2000-07-27 - 23:17:25
Elevating My Desire

Elevating My Desire

Erotic energy between people in an elevator is unique. The moment the door closes on me and a cute guy, I'm in sexual space.

Today at the office I'm riding down for my morning smoke break and the elevator stops on the 8th floor. In comes this blonde young stud who, from the cart he's always wheeling about, works in the mailroom. He's right out of a Tom of Finland drawing, let me tell you. The first time I laid eyes on him in the elevator months ago, I was smitten by the prominent bulge of his dick in such loose-fitting jeans.

This morning was the first time I was alone with him on the elevator. Blondie was wearing a tight white tee and khaki pants which hugged his bubble-butt nicely but did not evince his frontal charms as alluringly as those jeans had. The door closed on us, a few delicious moments alone. His eyes met mine, I smiled, and he looked away. I did not look away. I sucked up the view until the elevator stopped again and Mailroom Boy wheeled his cart off, his ass wiggling.

Yeah I was definitely ready for a smoke by the time I got outside.

I admit it: I have an elevator fetish. Whenever I'm riding one with a boyfriend or 'main squeeze', I cannot help but jump him the instant the doors seclude us.

Never actually had sex in an elevator yet. Closest I came was one night when I picked this cute East Indian boy up off the streets of Toronto's gay ghetto. He was very proper in his intentions as we chatted on the sidewalk, making it clear he wanted to exchange numbers, not come back to my place--a block away--for a quickie. The problem was, neither of us had a pen or paper so I deviously convinced him to come back to my place after all so that we could write out and exchange our phone numbers.

Let's just say that within 30 seconds of getting back to my apartment, I had his dick in my mouth. He was as turned on as me, but he was not comfortable with this impulsive scenario. He kept pulling away, doing up his clothes, then jumping me all over again. Finally we agreed to stop, exchanged numbers, and he left. I noticed he'd left his sunglasses behind; bare-chested, I ran out into the hallway and caught him just about to get on the elevator. I guess he liked the look of me shirtless because his mouth accosted mine as he pulled me on the elevator with him and our wild, lewd descent began down to the lobby of my apartment building. He was all set to suck me off as we rode down but I chickened out: as hot as this scene was, we'd have been embarassed if caught in medias res.

When I enter an elevator containing a sexy man, I inhabit the space differently than if there are more people on board, than if I am alone. This afternoon, on my way down for my afternoon smoke break, a young ball-capped brunette with sparkling blue eyes was on; I unconsciously positioned myself in the corner at a 45 degree angle so as to gawk at him easily. His jaw set defensively, and I realized my stance was making him uncomfortable. So I faced the front, contenting myself with discreet glances for the remainder of the ride.

Elevators transport; the duration of the ride, however brief, is travel time, in-betweenness.

Elevators enclose strangers in spatial intimacy, wringing eros out of proximity.

Elevators transform themselves in an instant from public gateway to private cubicle; our bodies, our psychic antennae register the abrupt environmental shift as thrill, as threat, as tingle.

Elevators give me a hard-on.

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