Red-Thong Girl In the Elevator 02

This allegorical writing exercise is limited to 750-words, meeting Literotica's minimalist, short story criteria. No sex. No kisses. Substantially revised, July 2022. This story coincidently reflects the words to Neil Diamond's song "Solitary Man."

"Belinda was mine 'til the time that I found her

Holdin' Jim and lovin' him

Then Sue came along, loved me strong

That's what I thought: me and Sue

But that died, too ..."

My thanks for a special editor's assistance and guidance in this exercise. I've touched up this work after that review. Any errors noted are mine and mine alone.

"Belinda, you know I have another work day. Time is money, you know?" I fuss at her while dressing.

"Stay home with me, honey," she implores. "It's Saturday, babe."

Exasperated I reply,"Business, you know, Belinda time is money!"

"There's more to life than money, sugar!" she answers me, enticing me with her bared breasts.

"I'll have those later," I grin, walking out the door.

Perspiration seeps from every pore as I enter our ancient elevator. Stepping out into another 100-degree day, Strangely, my life now feels like a worn-out, loofah sponge forgotten in a sauna.

Our morning spat forgotten, I navigate through traffic, wishing I'd won the lottery.

"Bought your ticket, baby?" Belinda had asked.

"Hell no," I'd chuckled sarcastically, "chances of winning the '69 lottery are over one in ten million."

"Babe, buy me a ticket anyway. Who knows, if we win you could stay home," Belinda begged once more.

With the passage of time, again I walk toward my dreaded ride inside that elevator. I'll broil like the single steak among the groceries I carry before I escape its confines.

Abruptly slowing my pace toward the elevator--I avoid a collision with an elderly geezer shuffling out from a handicapped parking spot. Hell, it wouldn't be polite to say, "Excuse me, sir!" and ask him to step aside as I hurry out of the heat. Good manners have me falling behind and adjusting my pace.

"Sorry, about that!" stammers an apologetic voice from behind me. "Lately, my Jimmy just steps out without looking."

Her lilting voice sounds so out of kilter with my mood that I smile, reminding myself--I am not the center of the universe!

Heaving a sigh I reply, "It's okay, we're all going the same way ... No great rush."

I don't bother to glance back, being mindful not to trip over her geezer.

"Got our keys, Sue, sweetie?"

"Yes, James. Just keep going!" she calls out melodiously as his pace slows.

As ancient dromedaries in bye-gone times, we plod along one by one, stepping into the oven. The senior is first, I'm on his rear, and turning we face the front.

Our eyes finally meet as Sue glides inside."I'll be damn!" my words spill out. It's a tight fit. Her breasts press into my chest. Time halts as my universe stops spinning. Like an entranced sloth, I shift sideways making room for Sue.

She is a goddess with high cheekbones, sparkling emerald eyes, and a ravishing body that would snap anyone's neck as they twist to look at her passing. I grin as our chests make contact.

Smiling back in amusement, she seems to be reading my thoughts ...

With an impish grin, Sue turns to face the front. As the door closes the elevator begins to sizzle. I feel the heat rising, though mostly in my boxers.

"Floor?" she giggles.

"Twelfth, sweetie!"

"I know, darling. I'm asking ..."

On cue, I chime in, "I'm Johnny--twelfth too, sweetie."

I know, it's cheeky, but I just couldn't help it.

The ride from the garage to the twelfth floor usually seems like an eternity. Now it's barely enough time to ogle Sue's slender, creamy neck. My eyes flow down her nicely-shaped behind. It's wrapped in a tight-fitting microskirt. Those tanned legs are spread just enough to maintain balance. They look like ... two creamy Popsicle sticks holding up something I'd love to lick. Maybe, she's that magical age--twenty-nine--where women purposefully stop aging.

The ancient conveyance creaks with a momentary lurch and then continues. Yet, it's enough to cause Sue to drop her keys. I watch as her microskirt rises atop those perfect hips. Clearly, microskirts aren't meant for bending over.

Aha, yes, that's--a crimson-red thong--between her ass crack.

"Twelfth floor," Sue announces, gliding into the hallway like a heat-induced mirage. Smiling, the geezer exits and shuffles past me.

"Granddaughter?"

"Nope," he smirks, ambling away.

My jaw drops, and I'm left holding my bag of groceries in the hallway. I stand like the "Solitary Man" in that Neil Diamond song.

At their door, Jim's hand slides under her skirt. He squeezes her bottom. Grinning, Sue turns the key, just as her ancient sugar daddy says,"The red one is my favorite!"

"Wait! Did Gramps just win the lottery?

"Damn straight ... he did."

I realize, albeit late, that Belinda could have been my lottery ticket back in '69. She found her winning ticket; a guy named Romeo. He markets lingerie while working from home!

I appreciate your time in reading my allegorical story! Please, rate this story for me and leave me a comment on this minimalist 750-word writing exercise. Thank you. Dmallord.