[ad_1]
The truth be known, life is short. It’s measured in moments and short events as we age — not in decades or years anymore. This is a 750 word snapshot moment in Walter’s life as he reaches that point where he sees the juxtaposition of the above truism and his own life being measured in one such short event as he ages.
Kenjisato, a voluntary Literotica editor, has assisted in editing this short missive with his keen eye for missed corrections needed in this story. I laud him for his editing talents and quick response!
This story does not contain any sexual engagements, or really bad words. Sometimes a fleeting moment in time just doesn’t call for those.
At the end of another sweltering day, I approached the ancient elevator. At eight this morning, I had stepped into that sweat box and rode down to the parking garage. By the time I hit the ground, I already had sweat trickling down the small of my back and into my boxers. My balls stuck like glue to my legs as the door creaked open. I stepped out into another 110 degree morning in the making; feeling like a forgotten loofah sponge in a sauna by the time I cranked up my car. The journey down was quickly forgotten, as I navigated through the congested downtown traffic. I found myself wishing I’d won the lottery; more precisely, wishing I’d actually bought a ticket and won the lottery!
I just knew this afternoon’s ride up would be more like an oven set at 525 sizzling degrees. My body would be broiling like one of the steaks among the groceries by the time the ancient, rusty, steel door allowed me to escape.
My stroll to the elevator was joined by an elderly geezer, shuffling out from a handicap parking spot. Abruptly, I slowed to avoid colliding with him. Hell, it wouldn’t be polite to say, ‘Excuse me, sir!’ and just ask him to step aside as I hurried out of the heat. Good manners had me falling in behind, adjusting my pace.
“Sorry, about that!” a soft feminine voice, murmured behind me, “Lately, Gramps, has developed a habit of just walking out without looking.”
The lilting voice was so out of place with my mood. It brought a smile to my lips. Reminded me that I wasn’t the center of the universe and the world wasn’t all about me.
“It’s okay, we’re all going the same way. No great rush,” I sighed. I didn’t bother to look behind me, keeping mindful not to step on the gentleman as I inched closer.
“Got the keys, Linda, sweety?”
“Yes, Gramps. I have our keys. Just keep going!” she sang out again, as his pace slowed.
Like dromedaries, we stepped into the oven. First, the geezer, going to the rear and turning around to face me. My turn, following suit, and turned around to face the front.
Damn… If time didn’t just halt and the universe just stopped moving as the twenty-something lady stepped into the space between the door and my chest. It was a close fit; like a sloth, I slowly shifted sideways a bit. The enchantment of the moment had entranced me.
Those high cheekbones, and emerald eyes would snap anyone’s neck as they turned to look at her in passing. I was fortunate; just had them dead ahead and inches away as my mouth broke open a bit, in surprise. She smiled, one of amusement. It seemed she could read my mind…
‘Gorgeous,’ was that word she probably read from my mind as she turned to face the front.
The air conditioning was set on sizzle. I felt the heat, mostly in my swelling boxers.
“Floor?” she giggled.
“Twelfth, honey!” he answered.
“I know, Gramps. I was asking the…gentlemen with all the groceries!”
“Twelfth, also…honey.” I chimed in, on queue. Cheeky, I know, but it just couldn’t be helped.
It takes a long time to journey from the garage to the twelfth floor. Enough to stare at the back of her long slender creamy neck and inhale the lavender scent flowing from the auburn hair cascading down her bareback. The thin spaghetti straps curved over her dimpled clavicles and disappeared to wrap around those perky breasts that had faced me for an instant before she turned. My eyes flowed down to a nice shapely behind, tightly wrapped with a scanty microskirt. The smooth tanned legs were just spread enough to maintain balance. They looked like…two creamy popsicle sticks holding up something I would like to have licked. ‘Maybe, she is the magic age, twenty-nine?’
A creak and then a momentary jar, but the ancient conveyance continued its journey. But enough of a jar to cause her to drop the keys she had clutched. Her mother must never have taught her to bend her knees, lady like. I watched that microskirt rise up her hips as she bent at the waist; she was wearing a red-thong between her Ass crack.
I stared at her heat-induced mirage going down the hallway as Gramps shuffled past muttering with a smile, “Red is my favorite.”
“Did he just win the lottery?”
As you might have gathered from this story and my writer’s profile, Walter and I share some similarities. I’m old. I see the end of times growing closer and more intense. As such, I had set about writing some of my own life story, but found that pretty intense. So I’ve turned to lighter subject matter, such as this short article, to allay some of those troublesome ponderings. My double vision still is a bit messy from my recent fall, so I work on short-time pieces for now.
One could interpret this story as a highly symbolic piece, with deep undertones. Little, if anything is gleaned from the storyline, not even Walter’s name is given within the story. The other named character is Linda, and she and her grandfather’s purpose for being in the story is not apparent. No real clues to cling on to that help define them or this moment in time situation. Structurally the story is void of defining details, except for the young woman’s first name and physical description. It presents an ideal story for an allegorical interpretation!
For instance, the dromedary procession reference could be interpreted as the passing of time. The elevator entry scene could be seen as allegorical, portraying Walter as really being the geezer walking into the elevator and turning around to face himself—a look into the mirror so to speak. Seeing where he had been as Walter, the middle-aged version. Walter could be perceived as turning around and discovering something he missed out on in his past — due to inaction; not ‘buying a lottery ticket to life’ and missing out on a girl of his dreams as she shimmered away, like a mirage, down the hallway and out of his life. The red thong; well no need to explain that symbolism to a Literotica reader, right; nor the swell in his boxers?
Or, one could say, there were no symbolic pieces with deep undertones. It wasn’t the intent of the story, at all. And just let readers draw their own conclusions about whether or not this story was symbolic of life as one approaches an old rusty, jarring tomb, that hopefully is rising upward to the twelfth floor and not to some Hot hell-hole in the afterlife! I left some other symbols scattered in the story. Perhaps you spotted them as you raced through my missive on life?
Thank you, for spending some time reading my story. Please, rate this story for me, and leave me a note as to whether or not you saw any of the alleged symbolism!
[ad_2]
