Maintaining Elevator Doors Ajar
Entering the Elevator
I walked into the elevator feeling tired after my gym session at my apartment's fitness center. As the elevator doors were about to close, a man waited at the lobby, signaling for me to keep them open. I did, and the doors groaned slightly as they parted.
This man was my next-door neighbor, and we had hardly ever spoken to each other. He was in his mid-to-late thirties, possibly A clean-shaven face made him appear younger than what he actually was. He donned a formal dress shirt, tie, and creased pants, around the same age as me - a twenty-three-year-old new to the workforce. I had just moved into this rundown apartment building a couple of weeks ago to start my first job.
His presence was intimidating, not just because of his stern gaze but also the sound of his discontent regularly echoing through the corridors. I had heard everything - his shouting at his wife and their little kid's distressing sobs. He had never interacted with me, but I had always heard his harsh words directed at his family.
As he entered the elevator, I briefly studied him. I thought about his physical appearance, his clothing, and the bag on his shoulder - all adding up to a man who was older, possibly sick of life, eager to make everyone else miserable along with him. However, I wasn't fearful of him and felt confident that I could take him in a fight if need be.
We slowly ascended in the cramped, noisy space. The fan inside the tiny elevator was broken, so the heat and humidity only worsened. Sweat trickled down my bare skin, pooled at my navel, and saturated my waistband. The silence was unusual, as he snuck peeks at me whilst looking away, leaving me feeling slightly vulnerable.
Once we reached our floor, he faced the open doors, and with a sneer, he ordered me, "Put your damned shirt on."
I looked at him surprised. Then I said, "I'll put it on if you ask me nicely."
"I don't want your crap," he responded and strode out before I could think of a clever reply.
A few weeks later, one of my old friends planned a visit, and he decided to spend the night with me. The next day, as we were leaving my apartment, he casually stepped into the elevator. I watched as my neighbor exited his apartment, heading towards the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator to come back up. I decided to stir shit up a bit.
As my friend waited, I called out, "Hey, do you want me to hold the elevator for you?" He only glared back.
As I bid farewell to my friend with a kindergarten-styled kiss, I heard my neighbor mimic me in disdain.
I walked back just in time to see my neighbor heading towards my flat. He whispered, "Fucking faggot" from a distance.
I rushed inside, closed the door, and waited, curious if he would do anything drastic. I heard a thump against my door but no further movement. The tension dissolved gradually as several minutes passed without any further disturbance.
My neighbor seemed to dislike anything that didn't follow his strict rules. It was petty, immature, but I found it entertaining to break his code and draw a reaction out of him. I began loud and theatrical whenever we crossed paths. Using phrases suggestive of homosexuality and gossip, with my shorts rolled up, exposing my legs, or unbuttoned shirt revealing my chest made my neighbor flinch.
I was proud of my bullying efforts, enjoying seeing him cringe at my semi-dramatic portrayal of a stereotypical homosexual, entertaining myself with a perverse pleasure. And sometimes, his annoyed reactions were a bit too much – a disapproving grunt, a stifled sneer, anger flashing in his eyes, or furtive sighs while passing me in the hallway.
But it was all about being mischievous, the perverse pleasure of provoking someone who despised anything different from the "norm." I continued to work my magic and occasionally shocked my neighbors by going back to my old ways, always making a point to test his boundaries.
One night, I might've pushed the envelope too far. I'd just come home from work, and my neighbor was in the elevator. I waved for him to hold it, but he ignored me. The elevator was slow and the doors dragged. I sped over, hitting the button before the doors shut completely. They creaked open again. I grinned as I slipped in and sneered, "Thanks for holding it."
"Fuck off," he mumbled.
I reached into my pocket, got out my phone, and played my ringtone. I answered the call and said in a low voice, "Last night was so enticing. I've been horny all day, thinking about it. I'm still horny. I wish you were here right now. I wish anyone were here right now," all the while cupping my crotch and faking pleasure.
I glanced sideways and saw him looking at my crotch. His jaw tightened, his teeth gritted.
"I'd bang anyone right now," I said, gesturing to my crotch, causing his eyes to widen.
"Fuckin' disgraceful faggot. I know what you're up to. You won't fuckin' get to me. Keep your perverted hands to yourself," he said, anger in his voice.
I removed my hand from my crotch and covered the receiver. To my neighbor, I said, "Get the hell out of my shit." Then, continuing the fake phone call, "Yep, I'll probably just take off my pants and jack off."
I ended the call as the elevator reached my floor. He huffed out of the building, darting toward his place. I prepared another witty comment.
He was at his door when I was at mine. As I opened mine, I turned to him and said in a teasing tone, "Just a heads-up, I'll leave my door unlocked."
"Sick fuck," he hissed and turned in disbelief. Fury flared in his eyes as he came toward me.
I stepped inside, both hands clenched into fists, my stance solid and resolute. He stepped in the doorway and loomed over me. "Back the hell off."
"Is this what you want, little man? To humiliate me?" he said, groping my crotch.
For some reason, his grip, although not rough, was far from hostile. It felt like a bit of pressure on my balls, coupled with a little straining on my flaccid penis.
"You like that, you perv?" he said, but his voice began to sound less angry.
I said nothing, but I stared at him, rigid and unwavering, allowing the moment to stretch out. He would likely back away soon.
But he didn't. His hand remained firmly on my crotch. Apparently, he was confused about what to do next. His hand held me tightly.
Realizing his grip on me, I slowly raised one hand, cradling the back of his neck. And as his confusion deepened, I nudged his face toward my crotch. Outside, the door slammed shut with a click. I rested my hands on the back of his head.
He pondered the situation, then placed his hands onto my pants and slippery underwear, hesitating before pulling them down. Weirdly, my pubes and the base of my shaft were now exposed. He seemed shocked before choking on a loud swallow.
"It'll be fine," I said and stroked his hair. And then, his hands, hesitating, began to remove my pants and underwear, finally exposing my whole erect member.
He lowered my pants and underwear, exposing my slightly hard penis. My erection bobbed mere inches from his eager mouth. I took hold of my shaft and pushed his face toward my penis.
My neighbor seemed out of breath, his open mouth practically drooling with anticipation. I positioned my hard penis at the entrance of his mouth and let go, allowing it to slide into his warm, wet opening.
He fumbled with it, unable to take me in fully, choking with each attempt. I stopped and held his head in place, guiding him onto my length. I could feel his inexperience, this was likely his first time. With both hands on the back of his head, I began to guide his head in a rhythmic motion.
He struggled to handle my length, but I could tell he was trying his best. I relaxed and allowed him to suck comfortably, easing up on my grip on his head.
I then increased the tempo. I thrust my hips quickly and forcefully, the head of my penis brushing against the soft roof of his mouth. My neighbor was clearly not used to this level of stimulation, letting out a series of choked noises.
I took advantage of his discomfort, pressing further into his mouth and gripping him by his head. Using my hands to move his head, I had now found a comfortable rhythm. I noticed he thrust back silently and kept up with my movements.
With one hand still pressing into him, I reached the other down and wrapped it around his hands. I guided them onto my buttocks, pressing them into mine. My neighbor responded by reaching up and squeezing me through his clothing.
I increased the speed, his noises becoming louder. I felt saliva smothering my shaft, a few beads on my pubic hair glistening in the light. It had been lathered down to my balls, covering my thighs as well.
Gripping his hands firmly, I pulled up so his hands would caress my buttocks. Then, picking up the pace, my hips pumped forward and back with each inhale and exhale of my neighbor.
My dick was practically twisting while being swallowed, his groans and slurps getting louder with each squeeze of my hands on his head.
Suddenly, I could feel my orgasm approaching. I announced my intention to cum and held his head in place, plunging my shaft further into his eager mouth. His head began to retreat, and I used the opportunity to thrust into him even harder. I could feel it causing discomfort, but I needed to reach my climax.
The pain was tolerable so long as I was in control. My fingers between his teeth, I aimed squarely at the back of his throat, where I suspected the sensitive area to be. With each thrust, I could hear his gag reflex kicking in. I thrust harder, determined to drain the last drops of his patience. My penis began to vibrate, the urge to cum increasing.
"I'm going to cum," I whispered.
Despite trying to pull away from the assault, I thrust further down his throat. The urge to cum soon became uncontrollable and I started to cum, forced through his clenching jaws. His tongue moved against my dick as he struggled to spit me out, but couldn't even manage to do that.
I told him to swallow and he gulped the cum down, still fighting back a wave of nausea. I pulled my hips into his, finishing off my ejaculation.
"You're going to have to clean me up," I said, wiping my hands on my shirt.
He wiped his mouth with the cuffs of his shirt and stood up. He looked at me, his eyes filled with tears. I could sense that he was filled with shame. His gaze shifted and a look of pain registered on his face.
I pushed him toward the door. "I won't tell a soul."
He made one last attempt to free himself from me, but I held him back. I was about to retaliate, but in that moment, his troubled demeanor overwhelmed me. His life was in pieces and I felt sorry for him.
Slowly, I guided his hands away and pushed him out the door. "I won't tell."
After slowly letting go of him, he stood there for a moment, hesitant as I pulled up my pants. Even though I anticipated a counterattack, he didn't do anything. Instead, he turned abruptly and exited through the door. I didn't tease him any further after that moment, and we didn't become buddies either. It almost seemed like he was trying to avoid me. On the rare occasions when we'd encounter one another, I'd extend a greeting, and he'd reply with chilly silence. But that was okay. He was handling it the best way he knew how. I regretted my previous behavior towards him, though. It was childish.
I was surprised to see that my neighbors weren't arguing as frequently. Their daughter was also crying less often, which I'd grown accustomed to. These neighbors, who once caused me sleepless nights, had become model neighbors, not a peep from their apartment. Something else that didn't occur to me was the growth of my feelings for them.
I didn't harbor romantic feelings for him. If I left town, I'd forget him entirely. But my mind often wandered, fantasizing about us chatting, catching up on lost time. In these daydreams, we shared meaningful conversations without anything more happening. Yet, I realized that he probably remembered me with disgust. He loathed the memory of our encounter. He was married, too, and coupled with a daughter, it appeared that their family was growing stronger with each passing week. I didn't want to upset their harmony. I didn't want to be a homewrecker. So I had no shortage of physical attention either. However, I pondered, if circumstances permitted, would I reject it? And what might a rekindling between us be like? Would I prefer sucking him? Would he fuck me?
Around three months later, I returned home from work. In the elevator, I spotted him. I didn't ask him to keep it open for me, but he did.
We stood silently inside while the elevator carried us to our floor. I wanted to speak, but I held back. He didn't even glance at me.
As we neared our respective doors, opening them and preparing our keys, he called out, "Hey."
I faced him.
"If you're interested," he said, then took a deep breath before continuing, "if you're interested, why don't you come over later? I've got a few beers; we can hang out and watch the game. Are you fond of football?"
"Yes, definitely. That would be fantastic to actually meet your wife and daughter," I said in my excitement, attempting to appear casual.
"Oh, she's gone," he announced as he opened his door. "Took the daughter, too."
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. I decided to inquire, "May I ask, if you're comfortable sharing, why did this happen?"
He looked deep in thought, searching for the best way to phrase things, and then said, "I confessed to her. I'd been deluding myself for years, and worse, lying to my spouse. But there's no hostility, just typical conflicts. We're sharing custody of our child. I think this is what's best for everyone."
"Yes," I responded, unable to think of a suitable response.
"All right then," he said, still smiling, "See you later?"
"Yes. See you," I replied.
He entered his apartment, and the door clicked shut behind him. I stepped into mine, getting ready to "watch the match."
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