Don't tell me that 40 is the new 30, because if that's true my soon to be ex-husband wouldn't be looking to trade me in for a younger model. He moved out, leaving me our 65th floor Manhattan apartment. Though it was the first time since college that I had lived alone, I assure you I felt very secure with the 24hr. security officer posted in the lobby.
The new day guard was an attractive super hero type; strong and rippled under his uniform, always very cordial. Soon after he started working there, I began to relish every opportunity to flirt with him. Mostly because like my husband's new play thing, he was almost half my age and I received some limited satisfaction when he shyly enjoyed the attention. He would tell me "Good day m'am." and I would purse my lips and smirk, agreeing with a slow nod and my head cocked to the side. He would smile and quickly avert his eyes. When I told him I noticed his new hair cut or how nice he looked in a tie, he would politely thank me, and shift uncomfortably, in the most adorable way. This went on innocently enough for quite a while.
The other morning, while alone in the elevator on my way out for my deposition in the divorce hearings, I dropped my lipstick. Bending over in my "look at what you're missing" deep V neck top, I realized that the security camera had a birds eye view of my generous cleavage. I gambled that he was at his post closely watching all of the monitors and hiked up my skirt to smooth the lace on my stocking. Then I applied my lipstick and blew a kiss to the camera. Passing the security desk on the way out, I slyly asked him if there was anything interesting on TV. He bit his lip and released a half a nervous laugh as I flit a few fingers at him in a casual waive goodbye.
For the next week, I enjoyed teasing him every time I found myself alone in the elevator; sometimes even briefly exposing my breast as I pretended to fix the placement of my bra. Other times I rubbed myself between the legs, enjoying a brief "private" moment. Playing with him this way made me feel empowered and sexy, especially while in the midst of my ugly divorce. Ever the polite young gentleman, he always kept his interactions respectful and professional. I planned to continue my games with him until I got bored.
One morning, as the elevator doors began to close, a hand slid in between them and they quickly sprung open. My sexy and usually timid guard stepped in and boldly hit the emergency stop button. He wasn't in his uniform and sported a washed out Army issue T-shirt and jeans instead. He wasn't wearing that sweet, shy smile either. I could feel his anger permeating from his pores. Shoving me up against the elevator wall, he informed me that he had been dismissed yesterday morning. It seemed that my particularly forward display in the elevator that day had caused him such a hard on, that it was noticed by an elderly resident when he rushed to hold the door for her. Pressing me into the panel, he was inches from my face when he told me it was all my fault.
I was startled by this utter contrast and his brazen actions. I gripped the rail behind me, and as he began to creep his hand up my thigh, I realized that I was actually becoming aroused by his sudden brutish behavior. He didn't give me a chance to apologize, he didn't give me a chance to say anything at all. His tongue was in my mouth and silencing any remarks I might have, witty or otherwise. I kissed him back, if that's what you could call it. Our mouths were wet and sloppy over each other in feverish impatience. Just as I began to take some of the control back by cupping his face with my hands, he grabbed my wrists and yanked one arm toward him, spinning me around and pinned my hands behind my back.
