CHOOSE YOUR OWN CLIMAX: WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

The lights flickered and went out. We were alone in the elevator, stuck between the fifth and the sixth floors. I could smell her perfume and I could see her silhouette. And I could hear the quickened pace of her respirations. Other than that, I was in a ink black box. Panic, thy name is pseudo-sensory deprivation.

"What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"I don't know," I said, my throat tight. "Maybe the power grid? Maybe all those damned air conditioners knocked it out? Like they said would happen?" I felt behind me and touched the metal bar on the wall of the elevator. For some reason, that made me feel a slight bit better. It made me feel more grounded, I guess.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" she asked.

I am a mailroom dude. I push important documents in a wire mesh cart from floor to floor. I am not an elevator technician. I never have been, and I probably never will be. I told her as much.

"Thanks so for your help," she said. Snooty. Like she deserved to be stuck in an elevator with a CEO. Or a professional athlete. Like a mail clerk was below her. I breathed deeply. The scent of flowers filled my nostrils.

"Sorry to disappoint," I offered.

When she spoked again, her voice was softer; I think she'd embarrassed herself. "No. I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I'm just a little out of sorts." She laughed nervously. "I have a touch of claustrophobia. Never liked small places." She paused and drew in a hitching breath. "I usually take the God damned stairs. Shit."

I mumbled some noncommital noise and sat down with my back against the wall. If we were going to be stuck, I figured, I might as well make myself comfortable. After a minute or two, I heard her sit down, too. I heard the scrape of her high heels skitter across the floor and then I heard the soft thump of her posterior make contact with the bottom of the box. She shifted and I heard the soft rasp of clothing. I figured that she had primly pulled the hem of her skirt down. I figured that I had heard the shift of black skirt against black-sheened stockings. And, being Troy the Mail Clerk, my mind began to wander.

We had only been on the elevator together for a couple of floors, but, before the lights had gone out and the lift had stopped jarringly, I had gotten a good look at her when she had climbed aboard. She had that sexy librarian look, the look that got my engine revving. Middle-parted shoulder-length dark brown hair with dark tortoise shell eyeglasses. Arched eyebrows. Aquline nose. Her blouse was sensible yet sexy, hinting at a voloptuous figure beneath. Her black mid-thigh skirt clung provocatively to her pleasingly-curved ass and her legs were long and slender, accented nicely by her sheer black stockings. Regardless of our shared quandary, my cock began to stiffen.

I opened my eyes. "So," I said, "since we may be here for awhile, stuck in the dark, maybe introductions are in order. My name's Troy. Ordinarily, I'd be pleased to meet you, but, in this case...." I trailed off.

She cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah. This is fucking bullshit. Isn't there supposed to be, like, an alarm or something?"

I laughed. "Yeah. That's a good idea. It should be over there." I pushed forward onto my hands and knees and crawled in the general direction of the electrical box. I waved my right hand ahead of me and connected with something soft and yielding. Her breast. I jerked my hand back as though I had touched a hot stove. "Sorry about that," I mumbled.

"No harm, no foul," she said distractedly.

I nodded and crawled forward.