Maui Girl and the Elevator

This is an excerpt from a novel I'm publishing here at Literotica. Some people may not be interested in a long read so I thought I'd select a few of the fun sex scenes and put them out there just to see what would happen.

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Every writer attending the Maui writer's conference had to have at least one short story or the first chapter of a novel to present. Two days before the conference, I had nothing. Out of desperation I wrote a short story based on my first sexual group encounter with Gwen and Hawk, changing names and settings of course and seriously toning things down to a gentle soft R rating.

The writing conference was a kind of workshop. They broke us up in groups of ten with one professional writer or instructor as mediator. The mediator would read all the pieces in the morning and then give verbal and written critiques in the evening. A selected few in each group would be asked to read his or her piece aloud. Because of the erotic content of my story, I was pretty confidant that I wouldn't be picked to read.

I was so wrong.

My mediator was a beautiful, curvy woman named C.J Elliott. She wrote erotic fiction for an e-book publishing company and of course all the stories she picked for oral presentation were the erotic ones.

An old Hawaiian guy in his eighties named Hubert, read first. His story was a tale of a wounded soldier who fell in love with a beautiful, blond Red Cross volunteer at a time when interracial relationships were frowned on. The pair made desperate love in a hospital bed near a battlefield as Japanese ships and airplanes dropped bombs all around them. The story turned out to be autobiographical. The Red Cross volunteer was named Dena and Hubert married her on December 30th, 1945.

Years later, Hubert lay with his dying wife in a Navy hospital. There wasn't a dry eye in the group when Hubert read the last line from his story.

"Holding my hand, just before she died my wife said, 'Last time we lay together in a hospital bed was much more fun ... but I don't miss the bombs.'"

An Asian girl named Stephanie read next. She looked about my age at twenty or so. She couldn't have been more than sixty inches tall with a pale delicate complexion and unexpected, light green eyes. Her brown hair was so light in color that it could be mistaken for blonde. Her Asian features, the light hair, the weird green eyes, and pale skin gave her a elfin quality. She nervously cleared her throat then stated the title of her story.

"Death By Aluminum, by Stephanie Santos."

Her voice was coarse and raspy, totally opposite of her delicate appearance.

Hubert, who sat next to me in our little circle, leaned in and said, "Portuguese and Japanese, dangerous combination."

I looked at his to see if he was joking, but I couldn't really tell. Back in Ohio, a blatantly racial comment like that would get him a dirty look. Here in the Hawaii? People racially profiled each other all the time and got away with it.

Stephanie's tale started out steamy enough with a couple making love in the heat of a Hawaiian summer night on a yacht at the Maalaea boat harbor here on the island of Maui. Then suddenly, the story took a violent turn when the angry wife of the man appeared on the scene. Little elven Stephanie Santos, in her grating, guttural voice, described in graphic detail the damage a baseball bat will do to human flesh and bone. Her description of the sounds the bat made with each whack on different body parts were just as graphic: head shots made a high pinging sound followed by a hollow thonk, and a whack at a man's crotch made a dull meaty thud with a distinct mellow crunch to describe just a few. It was a total gore fest to the end.

I stole a peek at my reader's list to see if the story was listed as fiction or nonfiction. It said fiction but that meant nothing. The story ended with our murderess doing twenty-five to life at the Oahu State Pen for the beating death of her cheating husband and his mistress.

We took a short break and a group of women surrounded Stephanie, congratulating her on her powerful little tale. Because of the seemingly gleeful way she had described the guy in the story getting his crotch pounded to hamburger, none of us males ventured near.

Hubert said to me, "I Pity the fool who piss that girl off."

After the break it was my turn. No fan of public reading, a lump formed in my throat and stayed there all the way through. As I read, it worried me at how much graphic detail I had left in the piece. I thought I had tamed it down in the final rewrite, but reading it aloud seem to put everything under a microscope and little details became huge. I had wrote the story with an existential leaning thinking that the surreal weirdness would blunt the erotic edge, but to my dismay, it heightened it. The part in the story of how the woman trapped in the mirror on the back of the door looking out at the real people making love turned out great—and just a tiny bit creepy.

Copies of all the stories of the people who had read were handed to everyone in the group to be critiqued and reviewed overnight. They would be handed back at the final meeting the next day. The group broke up and we headed for the exit.

At the door, Hubert, the old Hawaiian guy, slapped me on the back and said, "You one strange haole."

I knew that haole meant stranger or outsider, but the current modern use of the word usually meant white person or more specifically, according to Gwen my kind of local girlfriend ... whitey, honky, cracker. Plus I wasn't sure if Hubert was complimenting me or just making an observation.

I felt Stephanie Santos' eye on me as we waited for the elevator. Her look seemed neutral but I sensed something else too. Did something in my story irk her? Hubert's comment of pitying the fool that pissed her off made me swallow hard.

People piled into the elevator and called out floor numbers. I was on three. I got off on my floor with a few others, Stephanie among us. I stopped at my room and dug out my room card. I eyed Stephanie walking pass and stole a glance at her perfect heart shaped ass in her jeans. She suddenly turned and looked at me. I quickly slid my card through the card slot, opened my door and slipped out of sight.

I shared the hotel room with a fellow university student named Jared. His group must have broken early for he was already laying on his bed scribbling notes in the margins of a story. Without looking at me, he held out his hand. I dug a twenty dollar bill from my jeans and handed it to him. Jared took the money with a smug smile. The night before, he had read my story and bet me that I would be asked to read it aloud in my group. Like a fool I took the bet.

"So sexy and tense," he said, "A rare thing for a straight guy."

I got down to writing notes for Hubert and Stephanie. At around ten, there was a knock at the door and members of Jared's group came to kidnap him for drinks and dancing.

"I have a twenty burning a hole in my pocket right now," Jared said with a smile. "Since it's your money, I'll buy you a drink," he said to me. Not in the mood for a noisy bar, I politely refused and went back to work.

A half hour later, in the middle of reading Stephanie Santos' sorted tail for the second time, a knock came at the door. Probably more of Jared's group looking for the party, I figured. I threw opened the door and standing in the hall was Stephanie from my group. She had on a simple pink clinging top tucked into faded jeans, her slim figure pleasing. It was impossible not to notice the way the nipples of her petite breasts poked at the material of her shirt ... but I did my beat not to. Her pale Asian face appeared unadorned except for glossy pink lipstick. Her silky almost blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the hallway light. Since coming to Hawaii, my appreciation for Asian women has grown and Stephanie looked angelic. But unfortunately, she spoke.

"You one big liar," she said in her jarring local accent a couple of decibels too loud, and in an octave that was just plain unnatural for a human being.

I blinked at the odd accusation. "About what?" I asked confused. "If it's about my story, it was listed as fiction."

Not waiting for an invitation, she stepped into the room. The vivid image of an aluminum bat pinging off a human skull filled my imagination. Was her story autobiographical like Hubert's? And I guess in a way, so was my story too. I was tempted to leave the door open. But bravely (or foolishly) I didn't give in to paranoia and closed it.

"Az what I mean, that story not fiction," she said in thick local pidgin as she sat on my roommate's bed. "You and that other haole guy fucked that crazy Japanee girl in the mirror for real."

"The girl in the mirror was crazy not the one in the real world," I corrected her. Then I blinked and added vehemently, "And I made the whole thing up!"

"Bull shit," she said. She stared at me for a few seconds and boy did that make me nervous. "You old enough to drink?" she asked.

I blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation "I'm only twenty," I confessed.

"No matter, I know the bartender," she said holding her unwavering stare. "So young to be writing sexy tales like that. Guys sometimes have to be Hubert's age to write good sex."

I graciously accepted the compliment. Or perhaps she was accusing me of plagiarism. I couldn't tell.

"I buy you drink and you can tell me mo' lies," she said.

I wondered for a second if I should refuse the invitation. But just for a second. "Okay," I said.

In the lobby, on the way to the restaurant bar, we passed good old Hubert. He was with a large group of local people obviously his family. He saw me with Stephanie and gave me the raised eyebrow. I smiled and shrugged. To be funny, he mimed swing a baseball bat like he was Babe Ruth.

The hotel bar and restaurant was packed with people from the writer's workshop. Stephanie and I squeezed in at the bar. The bartender gave Stephanie a high five and never asked for my ID. Over beers, I learned more about her. She was thirty-three so I was off by twelve years for I thought she was closer to my age. She admitted to being of Portuguese and Japanese mix. I told her what Hubert had said about her racial mix and it made her laugh. I expected her laugh to be harsh and obnoxious, but instead, it was deep, soft and sexy. She told me she worked for a security firm here on Maui and before that, she was a deputy sheriff for Maui County. As she spoke, she light up a Marlboro red.

"Can I have one of those?" I asked and nicked a smoke from her. I had sort of quit smoking the moment I hit Hawaii when I found out how much a pack of cigarettes cost. I'm surprised anyone still smoked in the islands; heroine and crack cocaine were probably cheaper to buy. After three Coronas, I worked up the courage to ask, "Is all of your story fiction too?"

Her eyes went cold and my heart jumped. Then she laughed her husky laugh. "Made um all up," she said.

"Fuck you," I said but couldn't help feeling relieved (and just a wee bit disappointed too). I grabbed at the pack of cigarettes and stole my second of the evening. She flicked a pink Bic lighter and I took hold of her hand to steady the flame. The physical contact was electric. A part of my anatomy that needs no mentioning, responded predictably. I crossed my legs to cover up and asked, "So everything in your story was all made up then?"

"Only one part was real." She flicked a long ash into the ashtray. "One night, when I still worked for the county, the sheriff and me was called to a domestic disturbance at the Wailuku Hawaiian homes. We encountered a drunken couple arguing in their yard. We separated the two, sending the wife in the house. But suddenly she came back out with an aluminum bat in her hands. She got in one good whack on her husband's head and a quick one to his crotch before we got it away from her. The guy was fucked up but not too bad. He never lost conscientious. The paramedics came. We arrested the wife for assault with a deadly weapon."

Stephanie pause to take a long draw on her cigarette. Then in a voice strangely gentle she continued. "The sound the aluminum bat made banging off that guy's head and then the dull slap at his balls stayed with me for a long time. I quite that job a year later." After a few seconds of quiet, she shrugged, and then asked out of the blue, "You wanna do it?"

It was obvious what she meant. The expression on her face said she took no prisoners and I wondered how many men have run from that very look? A tiny part of me wanted too run too, it was the same part of me that was still convinced she was the bat wielding wife in her story.

Yeah, I wanted to do it, but didn't have the courage to say it aloud so I simply nodded. We crushed out our cigarettes in the ashtray, drained our beers and exited the bar.

"I have my own room," She said as we waited in the lobby for the elevator.

"Good," I said.

"Got rubbers?" she asked.

"No."

We turned away from the elevators, crossed the lobby and stepped out on the street. We saw a local convenience store and strolled in that direction.

"I'll go get the rubbers. Any preference?"

"Any brand, large."

"Bragging?"

"No," I said with a shrug.

"Yeah right," she said sarcastically.

I shrugged again.

She stepped in close and brazenly gripped my pent up, rock hard erection and ran her hand along it to judge the size. Her eyebrows went up, then she frowned and she batted her pretty green eyes several times. She went into the store returning two minutes later with a tiny bag that she kept clutched in her hands as we walked back to the hotel.

We stepped in the elevator with an elderly tourist couple. The elderly couple hit the third floor button which was our floor too, but Stephanie pressed the twenty forth floor button and I frowned.

"Thought you were on three with me?" I asked.

"No," she whispered. "I followed you earlier to see what room you in."

The old couple got off on three. The moment the door closed, Stephanie dropped to her knees and started to unsnap my jeans.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I asked a bit freaked.

"Pretty obvious I think," she said as she slid my jeans down just enough so she could see my erect penis straining in my briefs. She reached under the elastic band with her right hand sprung me free.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

"Wow, so big haole boy," she back whispered.

"Um, I think they have security cameras in here," I said still whispering looking around at the upper corners of the elevator.

"Camera's on the panel above the buttons, "Stephanie said in a normal casually volume, still on her knees before of me, gripping me.

"Fuck!" I barked as I pulled myself from her warm grip and yanked my underwear and pants back up. Stephanie stood just as the elevator chime at the top floor of the hotel. I made to get out but she took hold of my arm stopping me.

"Not my floor. I'm on nine," she said with a soft throaty laugh as she hit the ninth floor button.

The chic had apparently taken us to the top just so she cold get a look at my dick.

Bold or crazy? Which was she?

She watched me arranged myself as best I could. The chime went off and we stopped on the twentieth floor. Stephanie stood in front of me to hid my condition as three people stepped in. On the way down, we picked up more passengers from two more stops. By the time we reached the ninth floor, the elevator was packed. Stephanie and I squeezed out. I followed her to her room at a couple of paces behind.

"Still checking out my ass?" she asked in raspy pidgin as she got out her room card key.

"Totally," I admitted this time.

She gave a me pleasing wiggle, laughed and let us into her room.

The moment the room door closed I stepped toward her for a kiss, but she effectively strait armed me, took a step back, pulled her pink clingy shirt over her head, pealed her jeans down her slim pretty legs, and stood before me in no nonsense white cotton bra and panties. Taking her cue, I started to pull my shirt over my head too.

"No don't," she said.

What the fuck? She's not changing her mind now? I thought in total carnal panic.

But her next move was encouraging. She undid her bra exposing her small pretty breasts. The areolas around her pale pink nipples matched her lipstick and I absently wondered if that was intentional.

I could tell that she liked putting on a show so I sat on one of the beds to enjoy it. My buddy Hawk (and Gwen's other lover) would love this, he has a thing for watching women undress. Stephanie slid her panties down. The patch of hair between her legs matched the light brown hair on her head. She was slim with a wiry, tight, muscle tone. She turned her back to me and I admired her perfect slim ass sculpted to wear tight jeans to my opinion. She went to the open suitcase on the other bed, pulled out a black dress and shimmied into.

"Um, we plan on going out?" I asked, wondering what part of --you wanna do it— I had misunderstood. I ticked off in my head: Stalking me, liquoring me up, buying condoms, exposing my dick in an elevator, and then getting naked in front of me all certainly added up to my definition of —you wanna do it—.

She straitened her sexy dress and adjusted the spaghetti straps on her shoulders. She tossed me a condom. "I no mo' pockets. You carry," she said in her jarring local accent then backed it up with her velvety laugh. "Follow me haole boy."

I hadn't failed to notice that she wore no panties and bra under her dress; the chick was in full commando attack. She led me pass the elevators, turned a corner then walked down a longish hall with no doors that ended in a lone elevator. Stephanie hit the up button. The elevator arrived and we stepped in.

"This elevator is mostly used by room service to deliver meals," she said. "The kitchen closed at nine so not too many people use it at night." She gave me a radiant smile. "I like doing it in elevators. I scoped this one out the first day I was here."

She hit the twenty fourth floor button. We stood side by side watching the numbers on the panel ascend. My heart hammered in my chest so loud that I was sure she could hear it. Neither of us moved an inch all the way up. I couldn't speak for her, but my paralysis was pure fear spiced with hormonal overload. The door opened onto a empty hallway with a bend to the left exactly like the one on Stephanie's floor. Stephanie slapped at the button that said kitchen. Before the door fully closed, she dropped to her knees, unsnapped my jeans and pulled them down along with my underwear far enough to spring my erection free. She pushed my jeans and underwear further down until all was below my knees. To say I felt exposed and freaked out would be putting it mildly. This chick was clearly crazy. But hey, I'm twenty, male and suffer from frequent bouts of hormonal poisoning so I could hardly point fingers. The only noise in the space was the soft hummed of the motors. The pull of the extra 'G's on my exposed balls felt interesting.

"Rubber," Stephanie said holding her hand out like a surgeon.

I slapped the condom into her open palm. She tore the little packet open with her teeth and applied the latex sheath. My eyes flickered to the control panel where she said the security camera was located. The little metallic and glass circle had to be it. Then I remembered how our earlier elevator ride had filled with people so quickly.

As if reading my mind, she said, "No worry. People hardly come down the hall to use this elevator. But it's gonna be an interesting night in the security booth." With the condom applied, she ran her fingers along my full length. "Some big."

I didn't say a thing because I felt she was addressing my penis directly and not me.