Trapped in an Elevator

I'm an Olympics enthusiast, at least the winter Olympics. I was like a pig in shit when I went to Lake Placid last summer with a group of friends that played on my recreational ice hockey team. I got to see where the Miracle On Ice was played in 1980 at the Olympic Center Arena and even got to skate on it for a half hour. I toured the Olympic Museum and the Training Center. However, despite my hockey background what I was most interested in seeing was the Olympic Jumping Complex. I could never believe that those crazy ass guys and gals would fly through the air like birds.

We got to the complex about an hour before expected closing leaving less time than I wanted, but the day had been hectic and I had to accommodate what my friends wanted to do. We quickly took a chair lift up past the kids' training areas to a first plateau. From there we took an elevator that seemed to be as tall as many NYC office buildings [actually it's twenty six stories, but old technology so it took as long as a seventy story elevator ride would have in a modern building]. When we got to the top the view was breathtaking.

The ninety meter jump was frightening enough; when I climbed to the top of the 120 meter jump I almost had vertigo. As I went back down to the 90 meter jump another large group arrived - including a redhead. "Looks like Jessica Chastain," I chuckled to myself. "Don't I wish," I sighed.

I sat at the lowest point near the 90 meter jump as my mind went over thousands of different things. Somehow being in this mesmerizing place caused my brain to take an inventory of my life; the good decisions, the bad events, my present circumstances, all seemed to sort themselves out, and then by some means meld together.

A powerful gust of wind brought me back to reality. I looked around and couldn't see anyone else. "What the hell?" I murmured. Then I looked at my watch. It was past closing time.

I jumped up, walked back up to the elevator entrance, and looked around. I pushed the call button, sure that I was alone, until I heard a feminine voice behind me "Don't leave without me."

I turned; there was the redhead I had gotten a fleeting look at earlier. "Shit she looks like Jessica Chastain," I chuckled to myself.

"I'm just hoping that we can leave at all," I replied with a smile.

We were wondering how we had gotten left behind and where our friends had taken off to - at least I was one of two drivers in my group so I could leave once we got down, but the redhead apparently had been left without transportation, apparently not missed by her much larger group.

After a few minutes the elevator door opened. When we rode up there was an operator; there wasn't one now.

"Where's the dude?" the redhead asked.

"Beats me," I said, sticking my arm against the safety bar to prevent the door from closing. "I can operate it though - there's nothing complicated about it," I assured her as I held the door for her to enter. Once we were both inside I operated the lever - really old technology - just like I saw the operator do, now more than an hour earlier. When we started moving the redhead chuckled "Maybe we won't be stranded after all."

I chuckled back. I had almost convinced myself that things were going all right when suddenly the elevator car came to an abrupt stop, almost knocking both of us over, accompanied by a screeching sound that seemed like it could almost perforate my eardrums.

"Eek," the redhead squealed covering her ears.

Once the sound ceased it was apparent that we were stuck, probably about halfway down.

"Bummer," I understated.

"Shit," the redhead exclaimed, then covered her mouth and chuckled "sorry."

"I've never heard that before - my virgin ears are now damaged more by your expletive than by the screech," I retorted trying to act serious.

It didn't fool her. "Yeah, right, doofus," she laughed.

"How do we get help," she continued, mirth gone from her tone.

"Let's try our cell phones," I suggested.

After five minutes of trying we both realized that inside this steel elevator within a concrete tower that we were not ever going to get reception. Fortunately, we had overlooked a land-line type phone under the operating lever.

"Maybe this will work," I optimistically said as I picked it up. There was no dial tone. The redhead, however, knelt down by the receiver receptacle and read off some instructions.

"I'll push the buttons," she ordered, "while you listen in."

Shortly there was ringing on the other end. "It's ringing!" I excitedly uttered.

My optimism turned to pessimism when there was no answer after the first twenty or thirty rings, but I held on. Finally someone answered: "Lake Placid Fire Department."

I gave the guy on the other end a synopsis of our situation. "That elevator should have been shut down a half hour ago," he grumbled.

"We're desperate; we need help," I pleaded.

"Hold on a minute," he retorted - like I had someplace else to go.

He came back on after ten or fifteen minutes. "A crew including elevator technicians, the Jumping Complex Administrator, and a couple of my guys are on the way. The estimate I have been given is that without complications it will take about two hours before they can get you out. We can't call you, but you can call on the phone in the car the same way you did this time and I can give you updates," he announced, with a tone that indicated that he wasn't too happy.

I reported the conversation to the redhead as soon as I hung up. Both of us sighed. "Since we're stuck we should introduce ourselves," I said. "I'm Sean Sterling," I continued, extending my hand.

"I'm Jessica Smith," she replied, but with an evil grin.

As I shook her hand I got a really good look at her for the first time; previously I hadn't wanted to be impolite and stare. "No you're not," I snickered. "You're Jessica Chastain."

"I get that a lot," she smirked, "probably because of my hair, but I'm better looking than she is."

I was still holding onto her hand. I finally let go. I pulled the day's Lake Placid Sun newspaper from my back pocket. "Listen, Jessica; admit to me who you are or I'll use the whole newspaper myself to sit on the dirty floor of this sardine can, and you'll have to stand or get disgustingly filthy."

We both grinned. I took half of the newspaper, laid it on the floor, and sat down. I waved the other half at her. "OK, doofus; I'm Jessica Chastain - happy?"

"Very," I chuckled as I handed her the other half. When she laid it out and sat down I continued "You know that you're my favorite actress."

"Bullshit," she laughed, "I'll bet that you say that to all of the actresses that you get stranded with."

"I can prove it."

"How?"

"By telling you everything there is to know about your best performance ever in 'Miss Sloane,'" I snickered.

"That movie bombed at the box office," she cringed. "It made only $10,000,000 worldwide and cost $13,000,000 to make. If you saw it you were probably only one of a few dozen people."

"I don't care what it did at the box office; I loved it, and the main reason was because you were so great in it; and the story was awesome too," I gushed.

After we bantered a while longer she asked "OK; if you're such an expert on Miss Sloane, what was your favorite scene?"

"Well, I'll tell the funniest part first. When your character is talking to her staff after accepting the job fighting the gun lobby she tells this story:

'A priest is giving a young nun a lift home from church one day... and as he's shifting gears, he rests his hand on the nun's knee... The young nun looks up at the priest and says: 'Father, remember Luke 14:10.'

The priest withdraws his hand, embarrassed. Next time they stop at a light, he places his hand a little higher up on her thigh. The nun says: 'Remember Luke 14:10, Father.'

The priest apologizes: 'The flesh is weak', he says... So he drops her off and when he gets home, he reaches for his Bible and he flips to Luke 14:10. Anyone know what it says?'" We both smiled when I paused before I continued.

"Then one of your staff asked 'What does it say?'" I persisted.

Then both Jessica and I said in unison "Friend, come up higher, then shalt thou have glory. Know your subject, people! Failure to do so may result in the loss of a golden opportunity. When I see you this afternoon, you better be ready to recite that Tax Code in Esperanto."

Then we both laughed hard. "OK, so you know one snippet from it - maybe you just heard that the joke was in it and looked it up on Google. You didn't answer my question about what your favorite part was, doofus," Jessica snickered.

"When you were in bed with the gigolo," I quickly responded.

"Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"Because I got to see some of your body; to me you're not just my favorite actress but the sexiest woman in Hollywood," I smiled. Of course I didn't tell her that I had seen her in naked photos on the Internet and that I thought that her body was smoking hot; nor did I mention the movie "Jolene" that she appeared in nude, and was as much my favorite as Miss Sloane was.

"Bastard," she laughed, but with her face turning a little red, as she playfully kicked one of my feet with one of hers. "Now I know you're either blind, delusional, or a complete bullshitter."

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I smiled. "I didn't say that you were the most beautiful; I said that you were the sexiest. Being sexy is a lot more than being beautiful."

I couldn't believe it but then Jessica Chastain and I had a ten minute real conversation of the difference between being beautiful and sexy, and what qualities defined sexiness. When we reached a reasonable concluding point, it was obvious that she was trying to avoid directly responding to my "sexiest woman in Hollywood" comment when she said "I still don't believe that I'm your favorite actress. If I am what other movies have I been in?"

I quickly rattled off the titles and a quick synopsis of her role in Molly's Game, The Help, Interstellar, Zero Dark Thirty, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby, and I was going to keep going on when after I said "The Tree of Life..." she stopped me.

"OK, OK," she chuckled. "If you even know of The Tree of Life I believe you. I can't wrap my head around running into one of my biggest fans in an elevator at the Lake Placid Jumping Complex, however."

We discussed her roles in those films, what her take was on them, what my take was, and then she held up her hand in a stop position. "OK; enough about me. Tell me about you."

"I'm not nearly as interesting as you are, however I do have a few noteworthy accomplishments. I have an engineering degree from Northwestern and a law degree from Duke, and have been a practicing intellectual property attorney for about ten years, and have had quite a few jury trials. However, my passion is hockey. I'm a defenseman on a recreational men's team - some of my teammates are in the group I was visiting the Jumping Complex with - called 'The Lucky Pucks...'" I said before I was interrupted by her laughter.

"The Lucky Pucks? Are you fucking kidding me?"

We then proceeded to have a conversation about my life, and then turned back to her life, and then suddenly the elevator jerked again and began slowly moving downwardly. I looked at my watch and I couldn't believe it; two hours and eighteen minutes had passed since I hung up the phone. She couldn't either. I guess it really is true that time flies when you're having fun. Jessica was as engaging, interesting, and funny as any woman I had ever met in my life. Also, it didn't hurt that her bust looked to be a 36C and she had really long legs for someone 5 feet 4 inches tall, 123 pounds (at least according to the Internet since I obviously wasn't stupid or rude enough to ask her how much she weighed or what her bust size was).

When the elevator stopped Jessica smiled at me and asked "Since you're really good for my ego, can you give me a ride to my hotel?"

"My pleasure," I grinned.

My grin disappeared when we were met by the grim faces of a half dozen men. One who looked like the Complex Administrator snarled "What the hell were you two doing up there after closing?"

My hockey player fighting instincts were boiling up, but I wanted to impress Jessica and also avoid going to jail so I took a deep breath and then turned to each of the other five guys, shook their hands, looked them in the eye, and said "We sincerely thank you for rescuing us, we're in your debt." After that I got in the Administrator's face.

"You look like you're the Administrator of this Complex. Before I answer your question maybe you can tell me how you could be so incompetent as to close up the Complex while leaving the elevator still operating and without an employee checking the jumps to make sure that everyone had left?" I snarled.

He and I exchanged some unpleasant words, and when he said "I should have you arrested" I replied. "Maybe you need to rethink that. First of all, I'm an attorney and I'll sue you personally for about ten different torts." Then I quoted a section of New York statute that I made up - but he wasn't an attorney so he didn't know that - before I leveled the coup de grace. "More importantly, however, this beautiful young woman is Jessica Chastain, the famous movie actress. How do you think that you'll fare with your bosses and the Lake Placid politicians and townspeople when the first thing we do when we make bail is to go to the Sun and tell them about the shitty way you've treated us and the incompetent way you run the Complex that strands two paying tourists for almost three hours."

That took the starch out of him. He apologized, each of the guys who had worked on the elevator asked Jessica if they could take a selfie with her - which she smilingly agreed to - and then Jessica and I took the chair lift down to the parking lot and walked to my car.

On the chairlift Jessica chuckled "You really are one bad ass, aren't you? Your' hockey team should be called 'The Bad Ass Icers' if you're a good representative of them."

When we got to the car I said "I'm starving; let me take you to dinner."

"I'd love to share a meal with you, but only Dutch," she smiled.

"OK - but separate checks since I don't want to stick you with half the bill for the obscene amount of food that I'm going to eat," I responded.

"Deal - since I don't want to stick you with half the bill for the obscene amount of liquor I'm going to consume," she laughed.

***********

Jessica and I went to a restaurant called The Big Slide Brewery & Public House since it was close to the Jumping Complex and had many vegan options - important to Jessica since she is a vegan. It was crowded, and we were a little dirty and sweaty from our elevator experience, but the hostess recognized Jessica and after taking a selfie with her moved us to the front of the line and found us a small table for two in a quiet corner (as quiet as a brewery can be). We both took turns going to the washroom, she taking a long time.

We both ordered vegan (although I would have loved a steak, but I didn't want to expose her to that if it would be unpleasant for her) and she was true to her word and had multiple beers.

We had a rollicking good time - a continuation of our elevator experience, only even more light hearted since we didn't have the worry about ever getting out hanging over our heads. There was only a momentary downer when her phone rang, she looked at the caller ID, frowned, and mumbled "My fucking stupid husband can eat shit." I deadpanned "The same thought I would have if my wife called - but she won't."

To snap us out of our temporary funk I asked "What's the difference between a hockey player and a hippie chick?"

She got an evil grin "I sure don't know; what?"

"A hockey player changes his pads after three periods," I smugly replied.

She threw her napkin at me and threatened to dump her beer on me, but then laughed and said "But why would I waste a good drink on a pervert like you?"

The rest of the evening at the "...Public House" was mirthful. We kept feeding the jukebox, and after the place cleared out a little danced - including bumping our butts together - a dozen or so times right next to our table. We just about closed the place down.

When we exited the Public House Jessica wasn't exactly drunk - but she was feeling no pain. Since I had only one beer - and I got that only to be polite since I don't normally drink - I was good to drive even though she probably wasn't. With minimal slurring as I opened the passenger's side door for her she pushed her finger into my chest. "If this were to be your best night ever, what would you do?"

I thought for a second, wondering if I had to be politically correct in my answer, and then said "Screw it!" since Jessica was really a fun bawdy chick. "I'd take you to my hotel room and ravage you," I smugly smiled, but then quickly continued "but since I'm sharing my hotel room with one of my hockey buddies that isn't going to happen."

"You mean you want to fuck me?" she giggled, the giggle indicating that she was feeling no pain because she normally didn't giggle.

"Well...when you put it that way...YES!" I grinned.

"Well I have my own hotel suite but I'm really sore - and partially drunk - so I'll need you to promise to give me a half hour massage before I decide whether or not to let you fuck me," she grinned, belched, then giggled.

"You'd feel safe with a guy you just met coming to your hotel room? How do you know I'm not an ax murderer?" I chuckled.

"I Googled you when I went to the washroom; you're who you say you are, with no police record and with that Statewide award for community service you never told me about," she replied, then hiccupped.

"OK then; deal," I said, then grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth. She didn't resist and only smiled when I terminated the kiss, my hands somehow having migrated to her ass.

She directed me to the Mirror Lake Inn, probably the best hotel in Lake Placid and right on Mirror Lake, which is adjacent to the actual Lake Placid (the body of water, not the town). I had put the address into my GPS so even though her directions were wrong we got there quickly.

When we got to her room she allowed me to carry her over the threshold, giggling as I did so. When I put her on her feet she chuckled "We're both sweaty and dirty and need a shower; we can shower together but only if you agree not to fool around; I need that backrub before I decide if I'm going to let you fuck me."

"Sound like a plan," I said as I quickly disrobed; she did too, only a little slower. She didn't try to hide staring at my half-hard cock, and I didn't try to hide staring at her entire plasma hot body, which just as good as it was when she filmed "Jolene" even though then she was 29 and now was 42.

I let her get the shower to the temperature she wanted and then we soaped each other up, careful not to spend too much time on our private parts. Since my cock was now hard as a rock and sticking straight out that was a little difficult. After we dried off I pulled back the bedspread and she flopped down on the top sheet with her ass in the air. "Back and thighs first, she ordered."

"Yes ma'am," I eagerly replied.

My cock hurt more than it ever did in my life as I massaged her back, ass, and thighs. Her ass seemed to be particularly sensitive and when I concentrated on that for about five minutes straight - I was only fifteen minutes into the massage - she moaned "Good enough - fuck me."

I turned her on her back and resisted the temptation to immediately shove my meat into her slit - which is what my cock really wanted. Instead I went after her pussy with my mouth and one hand like a starving man would a taco, while the other hand lightly pinched a nipple - she really was a 36C. I don't know if it was my technique, fatigue being an aphrodisiac, her simply being in the right mood, or what but she came like a B-52 taking off within two minutes flat.