Monday, 11 March 2013

Tuesday Turn-On: The Power of Lycra

The elevator came to a jerking halt. And then I was fucked. Both figuratively and then literally.

I only knew her as 1001. She lived on the opposite end of the building and on the other side of the hall. Probably five foot nothing, but shaped like Pygmalion's statue. Whenever I happened to walk by her or take the elevator down with her, I'd make a mental note of something she was wearing, the way she did her hair, something on her to give clue to her profession, etc. Anything to create conversation, basically. Two years in and I don't know what she does, I have no idea how many clothes she wears, and for all I know she gets a haircut every goddamn day.

So when we were trapped inside the lift with nothing to comfort us but small talk, I turned to her and said stupidly, "At least we're less likely to die in an elevator than we are to trip and fall down the stairs, right?" I say 'stupidly' because we were going up. She had no reply for me--just one of those sidelong glances and polite but uncomfortable grins.

I went back to staring at the magazine advert. Usually building notices were put in the elevators, but lately someone had taken to sliding in pictures of unicorns, three howling wolves, dolphins, dragons and such into the slots. This one had a scantily clad tree elf thing riding a grizzly bear. I imagined her name was something ridiculous like Plynthia or Jasana. Helped me forget the anxiety born from the fact that I was in an elevator suspended between the sixth and seventh floors with the lady I'd wanted to know biblically for many moons.

1001 turned toward me very quickly. "I'm--um, claustrophobic."

"Oh. Uh. Jeez. I, uh. Hm. Um, is there... there anything I can do for you, or?"

"Would you mind sitting with me?" She motioned to the corner.

I was about to ask how getting closer together would make her feel less crowded when I hastily saved myself from another stupid self-cockblock. "Of course. Yeah. Sure."

We hunkered down in the corner and she leaned into me. Did I put my arm around her? Sit up straight so she could lean her head on my shoulder? Lean into her too? My body went rigid and I just sat there in a cold, clammy sweat.

"Have you ever been in a trapped elevator before?" she asked.

"No. No."

"Have you ever been trapped before."

I was confused that she was repeating herself without the proper inflection questions demand. "I... no. Can't say I have. Really."

She laughed. "You say a lot for not actually saying much."

"I'm sorry?"

She slid her hand between my legs. But God, I almost swallowed my tongue.

"So, you know,"--she took my earlobe into her mouth briefly--"I saw you come out of your apartment a long time ago wearing these...." She sucked in a breath and nibbled at my neck. "Tight. Black. Shorts. And I could see... everything. And every time you come out with them on... I recharge my batteries."

Further testament to just how naive I am: I didn't understand that last part until the next day.

I didn't have time to figure out why on earth this goddess was straddling me and kissing me like I was her favourite ice cream cone. Nor did I ponder how she'd overcome her extreme anxiety in between wedging herself in the corner with me and undoing my belt.

"I've thought about this for a long time," she said hungrily, sliding her hand over me like she'd done this to me before. "You're much bigger than I thought you were."

My capacity for speech was hindered by her hazel eyes and bright red lips. She slid down my lap until her legs were splayed across the floor and her blue dress was hiked up around her thighs. She was so close that her breath brushed past my dick and engulfed me in unspeakable warmth.

"I hope you don't mind... it makes me feel better."

"Me too," I croaked like a dying man.

She had a tongue that could make the Olympics, if giving head were an official sport. Even I think in this day and age it should at least be nationally recognized somewhere, and I'm the introvert who respects women so much he avoids them. I couldn't exactly avoid 1001 that moment. Not that I wanted to. Especially when she stroked my perineum in time with her mouth and spoke a foreign language on my cock that I learned I was fluent in all along. When she sucked me dry who knows how much longer later, she sat up and made a show of swallowing. I was on the verge of apologizing for her having to do that when she smiled brilliantly.

"You taste like yoghurt."

I tried to quickly come up with an appropriate response. "Thank you," I said like the defeatist I am.

She smiled again. "You're dorky, aren't you? I mean in a good way. I'm kind of a dork too."

"No, I don't think.... What? No."

"You see those pictures?" She pointed to the bear-riding elf. "I put those in there. I also made up the claustrophobia thing as an excuse to throw myself at you because I didn't know how else to actually approach you." She leaned in close until I could smell myself on her. "I really, really like Lycra."

I straightened my glasses and blinked at her like she'd turned on the lights. This was as open as any door of opportunity was going to get; I had to at least throw myself through it. Of course I had to phrase it like a question. "We should go biking sometime?"

"As long as you wear those shorts."

It wasn't until after three more bouts of inexplicable claustrophobia that I learned her name was Jennifer and that I'd leaned on the emergency stop button by mistake.

We didn't correct this error for a couple more hours.

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