The Elevator

Have you ever looked at someone and felt a click? I'm not talking about love at first sight or anything crazy like that; but that instant connection that tells you that you and that person are meant to be involved in each others' lives in some way.

It's happened to me a few times in my life. Most of them have turned out to be close friends, but there was one...well I'll just have to tell you the story.

It happened when I was heading out to lunch one day. I worked in a huge building; the kind that has so many floors that it takes ages to get from the very bottom to the very top. And every floor is a different department of a different company, so while you don't know the vast majority of people you see every day, you have a vague sense that most of them are familiar.

It makes for great people watching because it's just anonymous enough without being completely impersonal. You can casually notice the woman whose belly gets bigger and bigger over the course of several months and then she disappears from your consciousness for a while until she shows up looking normal again. You can watch the two lovebirds make eyes at each other, catch them holding hands once or twice, then feel the angry tension as they stand on opposite sides of the elevator with you in the middle.

Good times.

At any rate, this particular day I was on my way out to lunch and, as always, it was a long slow ride to the bottom because I work near the top and, well, it was lunchtime so we had to stop at damn near every floor to let someone else on.

It was getting crowded, obviously, and I was getting pushed further and further into the back corner, which was fine with me. I much prefer that to the game of shuffling as close as possible to the person behind you without making physical contact.

So the elevator stopped at yet another floor and you could feel the collective frustrated sigh of every person on board. The doors opened and we just happened to look right at each other as he stepped on. Our eyes locked together and I felt a little jolt of recognition. Not the kind you get when you know someone, the kind you get when you realize you should know them.

It may have been just my imagination but I think he faltered a little; just the slightest hesitation to hold my gaze a split second longer before turning around and facing the closed doors like every dutiful elevator rider should.

I'm not ashamed to admit it; I stared bullets at the back of his head.

I stared and wished there weren't so many people between us so I could get a look at his ass. I stared and wondered whether he could feel me looking at him. I stared and imagined there was no one else on the elevator and he just turned to me without a word, pushed me up against the back wall and kissed me so hard I couldn't breathe.

Maybe he even slipped his hand under my cashmere sweater and rubbed one thumb in little circles over my nipple, pressing his body against mine hard enough that I could feel his erection against my hip while he sucked on my bottom lip.

From there I had to backtrack a bit and change my fantasy clothes. I was wearing pants, but suddenly in my mind I was wearing a conservative knee length skirt, the hem of which he grabbed in his fists and shoved up over my hips.

The imaginary me was always more adventurous than the real me so of course she wasn't wearing any panties, a fact that appeared to pleasantly surprise him. He gave me a look and shook his head, tsking as if to indicate he thought I was a very naughty girl. I just smiled coyly and grabbed his tie, wrapping it once around my fist before pulling him close for another kiss.

By this time both of us, the fantasy me and the real me, were pretty well turned on and we could feel the wetness between our legs. The imaginary me got the lucky end of the deal because our fantasy man unzipped his pants and a suitably well-proportioned dick popped out of the opening. He grabbed me by my thighs and lifted me, pausing only for a second to look in my eyes before sinking deep inside me.

I wrapped my legs around him, one of my red heels slipping off my foot in the process, but I didn't think much about it other than to note that fantasy me had very nice taste in shoes. He filled me perfectly and started rocking against me with unerring rhythm. The sense of urgency, the fear of getting caught at any moment, the rapid pace and jarring impact of his thrusts all pushed me quickly toward climax.

The man caught my hair in his fist and jerked my head back, pressing his lips to mine and burrowing his tongue deep into my mouth to muffle the increasingly loud grunts and cries I was making. Of course that sent me right over the edge and I dug my feet into his ass and ground hard against him as I came. Seconds later he jerked and groaned loud in my ear, and then I felt a spreading warmth deep inside.

The fantasy me doesn't worry about contraception and diseases and the like so I'm not at all concerned about the little trickle of warm liquid oozing down my thigh as he set me back on my feet. I know the thigh-high stockings...black silk ones...with a seam up the back...yes, they'll catch the moisture before it gets much further...

Now that's not the unusual part, I have little daydreams like that all the time and I take a secret pleasure in knowing that no one has any clue what's going on in my head.

Thank goodness people can't read minds, right? Or if they can, thank goodness I don't know about it. It probably wouldn't stop me from fantasizing, but I'd feel a lot more self-conscious about it. I'd probably feel like I had to tone it down to avoid offending anyone and doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of a fantasy?

The unusual part is that while I was enjoying my little fantasy, right at the moment of climactic impact...he looked at me. Not fantasy man, REAL man. It was just a quick, casual look over his shoulder; the kind most people wouldn't think twice about. But as he turned his eyes back to the door I saw a little grin creep across his face and I swear he knew.

I may have blushed, I'm not sure. I don't usually. You have to learn to control that sort of thing if you're going to go around having pornographic daydreams in public. Especially if, like me, you like to be obvious sometimes when you check a guy out because you enjoy knowing that they'll get a little ego boost from it. It's important to not look embarrassed when you're 'caught' scoping a guy's bulge. Still, I suppose I may have blushed that time and maybe that's how he knew.

Whatever the case I was certain he knew what I was thinking and that did make me blush and fidget in my shoes. The tall suit next to me shot me a dirty look when my arm brushed his, but I just rolled my eyes. Eventually we all made it to the ground floor and the doors opened and people spilled off and I made a concerted effort not to look at my fantasy man as he and our fellow passengers disappeared into the crowd.

I reached the glass doors leading outside just as someone opened it and of course when I glanced up to say thank you I found that it was him. It was my turn to falter, but I remembered to smile and thank him and basically tried to pretend I hadn't just imagined him fucking me in the elevator. But he was looking at me with that smile that people usually reserve for someone they share a secret with and I couldn't help returning it as I walked through the door.

I headed for my favorite deli, but before I'd gone far I realized he'd fallen into step with me. Casual as could be, as if there was nothing odd about following a strange woman down the sidewalk. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye thinking maybe he just happened to be heading in the same direction.

And then he asked me where we were going for lunch, cool as a cucumber, like we'd known each other for years. Of course I played along. What else could I do?

On the way back to work after what turned out to be a very pleasant and extra long lunch break he gave me his card with his cell number scribbled on the back. This seemed like such a normal thing to do I admit I was a tad disappointed in his lack of creativity and, at that point, on the fence about whether I would call him or not. If he was already failing to live up to my fantasies it wouldn't be fair to string him along any further.

The lobby was surprisingly empty, I imagine because we were long past the usual end of lunch rush, and as it turned out we were the only people to board the elevator. I know for a fact I blushed this time because although I tried not to think about it, the mental images from earlier flooded my mind.

As the doors slid together he turned and grabbed me hard around the waist, pressing his mouth to mine and slipping his tongue between my lips before I even realized what was happening. The force of his kiss took my breath away and made me instantly wet.

I don't remember what I did with my hands or what I was thinking about. The only details that registered were the way his breath tasted vaguely of basil and how the railing of the elevator dug painfully into my lower back as he pushed me up against the wall.

Not that I minded. It was exactly like I imagined it, only better because it was real. My fantasy men all kiss the same. They never do anything surprising because they do what I tell them to do. Real men are so much more spontaneous. This man in particular had a knack for catching me off my guard, as I would quickly learn. This time he surprised me by sliding his hand down the front of my pants.

I made a token effort to stop him, wiggling a bit and making little whimpering noises as he kissed me harder, holding me in place with his body. We both knew there wasn't time for that. The door could open at any moment. But as it turned out he wasn't trying to get me off (more's the pity).

His hand slid into my slacks, under my panties, and one long finger pressed deep inside me making my breath catch. I'm pretty sure I nipped his lip, but he didn't seem to mind. And then he slid slowly back out, brushing my clit lightly as he went, just in time for us to hear the ding.

He stepped away and turned toward the doors as they opened. Two completely faceless and anonymous people stepped on and turned their backs to us. I was too distracted to register any details about them. I don't even know if they were men or women.

I looked at him standing next to me and he turned his face toward me so I could see his sly grin. I watched, hypnotized as the finger slowly approached his mouth, his pink tongue darted out to brush the tip, and then the entire finger disappeared between his lips as he slowly sucked it clean.

I'm not sure how I remained standing because I know for sure that my knees turned to jelly. But somehow I maintained my upright orientation long enough for the other two people to disembark.

He kissed me again, nothing as passionate as before just enough that I could taste myself on his lips, then he got off at the next floor. He turned and looked in at me just before the doors closed and silently mouthed the words "call me."

Of course I did.