By
RD Larson
In the elevator he stood behind me, his body touching mine. Others crowded in, smells of alcohol, smoke and garlic sickened me. The sinking feeling as we went floor to floor. Finally the weight triggered the elevator not to stop at any more floors. We fell in a controlled whirr of machinery. I looked at my companions, my fellow space jockeys, riding down to Mother Earth from the top of the tower. I must see them every day. Yet, I recognized no face. None. No one spoke. Mostly likely, they are too tired or too afraid of being set upon by another person more lonely then they. Behind me, I felt his hand flickering at my crack. A butterfly butt flutter. Hardly sexual. I almost smiled. Just in time I swallowed the smile inside my mouth. My trousers were good wool. He?d have to have the fingers of a blind surgeon to arouse me with his touch. I laughed inside, that shaking, bubbling feeling. I never got mad at him. He was after all more than just my boss. He was my husband.
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