Four writers for the price of one blog
[This is my response to the challenge between Monocle and Remittance Girl. I still haven’t read their versions but I will. I wanted to finish my own story first. I expect I’ll have to make corrections and improvements tomorrow. Good night and enjoy.]
He woke, as he always did, at 5:15 AM. He brushed his teeth, counting 45 left, 45 right, first down, then up. He rinsed three times. He combed his hair. He parted it. His shirt, pants, tie and jacket were folded and ready. He poured cereal and a cup of milk. He ate. He rinsed the bowl the spoon. He placed them both on a white terry cloth towel – on top of a gray corian counter top.
His slipped into his black leather shoes. They smelled of polish. He quietly opened the apartment door.
He held his briefcase in his left hand. He held the morning’s paper in the right. The latch struck the strike plate with a measured click and the door closed behind him.
He quietly walked to the end of the hallway. He pressed the down button. A single bell chimed and the elevator doors smoothly parted. Then he reached the ground floor, left the apartment building, and walked the three blocks to the office building. The black and white cars stopped at the intersections with alternating precision.
The same men and women, dressed in grays, blacks and whites, nodded succinctly as he passed them.
“Another overcast day,” said the doorman as he entered the office building. The doorman’s inflection was the same as the day before, and the day before that. And there had never been a day that wasn’t overcast.
The same men and women, precisely at 5 minutes to the hour, stepped into the office building’s elevator. They each took their place. They pressed the expected floors. He waited. His turn next. Then hesitated. A young woman wearing a gray suit with yellow pin-stripes stepped into the elevator. There was a collective shuffle. He was distracted. He reached for the floor 40. His hand brushed her waist, his upper arm nudged her breast. The clicked and lit. 40. The woman’s lips hinted at a smile. His gaze met hers. Then he quickly looked away.
The elevator doors smoothly closed. She turned her back to him and was pushed backward. Her buttocks, in the rounded gray skirt, pressed against his crotch. He nervously glanced to either side. His crotch stiffened.
Floor 28. She left the elevator.
He woke at 5:15 AM. He brushed his teeth, counting 45 left, 45 right, first down, then up. He rinsed three times. He combed his hair. He parted it. His shirt, pants and jacket were folded and ready. He had forgotten to lay out his tie. He hurriedly found it.
He ate cereal again. He placed the rinsed spoon and bowl on the white terry cloth towel.
He took his briefcase and morning’s paper. The latch struck the strike plate with a measured click.
He glanced at his watch and hurried the end of the hallway. Soon he was walking the three blocks to work. The same men and women passed him by with succinct nods.
“Another overcast day,” said the doorman.
At precisely 5 minutes to the hour, he stepped into the office building’s elevator. He took his place. Each worker pressed the expected floor as they entered. He waited. Then hesitated again. The same young woman as the day before stepped into the elevator. She wore the gray suit with yellow pin-stripes, but also a carmine blouse. There was another a collective shuffle. He clicked the inward curve of the button – floor 40. She pressed floor 31. The elevator slipped shut.
She moved back against him without – stepping backwards.
He glanced nervously to either side. The other employees gazed upward at the ticking numbers.
He smelled pomander and myrrh – or thought he did. Her buttocks pressed back against his crotch and her back arched. She leaned and his vision blurred. His stomach felt light and his breath grew light. He tried to lean back against the glass of the elevator but couldn’t escape the soft pressure of her buttocks.
“You…” he said, almost a whisper, breath shaking, “…you pressed floor 28… yesterday…”
“I know,” she whispered back at him.
The elevator stopped at 28. Two employees stopped off and into a metallic hallway. “Shouldn’t…” he eyes rolled. He was hard. “…shouldn’t you get off here?”
The doors closed.
“Do you want me to?” she asked, still whispering.
He felt her buttocks rise and fall against his crotch, or was it her sex he was feeling? “I…” he stuttered. “This is very irregular.”
“I know…” she answered.
The doors swished open. She stepped forward without glancing back. The doors slipped quietly closed behind her. His cock strained against his slacks. Trapped.
He woke at 5:15 AM. He knocked the toothbrush into the sink.
And he stared at the toothbrush.
The he hurriedly picked fished it out and brushed. He rinsed his mouth. He combed his hair. His shirt, pants, tie and jacket were ready. He poured cereal and milk. He ate. He rinsed the bowl the spoon and placed them both on the white terry cloth towel.
The same men and women, dressed in grays, blacks and whites, nodded succinctly as he passed them.
The black and white cars alternated precisely at the intersection.
Then he saw the yellow car. He saw the young woman! He tumbled to the flinty sidewalk. His morning paper scattered and the broad sheets rolled and lifted skyward like leaves between the passing cars. He scrambled to help the woman with whom he had collided. He helped her to stand. “I’m so sorry!” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. This is very irregular. “She straightened her skirt and suit jacket, bent and picked up her own briefcase. He stared at the curve of her ass as she bent over. She glared at him.
He snapped his gaze forward..
Then he glanced at his watch. He ran. “Another overcast…” but he rushed past the doorman, narrowly passing through the closing door of the elevator. Her them clunk and open. The young woman had pressed her hand between the closing doors. Her nails were long and painted Apple Green. She turned, pressing the button to Floor 36.
What was she waiting for? She looked at him. Her lips parted. She turned and pressed Floor 40 for him. Had had forgotten.
She smiled at him, slyly, approached him, then turned and leaned back against him. The same men and women surrounded them as always, each in their place. They each disembarked at the expected floors. She pushed her ass against him and his cock hardened. He was shaking. His breath shuddered. This time she pressed her shoulders back against his own as she pressed her ass against his cock. He felt her shoulder blade as reached behind her, and him, to tightly grip his slacks at the hip.
He frantically glanced around him. No one had turned.
His heart raced. His pressed his cock against the arch of her ass, keeping time. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and he smelled her lipstick – if lips could have a smell, then it was vermillion. He suddenly, almost violently, reach around with the flat of his hand against her belly, both taut and soft at the same time. He pressed her hard against his cock and began to slip his fingers downward, between her blouse and skirt.
She pulled away from him, hips first, her shoulder blades still pressed below his own shoulders. Then, sinuously, she straightened and left him, glancing backward all the while, until the doors of the elevator bumped and closed. His tie was wrinkled. He had almost come.
He woke, hard, his cock aching.
He moved a hand downward to firmly and pleasurable pull the foreskin back.
Then forward. Then back again.
He quickly pushed aside the bedsheets.
He brushed his teeth, counting 30…no, was it 40? He rinsed. He combed his hair and parted it. He hurriedly put on his shirt, pushed his stiff cock to the side and fastened his pants. He rushed to the kitchen. He poured cereal into the bowl. Some of the flakes slipped over the lip of the bowl. He slowly righted the cereal box, staring at the several flakes scattered on the white table top. He set aside the cereal box and pushed one of the flakes upward, then another until he had pushed them all, like a convoy, one following the other, into a sinuous curve around the bowl’s porcelain saucer.
He lifted his finger, his heart racing. It was 15 minutes to the hour.
He snatched the briefcase and stepped on the newspaper as he rushed down the hallway. The door of his apartment thudded shut behind him. He only narrowly caught the apartment elevator. He hurried into the street, half walking and half running through the steady procession of pedestrians, each with a briefcase, each with a paper tucked under their arm.
He passed the woman with whom he had collided.
Or she passed him. She didn’t look up but gazed steadily downward. Her black heels clacked on the perfectly even concrete.
“Another overcast day,” said the doorman.
“Yes,” he mumbled, “yes it is.”
This time she stood with her back to him, facing the elevator doors. He slowed. She was wearing lavender high heeled shows and brown skirt that was shorter than any she had worn before. He stopped at glanced nervously at the others, like tall black inkblots, looking upward at the approaching elevator. Slowly, she turned as if she knew he was behind her. She smiled. Her lips parted, her head tilted back and she widened her stance just enough, and she arched her back just enough, that he could see that she was wearing nothing under her skirt, and he could see the dark invitation open between her legs.
The elevator bell sounded.
The doors swished open. She straightened and turned. He stared at the sway of her hips. Then he suddenly ran, just squeezing through the closing doors. He pressed himself against her, avoiding the doors. Her round ass pressed against his crotch as she reached behind her and pressed Floor 86. He pressed the palm of his free hand against her hip, then moved with her, behind her, as she stepped to the rear of the elevator.
“Have you ever looked out the elevator?” she asked.
He pressed her against the glass, from behind, pressing his cock into the divide of her ass. His heart raced. He was almost panting. He glanced nervously, again, at the others surrounding them. But they stood with their backs to view of the city, of the street falling away beneath them, of the blur of windows. They stared at the numbers flashing above the elevator door.
Then he felt her hand on his cock.
She was feeling the width and length of it. He pressed his lips and nose into the fragrant skin beneath her ear. Her soft hair pressed against his cheek. He lifted the back of her skirt. Then he slid his hand upward, over the curve of her hip and the skirt’s bunched fabric. He unbuttoned her blouse – one button then another. He pulled and her saw her breast and dark nipple reflected faintly in the glass. She groaned quietly.
He began to unzip his slacks.
The elevator bell sounded. Floor 40. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”
Still he hesitated.
“Please,” she whispered again. “You’re so close. Do it.”
He heard the rumble of the doors closing. They closed. She had widened her legs and was pressing her ass against him. He dropped the briefcase. His hands moved quickly to the zipper of his slacks. He fumbled with the zipper. Then his cock was out, hard, heavy and fall. He felt her arch and he reached around her, between her legs. He pushed his cock into the warm, most groove of her sex. He knotted his other hand in her hair and felt slip upward, then abruptly inside her. She inhaled sharply and rose onto her toes.
He felt the warmth of her belly fully enclose his cock.
He couldn’t look at the others. How could they not know? He was terrified. He thrust into her. The elevator slowed. Floor 86. She pushed him backwards. He slipped out of her. The air felt cold on his slickened cock. She had pushed down her skirt. She hesitated at the threshold.
He glanced downward, suddenly aware. He frantically forced his cock back into his slacks.
The elevator door closed.
He rushed forward and pressed the “Open Doors” button – he pressed it hard and repeatedly. The doors opened. Where was she? The doors opened and he saw a hospital. He saw doctors and nurses, smelled ammonia and bleach, and saw color. He staggered backward, terrified. The doors closed.
He woke at 5:oo AM.
He brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He put on his shirt and slacks. He rushed to the kitchen table. He poured cereal and ate quickly. He left the bowl on the table. He took his jacket and left his tie on the back of the table’s chair.
His put on his black leather shoes.
He left his briefcase. He jumped over the morning’s paper. The door to his apartment may or may not have closed behind him.
He ran, sometimes brushing, almost pushing aside the pedestrians.
He brushed past the doorman. She was waiting for him! She stood as she had the morning before. While all the others watched the numbers as the elevator descended, each with a briefcase and each with a morning paper tucked under their arm, she alone turned and gazed at him.
Then she reached up. He could see, but he knew what she was doing. She was unbuttoning her blouse.
Her lips parted. Her stance widened, lifting the him of her skirt. He could see her. The elevator doors opened and she turned away from him. He watched her walk to the back of the elevator, as if to look through the glass, to watch the street level comings and goings. She grasped the flat, metallic handrail at waist height and pressed her breasts against the glass. She arched the small of her back.
He rushed forward.
He brushed past the other men and women who already gazed up at the numbers. The elevator doors slipped shut behind him. He stood for a moment, absorbing her narrow waist, her slender legs and shoulder length hair. She was gazing back at him, eyes half lidded, lips parted.
Then he could wait no longer.
He unzipped. He took his cock in hand and her hair in the other.
He pulled her head back, her mouth toward his own. She groaned as her lips parted, as his tongue met hers, and his cock entered her belly. He pressed his full length against hers and thrust quickly. He taut belly was warm and slick inside. His fingers moved to her nipples. She grunted with each thrust. She closed her eyes, mouth open, and leaned her head back on his shoulder.
“Don’t go,” she said. “Go all the way.”
“I won’t,” he breathed. He groaned with each thrust, desperate to empty himself inside her. The bell rang and the doors slid open. Floor 40. He felt her fists tighten in his slacks, as if to keep him pressed hard against her and inside her.
“You’re going to make me come,” she said.
He didn’t care if the others heard them. He didn’t look. He knew what he would see. It was as if they didn’t exist.
The elevator doors closed. Each thrust forced her up onto her toes, forced her back to curve receptively, and forced her belly against the glass. She reached up, holding him by the back of the neck. She exhaled, held her breath, then exhaled again. “I can’t help it!” she gasped. “I’m going to come.” She groaned. She arched and slowly stiffened until her orgasm gripped his cock again and again.
“Do it,” she begged, mouth open, eyes rolled back. “Come.”
And he did. He came. He pressed himself hard, up, and insider her. He spurted. His semen ran down her thighs.
“Yes,” she said.
Then it was over. He slowly stepped back. She smiled at him, crying. She took his hand. She led him out the elevator door.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“You shouldn’t be here!” he tried to sit up, too weak.
“You aren’t in Afghanistan,” she moved forward and kissed him. He tasted salt.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re going home,” she said, “and you’re gonna’ stay home.”
“How long?” he asked.
“40 minutes,” she said, “every morning… when I could be alone with you…”
“I know…” She tried to soothe him.“You’re convoy was hit by an IED. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks. ”
“For three weeks?”
“I’ve been here every morning, lover.”
She smiled. “You always said there was one thing worth living for.”
He glanced downward.
His wife’s hand was still closed around his cock. Her fingers were slick with his cum. He saw some on her lips and tasted some on his own.
His cock still twitched.
“You’d better get some clean sheets…”
January 6, 2010
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