“Elevator Going Up”
You’re never more alone than when standing in a crowded elevator.
My eyes were fixed firmly on my feet. In moments like these I keep them under the strictest regulation. No sidewards glances. No eye contact. No acknowledgement that I was sharing this confined space with 5 other lifeforms. Head down. Staring at my shoes. Dems the rules.
Then I felt a twinge of electricity. A pang of something magical brewing in my nethers. First it started in my toes. Then I crinkled my nose. Wherever it goes, I always know: I was about to chub out.
I felt my pleated stain-resistant khakis tighten around my thighs and firmly latch onto my clinched fanny parts. My pupils dilated, their focus climbing up to the emerging lump in my lap. It began to grow in slow motion like an ash snake lit on the 4th of July. Beads of sweat began to aggregate on my brow and I could feel the blood pumping into the sleeping behemoth. Pulsating. Thriving like a hearty turnip.
By the time we reached the 12th floor, my humble erection was at a 45 degree angle, glaring straight into the eyes of my fellow elevateurs like a shackled cyclops- drooling and veiny.
The trembling young nipper next to me clung to her mother’s dress, shielding her eyes from my rock hard dick. An old Babushka clutched her rosary beads and murmered low and quick for her God to save her. The Chinaman pointed and shouted at my cocksicle as if Mothra was setting the city ablaze with his laser vision. After making eye contact with my throbbing member, a young businessman nervously reached into his briefcase. Rifling through his stock reports, he retrieved a pistol. In an instant his lips were wrapped around the barrel like it was Pete Wentz’s cock and he was a valued customer at Hot Topic. Swallowing that metaphorical load, his brain matter painted each wall of the elevator. The Chinaman, stunned, said nothing slowly backing into one corner. The Babushka dropped to her knees, threw up her hands and began to weep. The mother put the back of her hand to her forehead and fainted, collapsing into the pool of blood, brain, and business papers that had amalgamated on the the elevator floor; her young daughter standing there, motionless, not knowing what came next. Our eyes met, then like two kittens following a laser pointer, slowly panned down to the unreceding mound of flesh pulsating the button-fly of my khakis. A small grin appeared, then somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
Ain’t nothing but my Bone-Daddy, y’all!
