Slow Ride

Our narrator finds himself caught in an awkward situation only to realize that he’s misperceived the whole scene. I love capitalizing on foolish mistakes. – enjoy – Malinov

Slow Ride
by Lord Malinov

I was almost late for work when I rushed to catch the elevator and squeezed myself into the mass of humanity within. It was just after the new year, when new directives, new programs and new protocols were in effect. I didn’t dare be late. People were watching me.

I work in a tall building, near the top floor and a glance at the control panel confirmed my worst fear; the slow elevator would be stopping at nearly every floor on the way, discharging one or two passengers and then waiting an unexplainably long period of time before the doors closed again. I checked my watch, sighed and then resigned myself. The elevator would go only as fast as the elevator would go. I was a prisoner of my fate.

At the first stop there was jostling as people near the back pushed forward to leave when the door opened. I turned around as I let someone past to see if anyone else behind me would be wanting out and looking to move back since I was in for the long haul.

First I saw Jessica. Then I saw Max. Some strangers chatted about their weekend but we were dead silent. No one dared to look anywhere. We immersed ourselves in thought.

The last time I saw Jessica and Max was at our company holiday party. I walked in on them, in the coat alcove, half naked and fully guilty. I know her husband and I know his wife and they all know each other. We’ve all known each other nearly ten years now. Maybe this had been going on longer but I had no idea. My first reaction was pure shock.

I had never seen Jessica naked. She’s a very attractive woman by any standard and I’d many times admired her curves and cleavage and legs and smile and occasionally fantasized about the charms she hid fairly well. Until that day, when everything she still wore had been pushed aside, uncovering breasts and nipples and bottom and cunt. My view of them lasted maybe eight seconds. The image is burned into my memory forever.

Sometimes our memory invents lots of details to fill in the things we didn’t really see, so it is possible that I’m remembering Jessica naked as prettier than she really is but, honestly, who cares. In my mind, she’s a first rate bird and I’ll forever live in awe. I don’t think that will affect our work relationship but who can tell and how could it not. We shall see, I guess.

At the second floor, another passenger gets off and I move as far away from my coworkers as I can, instinctively distancing myself from their problem. I saw it as their problem. I wasn’t fucking in the coat closet.

I’d seen Max naked before, changing for swimming and the lot, so that wasn’t as much of a shock although I’d certainly never thought I’d be seeing him on the job. The memory of his buttocks thrusting into our esteemed coworker is proving hard to shake. Some parts I’d really rather not remember but they’re stuck in my mind nonetheless. Damn them.

At the third floor, three people got off and it became difficult to avoid eye contact. Both Max and Jessica soon looked down at their shoes. It seemed the best course of action, so I copied their approach to being completely uncommunicative.

I wished for a moment that I wasn’t there, not simply to avoid the awkward ride but because I felt sure these two adulterers had some talking to do and limited opportunity. Unless they had already had the conversations, on the sly over the holidays, when spouses were simultaneously out of the house or something. What were they up to? I felt like I didn’t even know them any more.

Was it a drunken bang in a mad impulse when a stroke of privacy overcame their already eroded morality? Had they been carrying on for months, behind our backs, secretly meeting and putting cock to cunt while we let ourselves be fooled by their cool demeanors. Days or years?

Another floor, another passenger disembarks and the tension in the air gets tight.

By this time, I had become suspicious of everything I knew. How did they behave at the party before this happened? Did they act too warm or too cold at the office? Were they staying late, coming early, taking long lunches? Sporadic memories left me with an infinity of theories.

Finally, it was just the three of us and staring at our shoes didn’t seem to work any more. I looked at her and she looked at him and he … we looked at each other for a split second, let our eyes wander and focused again.

It occurred to me that they might take revenge on me, witness to their crime. I wouldn’t have thought so but I wouldn’t have thought Jessica would be bare breasted and wet when I went to get my coat. I didn’t think I had anything to fear but I didn’t know either.

I felt sure the best thing for everyone was to pretend it didn’t happen. They were too drunk and it wouldn’t happen again. That would be the easy way. I could only hope.

I looked up again and Jessica caught my eye with a smile. The aroma of musk filled the elevator.

“I’m thinking threesome,” she said. “Anyone else?”

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, personal, short stories, swinging, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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