Helen & the Hoodlum

Helen looked at her watch, muttered a few well chosen words that would have shocked her mother to hear that Helen knew the meaning of; and hurried her steps. BiK would close in 10 minutes, she had to find something for David’s birthday before that.

She stepped into the elevator and quickly eyed the sign on the wall. "Ladie’s underwear, 3rd floor"… that would be a splendid joke, but their mother would freak out. "Books and art supplies, 5th floor"… what would be the point of that? David always bought books, she didn’t want to risk giving him something he had already read. "Audio & Video, 7th floor"… that would do. She’d buy him some technical gizmo. She reached out to press the button, but before she had touched it, a guy stormed into the levator and slammed the button labelled "7" with the palm of his hand. Helen jerked her hand back, and turned around. Her companion was a young black boy, younger than herself, approximately 18-19 years old, and dressed like a stereotypical thug. He leaned his back against the wall, chewing a gum. Helen looked away, so he wouldn’t catch her staring at him.

First floor, second floor, third, fourth… right between fourth and fifth, the elevator stopped, with a loud noise and a violent shake, that made Helen lose her balance and fall to the floor.

"What the fuck..?" growled the boy.

The elevator didn’t move.

"Oh, no!" said Helen, crawling back up and brushing her hands.

They looked at each other.

"Press the alarm button!" said the boy, no, when she looked at him, she realized that he was a young man, not a boy.

She pressed the red button. Nothing happened.

"Shit!" said the young man. "Must be something wrong with the power."

"There’s a phone over there," said Helen, and pointed to a box over in the corner.

He opened the box door and tried the phone.

"Hullo? Yeah… this damned elevator’s broken, and we’re trapped in here! Huh? The one in front of the toys’ section… How long will that take? Ah, fuck! Tell them to hurry up!"

He hung up, and slid against the wall until he sat on the floor.

"They’re gonna call for a repair guy," he said. "Won’t be here for at least half an hour!"

Helen sighed, and sat down opposite him. Her dress was already dirty, sitting down on the floor wouldn’t matter.

The young man sulked. Helen felt nervous by the awkward silence.

"What’s `10K´?" she asked, pointing at the print on his sweater.

"A rap group," he said. "They’re really fucked up!"

The way he said it made Helen wonder if he was being sarcastic. At least she had managed to break the ice.

"What’s your name?" she said.

"Rick," he said. "You?"

"Helen," she said.

"You never heard of 10K?" he asked.

"No," said Helen. "I don’t know that many rap groups."

"Wrong colour," Rick grinned.

"Excuse me?"

"Rap’s not for white people," said Rick. "It’s the poor man’s music. Gangsta rhythms. Ghetto songs. Rap is the voice of the ghetto."

"But there are some rap musicians that are white," Helen protested.

"White trash!" said Rick. "Wannabes! They think it’s just a matter of grabbing the mike and letting off steam, but it’s not! Rap comes from the inside! It’s the sound of a black man’s heart in the white man’s world!"

Helen didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know anything about rap music, she always thought it sounded like an auction. Besides, she had more urgent matters to think about right now. The walls of the elevator seemed to be moving inwards. So did the ceiling. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"How long have we been in here?" she muttered, and checked her watch again.

"Don’t like the company?" said Rick.

"It’s not that," said Helen. "I just don’t like being trapped in a small elevator.

"Yeah, right!" said Rick. "Hey, they’ll get us out of here in about one hour, and then you’ll be rid of me, and you can go home to your rich family!"

"One… hour?" Helen panted.

She was breathing heavil now, and her eyes flew around the tiny cube in which she was stuck.

"Hey, are you OK?" said Rick, finally realizing that she wasn’t acting, something was really wrong.

Helen got up, and started banging the door.

"HELP!" she screamed. "Let me out! Let me out! Help! Help!"

"Hey, calm down!" said Rick, and got to his feet. "I’m not gonna hurt you!"

Helen screamed as loud as she could, and attacked the door with her shoulder.

"Helen!" Rick shouted, and grabbed her arm.

He was surprised when she threw herself around his neck and cried hysterically. He mumbled comforting words in her ear, and helped her to sit down.

"Are you OK?" he said. "What’s wrong?"

"Clau…stro…phobia," Helen whispered.

"Huh?"

"I can’t be… in small places," she explained, through her deep, ragged breath. "I get… panic attacks."

"Hey, it’s OK," said Rick, and his rough voice had an unexpected tenderness to it. "Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’m here. Talk to me. Stay with me, Helen!"

She looked into his eyes, and did her best to breathe deeply. She still had her arms around him, and he held her, not tight, not in a way that made her feel captured, but gentle and supportive. His hands were resting lightly on her back.

He kissed her. Her eyes widened, and he pulled back a little, worried that he had scared her even more with his impulse.

She kissed him back.

Thin, pink lips against full, brown lips. Two pink tongues meeting, tasting each other, carefully, lightly.

Helen felt her fear slowly go down the drain.

"Feeling better?" said Rick.

She nodded. They were still holding each other. He kissed her again, this time more eager. She answered him, and her grip around his shoulders tightened. He pulled her closer. Her left hand went under his sweater, touched the smooth, warm skin, her right hand caressed his short, curly hair; it reminded her of a poodle’s fleece.

His hands got under her silk blouse, under the silk linen she had under it instead of a bra, and he couldn’t tell what was softer, her clothes or her skin. He felt almost afraid to hurt her. She seemed so small and delicate. Gently, he moved his hands to her breasts, caressed them, lifted her clothes up so he could see them. Ah, they were beautiful. Small and pointy, with tiny raspberries for nipples. He had always liked raspberries. He tasted them, nibbled them into his mouth, had his tongue glide over them, round them, sucked on them, made love to them with his tongue.

Helen’s breathing was getting heavy again, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear.

He moved his hands down to explore the rest of her body. She had a small, round butt, not full and soft like his usual lovers, but tight and firm and sexy. Her legs were long and slim and dressed in some type of stocking, he couldn’t tell what they were made of, but they were not as soft as the skin that met his finger tips, as they moved up under her skirt.

She bit his earlobe, left a trail of bites and kisses down his neck, put her hands under his sweater, let them slide over his hairless chest, over his flat, hard belly. She reached his jeans, and with a questioning look into his eyes, she opened the first button.

He held his breath, and didn’t dare to do anything but let his hands rest on her thighs.

She opened another button… and another… and another…

Her little hand slid under his boxers, and wrapped itself around his hard-on. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of having her hand jerk up and down the shaft of his manhood. He looked up when she suddenly straddled him. He pulled up her skirt to her waist, and gazed at her fancy underwear; panties, stockings, and a garterbelt, all in pink silk and lace. Sexy. And that’s what she walked around in on a Wednesday? For going shopping? She moved her panties aside, and guided the head of his cock to her opening. She slid down over it, impaled herself on him, and he grunted when her tight, soft, moist folds embraced him. He held her butt, caressed it, pinched it, and she rode him like he had been a horse. She held onto his shoulders to steady herself. She was in control. He wasn’t used to that, but he liked it. Oh, shit, he could feel that he wasn’t going to last very long! He tried to hold it back, didn’t want this to end, but it was just too damned good. He threw his head back and groaned when he filled her with bitter juice, and she winced, and refused to stop, she kept riding him up and down, desperately trying to reach her climax before he went soft.

He wet his fingers, and stuck them under her curls, searched for the magic button, found it, and helped her all he could, rubbing her clit; watching in fascination as the double stimulance pushed her over the edge. He watched greedily as she came hard on him. He could feel her pussy cramp up around him, and she hid her face against his hsoulder, muffled her own cry of passion, and rubbed herself against him in spasmic movements.

Finally, she relaxed in his arms.

"You’re fine, girl," he whispered in her hair. "Damned fine."

She straightened her back and smiled at him. At that moment, there was a loud noise, and the elevator started moving downwards.

"It’s working!" said Helen.

They quickly got on their feet and straightened their clothes. Helen wiped Rick’s cum off with a handkerchief, and put it in her handbag. A few seconds later, the elevator stopped, and the door opened to the first floor and revealed a large group of people waiting for them. When Helen and Rick got out of the elevator, an old man in a pinstriped suit walked up to them, and shook their hands.

"As vice president of BiK, I want to offer my sincerest apologies for the inconveniance you have suffered," he said. "I would also like to make this up to you, by present you each with a gift certificate for $50, as a small compensation."

"Thank you," said Helen, and accepted the little white envelope he gave her. "You’re most kind."

Rick took his envelope without a word.

"You may do your delayed shopping now, if you wish," the vice president continued. "Our staff will be at your service."

"Thank you," said Helen. "I wanted to find a birthday present for my brother. Some funny technical gizmo, I don’t know…"

"I gotta go!" said Rick. "I, eh… I’ll be back another day. So, eh… see ya! Bye!"

He left the store before Helen could say a word. The envelope burned in his hand. $50! That was even more than what the CD records he’d been going to steal was worth. He put the envelope in his pocket, and began to walk the long way home.

Every now and then, he brought his fingers to his face and inhaled their scent.

The scent of Helen.