Elevating Circumstances

There was only one elevator, so when Dylan and Cara came along at the same moment, each balancing a mattress, protocols kicked in.

“Ladies first,” she said.

“Sorry, but I was here first,” Dylan said, thoughts of chivalry and deference to women thrown to the winds.

“If you hadn’t nearly hit my van and taken my parking space, you and your mattress would still be outside,” Cara snipped.

The open elevator, unwilling to play arbitrator, slammed shut, leaving both of them at an impasse.

“This is going to be an interesting move,” Cara murmured aloud. A premonition? Perhaps.

Finding digs in this building was a coup because views were superb. Floor to ceiling windows in each unit and the horseshoe shape offered a plethora of possibilities, especially for exhibitionists.

“This building is a voyeur’s paradise,” Dylan commented as he signed the lease.

“This is a judgment-free complex,” building manager Ginny retorted. “Think of it as Vegas. What happens in your unit, stays in your unit. Unless, of course, firefighters and cops are involved.”

But Ginny’s job today entailed mediating a mattress stand-off, so she intervened. “I see you two have met. I’ll be the referee here,” she said as the elevator door opened again. “Dylan, you go first. I will help your new neighbor once you’ve unloaded your mattress.”

Dylan pushed his mattress into the elevator and the door closed behind him. “You rescued me,” Cara said. “That guy’s a jerk,” she mumbled, thanking Ginny for her help when the elevator returned.

As she unboxed items, Cara thought about the mattress encounter and realized that despite his lack of manners, this was one gorgeous dude. What’s his name? Daniel? David? Dumbass?

The vibe must have been mutual. A couple of hours later, Cara heard a knock on her apartment door. She opened it to find Dylan holding a bag of food and a six-pack of premium beer.

“I come in peace,” he said, handing over the bag and brews.

Cara grinned. He had stripped down to cargo shorts and padded down the hall in bare feet to deliver a savory peace offering. She made a makeshift table out of a not-yet-unpacked plastic crate and no UN ambassador could have mended fences with as much aplomb.

Was it inevitable that the two finished up the food and beers and made their way through more beers in Cara’s fridge? You figure it out. They surveyed the view from her window, comparing notes, before he slipped his hand behind her neck and began to kiss her. Tongues darted as her fingers found safe passage along his chest hair.

“I’m not sure that I picked the ideal place for my mattress,” Cara said, her fingers touching his as she led Dylan to the other room where the two of them ran a gauntlet of boxes, bags, and crates.

Cara had found her linens. There was a fresh bottom sheet in place.

The two of them may have been unpacking all day, but they had enough enthusiasm and energy left to artfully disrobe. An invitation to climb onboard and meet his neighbor properly was unspoken. He pulled her up and positioned her in front of the glass.

He came. She came. The mattress had been initiated.

“Meet me tonight?” Dylan asked, still invigorated enough to consider another tryst.

“I’m not sure I can make it,” said Cara, a flood of tasks racing around her mind that was driven by her OCD personality and obligations.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he teased, rubbing his hand against her ass as an enticement of things to come. “My place. Midnight. Make it a priority,” he laughed as he left the bedroom, retrieved his shorts, and let himself out the door.

Cara decided unpacking would wait. She napped and recounted their liaison in her mind, taking a pass on all practical tasks. She showered after locating the box filled with essentials—towels, makeup, grooming aids—and stood before his front door as requested at the stroke of midnight wearing a shift and little else.

His place was surprisingly organized—likely because he owned less stuff than she did. They repaired to the couch for a mutually satisfying warm-up session until both were in an appropriate state of heat, at which point, Dylan pulled her up, grabbed a tote bag sitting next to his front door, and pulled her into the lobby.

It was ghostly quiet at 1 a.m.; a weekday night that would birth a workday in a matter of hours. Dylan led Cara to the elevator that had triggered their contentious introduction earlier in the day. They rode it down to the basement where he hit the stop button and turned out the light.

Pulling a thick blanket and massage oil from the bag, the two began murmuring as they sunk to the elevator floor.

“Someone may ring for the elevator,” Cara said.

“At 1 a.m. on a workday? The thought of an observer sounds ideal,” he said, implying that the danger of interruption added to the excitement they both felt.

“What’s your pleasure?” Dylan asked as Cara moaned beneath his knees where he assiduously rubbed something that smelled like mint over her lady parts.

The icy stimulant was intoxicating, and by the time he penetrated her, every inch of her skin rose in goosebumps further enhanced by his words.

“You like this,” he whispered, heightening her pleasure. She could smell the minty enticement on his breath, traces of which remained on her breasts after he had prompted their own erections. Cara felt relieved when his mouth traveled south.

She moaned. Never in her life had she experienced this much stimulation, as Dylan explored erogenous zones and areas that delivered erotic thrills.

His technique was impeccable. Cara fought the climax over which she had no control and ultimately gave in to pleasure that could no longer be put on hold.

But he wasn’t done. Cara could swear that she felt the floor of the elevator rhythmically move to the beat of his thrusts until his climax would not be denied.

They lay on the floor of the elevator feeling the ultimate exhaustion as he stroked Cara’s hair and stroked her skin, which felt so sensitive, she could not bear any more stimulation.

“We should probably go,” she mumbled. “Someone may need the elevator.”

“I’m not ready,” Dylan replied, his eyelids drooping as he fought off sleep.

“We can’t stay here,” she responded, her practical side kicking in as scenarios of being found by a resident followed by police being called after a report of indecent exposure.

It’s amazing what a climax can do, she thought.

Dylan shrugged and roused himself, gathering up the oil and blanket. They dressed quickly, pressing the button to return to their floor.

At promptly 9 a.m., Cara and Dylan queued at the elevator in silence. Another tenant joined them. He held a cup of coffee, nodding his head in their direction.

The elevator ascended, taking on more passengers after making numerous stops. When the chamber filled with silent people, all of whom stared ahead as proper elevator protocol requires.

One woman sniffed the air and observed, “I’m not sure what building management is using in the venting system, but this minty smell is certainly refreshing and energizing. Anyone else notice it?” #