The elevator jerked as it started its ascent, and I caught my balance. A hand grazed my elbow from behind asif to steady me and I mumbled the obligatory, “Thank you,” under my breath, while trying to stuff my notes away in the crowded car.
Suddenly, I felt something warm on the back of my neck—steady breath, not unpleasant—and realized how tightly packed we were, like sardines. I shifted slightly forward to try and allow more room to those behind me. A split second later I felt the breath on my neck again—and it seemed, hotter? Perhaps. Certainly more insistent as it was accompanied by a hand lightly grazing my hip.
– excerpt from Going Down
I don’t remember a time when I didn’t fantasize. Early in life my fantasies were largely non-sexual: twirling on stage in a pink ballerina tutu, teaching a classroom of my dolls and Weebles, or taking a walk with my imaginary friend, John, down my dead end street.
My imagination guided my play when I was very young. Take John, for instance. I created my friend shortly after my sister was born, when I was 4 years old. John and I played together every day, and my parents humored me by including him in our conversations. I suspect it was a reaction to the birth of my sister, and my mother’s attention shifting to care for an infant. I was the only young child on my block, and without my Mom to play with, I created a friend who would go on adventures with me.
Not long after, I had what I have to consider my first sexual fantasy playing a game with my friend. We would pretend we were in boarding school and take turns being the headmaster, ‘punishing’ each other for being bad by spanking each other. I remember the warm flush between my legs when we played this game, and how it led to some touching of each other under the blankets at night in her big bed when I slept over. This fantasy persisted for years, so much so that when I moved away, I remember trying to recreate it by myself in my bedroom. Unfortunately, the recreation lacked the same excitement and while I still fantasized about it, it became relegated to the world of strictly fantasy for the next several years.
Everything left my head in a moment as my body reacted—a tingle between my legs, the tightening of the flesh surrounding my nipples, and a sharp intake of breath. Lately, I’ve been working so hard that my physical needs have taken a back seat, and it was thrilling to feel my body respond so quickly and intensely.
The doors opened, and a few people alit but even more tried to squeeze in. I shifted slightly backward to make room, and the hand that grazed my hip gripped lightly in the same spot. I felt the tell-tale signs of male excitement and gasped—not at all loudly, but with apparently enough volume that someone listening for it would hear, because the person behind me responded by snaking his hand around to rest just beneath my belly button and tilting their pelvis, pressing into me. I’d thought the contact was solely a product of the crowded elevator, but now I was beginning to understand that this person behind me was taking the opportunity to involve me in his – yes, that was definitely an erection – obvious arousal.
– excerpt from Going Down
On the cusp of adolescence, I found a shoebox under my mother’s bed. The contents included:
- A well-thumbed paperback copy of My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday
- A newer paperback of Men in Love by Nancy Friday
- A cream-colored molded plastic vibrator, standard Spencer’s issue for the time, which took two double D batteries
- Two Anaïs Nin paperbacks, less worn than the Nancy Friday books
- A handful of Playgirl magazines, including the one with Burt Reynolds as the centerfold.
Talk about a box full of fantasy fodder! I’m sure my exposure to this magic shoebox fueled my erotic life and set the stage for decades to come. The Nancy Friday books showcased a breadth of sexual fantasy I couldn’t have imagined at the time, while the Anaïs Nin provided literary sensuality and eroticism. Not to mention the visuals of naked men! I’d never seen genitals different from mine, and I blushed each time I stole a glance.
I pored through these selections with the vibrator humming low between my legs. It became my favorite after school activity! On weekends, when my mother was home, I turned to long baths, with my butt pushed up against the end of the bathtub and warm water pouring out of the spigot onto my clit. It’s a chore to get many teens to bathe as much as they should, but I never had that issue!
I don’t know what came over me, and I simply reacted by arching my back slightly, pushing my ass against him. Even among the chatter in the elevator, I heard a soft gasp. The elevator stopped again and a few people left, allowing more room for the others to shift. I was torn. I didn’t want to be noticed remaining pressed up against this stranger, but I certainly didn’t want to move either. I glanced right and left, slyly, trying to ascertain if I knew anyone around me, and felt relieved that I didn’t. My shyness won out however and I began to shift my weight, only to be met by another jerking of the elevator that sent me grinding hard backward.
I quickly regained my balance and stepped tentatively forward.
“No.”
I froze, not completing the step, and rocked back against the man behind me again. One second. Then two. My heart was beating so that it pounded throughout my body.
– excerpt from Going Down
I became sexually active with others in my mid-teens, but rather than quell my fantasy life, it fueled it! I remember the breathlessness of kissing and touching my boyfriends, but I wasn’t confident or knowledgeable enough to tell them what I wanted, and found myself often returning home to take care of my desire myself. In person encounters fueled my desire and fantasy life, while solo sex brought me orgasm, pleasure, and satisfaction.
I began to have incredibly detailed and explicit dreams. Funny thing about these dreams, though – they stopped short of climax. They were all about touch and tease and temptation, sensual and lush, but I’d wake just as frustrated as when I was with a partner. In my head, I would complete the dream scenario while furiously rubbing my clit. It was during these frantic midnight frigging sessions when I started to make sounds of pleasure, surprising myself. Luckily, my bedroom was on the other end of the house from my parents, so I experimented with letting my sexual voice sing, quietly, as I brought myself to orgasm.
I glanced up to see the elevator had nearly reached my floor. His hand was now tickling my outer thigh, just below the hem of my skirt, flesh on flesh, and I still felt him throbbing against my buttocks. A ding signaled my floor and I reluctantly, but deliberately, pushed forward to depart the elevator car, feeling his hand slip from my skin, and then I turned to the right beyond the door. Instinct told me not to turn around to catch sight of him, so I kept my eyes ahead. I strode purposefully toward my door, already contemplating what I could do to attend to my throbbing need once I reached the privacy of my room.
I had only taken a dozen steps when I sensed movement in the hallway behind me. Was it him? I was tempted to turn around and perhaps catch a glimpse of the man who had encouraged my rush toward my hotel door, though I was also looking forward to a bit of solitude and the vibrator I’d spirited through airport security. Was he following me? My breathing increased with just the contemplation.
– excerpt from Going Down
In my early 20’s, I started writing down these dream/fantasies. Like my dreams, they were detailed and heavy on sensuality. When I got to the part where things should actually culminate, though, I was lost. Although I’d been having partnered sex, it was rote and fairly unsatisfactory. I didn’t know much of anything about what good partnered sex was supposed to be like. My experience had been with people as inexperienced as I, sweaty boys who hurried to penetration and fell asleep when that was over. My fantasy life was still far more fulfilling than my actual sex life.
That started to change, however, in my first marriage, when my partner and I set out sexploring the world of swinging. Every once in a while I was having sex that was oh, so satisfying, and finally had personal knowledge to draw upon when writing down my erotic fantasies. I had my first experiences with people of the same gender as well, and drew upon my knowledge of my own body to tease theirs. My stories gained depth and vivid descriptions of raw and bawdy sex.
At my door, I inserted the key and out of the corner of my eye saw a flash from the direction I’d come. “Really? Could it be him?” I didn’t quite believe it but as I entered my door I hesitated, just in case, my left arm holding the door open and breathing heavily.
One beat, then two. On three, at the very moment I’d decided I was fooling myself again, I felt a familiar hand snake around the right side of my waist, caress upward to cup my breast, coinciding with warm breath on my neck, and soon followed by two lips and grazing teeth.
In this moment, there was nothing but him and I, panting and throbbing. A thousand thoughts rushed through my brain, but they were interrupted by his voice.
“Do you want this?”
Rational thought had left moments ago. In its place there was a primal scream building in my brain, repeating yes, yes, yes, yes, over and over again, my temples and clit throbbing in time, alternating with the realization of how crazy I was to consider allowing this.
I took a deep breath, and on the exhale what came out was, “Yes, yes, please.”
– excerpt from Going Down
It was also in my 20’s that my early spanking fetish returned along with gaining lovers who wanted to spank me. This opened a whole new world into kink, and my fantasies grew deeper, richer, and more erotic with the addition of sensation and impact play, role playing, ritual, and the rich dance of power exchange.
As my interests evolved, so did my fantasies. The interesting thing is my unmet yearnings tended to always be in the realm of not possible right now. Some of them have grown darker, quite edgy, or things that excite me but to actually do them would actually be terrifying, in a multitude of ways. And that’s okay. That’s what fantasy is for, really, to help you push your self-imposed limits and find out who you really are. I’ve realized that I’m at a point where my most raw fantasies are things I would never actually do, so I feel like I’ve discovered where that frontier ends.
What do I fantasize about now? I’m glad you asked. Like my dreams, they are all about touch and sensation, and someone seducing me in tantalizing ways. They focus on the sounds and scents and sensations of really good sex. Occasionally I have a more bawdy one, like a bareback gang bang or something – which is in the realm of ‘never do’ because of sexual health concerns and difficulty in finding several people who would worship my body rather than debase me. But, oh, the fantasy is delicious, and I so love to feast on it in my head.
If you’d like to read the entirety of my elevator fantasy, please visit https://www.literotica.com/s/going-down-36
Photo by Jason Dent on Unsplash
Jennifer Rahner
Springfield, MA
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