippery stickiness of her exhilaration. He will not be denied a second time. Grabbing a hold of her hair, he presses her lips against his own.
“That doesn’t exactly make sense, but I think I understand what you’re saying. I think that’s written in the ultimate guide to picking up women. We love to talk about ourselves.”
“Oh, I hope I’m not coming across like that! I mean, you bumped into me, right?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
He grinds against her, the friction between them heating the air of the car. Sweat is facilitating even more stimulating sensations. She makes it clear to him that she wants more, hands on her are not enough. She raises her leg alongside him, beckoning, begging wordlessly that he give her what she wants. He considers her silent pleading, and ponders whether he will tease her with his steadfastness, but she allows no time for such deliberations. She reaches down and ensures her desires are fulfilled, guiding him into her. The feeling is like a firestorm, staggering him, stealing his breath. She rocks her hips harder, forcing him deeper. A second for him to recover, and he meets her drive with a hard plunge of his own. He reaches behind her, grabbing a hold of the remnants of her skirt, and thrusts again. They submit to the pleasure, feeling crushed beneath its weight. Her eyes finally break their hold and roll back. Thrusting, grinding, hands engaged and groping, over and over. The charge between them grows exponentially. Time is lost. She sees it in him and feels it in herself. She begins to escalate her movements, faster, harder. He can’t contain himself.
“Sorry, just… I’m sorry, terrible first impression. I’ll be fine once I can get out of here.”
“I think I’m making you more nervous than the crowded elevator, Jack.”
“What do you mean, I… Oh shit.”
7:15 AM – All the benefits of rock bottom.
Well, she hasn’t really said anything for the past few minutes. I can’t say I blame her after the erection thing. She’s a trooper though, the elevator has exchanged quite a few people, and she’s had plenty of opportunity to get out, or at the very least move to a different spot. Nope, she’s still parked right in front of me. We’re just not so… intimate anymore. She does keep looking back occasionally, giggling a little bit.
No way to take that back, but at least I’m scared straight now. Which is good since my floor is next. Our floor, I suppose.
You know, I’m really happy about this whole thing. How many mornings like this am I going to have?
One.
There will never be another morning where I go from lost, to curious, to hopeful, to embarrassment, finally arriving at this weird, contented feeling, all in the span of about 20 minutes. However, I will have the pleasure of reliving the humiliation of an accidental hard-on in the elevator every time I see this young lady in the office. I really am lucky, in the struck-by-lightning-and-killed kind of way.
- BING – Twenty Eighth Floor
“Well Jack, this is where you… get off, and where I go to work.”
Ha ha ha, very funny.
“Not a lot I can say, except maybe thank you for not making a scene.”
“I’m not into dramatic public displays.”
Christ, everyone is taking their sweet time in getting out of this elevator. If I can just… Holy shit, what is she… She’s got a hold of my…
“I prefer my drama to be private. If you’re interested in discussing this further, you know – like you said earlier, my lunch invitation is still open.”
She finds him, greets his body with a gentle squeeze…
“Yeah, no biggie, that’s good.”
“I’m sure you can find your way to records, I’ll be available after twelve.”
“Ok, sounds great.”
I’m not one to question fate, really. Rather than inquire about my destiny, I spend my time complaining, internally, to the gods of despair that I invented. They reside in my head, placating me with senseless debates and phantom cinema. I like the phantom cinema especially, as I noted earlier, since that is most likely to make me forget how crappy I think my lot in life is. I’m very tempted to change my position on the whole thing and get in the face of fate to find out what the hell is going on today.
Screw that! Let’s not do the gift-horse thing. I am going to change my position on one thing, I will not complain about today’s turn of events.
At least, not yet.
Originally published September, 2008