The Goosing of Goldie
Goldie Gosling had lived all her life in the luxury apartment building on the Upper East Side. She and her parents all loved the place. She remembered being very young and frightened by the elevator operators; it seemed so strange to have this uniformed gentleman, polite and refined to a fault, privy to all the private conversations one might choose to have in the elevator. This was particularly true because Goldie and her parents lived in the 57th floor, so they invariably had quite a ride ahead of them when they entered the building. Still, the operators were always quite respectful.
That is, until Jimmy.
Goldie was 18 and Jimmy not much older when he came to work at the building. From the moment Goldie set eyes on him, she was captured. He was gorgeous, with his thick black hair cut in a rakish manner, his full pink lips looking astonishingly kissable. Goldie had never been kissed, having attended an exclusive Manhattan girls’ school and being forbidden by her parents to date. They had agreed to lift that restriction when she started Columbia in the fall, provided she lived at home.
But she wanted to kiss Jimmy very much. There was something about the pearly-pale cast of his skin, the well-muscled cut of his body, the faint scar across his jawline, the suspicious narrowing of the eyes, the faint sarcastic smile that always seemed to be twisting his lips in a way that, Goldie suspected, was so subtle that no one but her noticed. All she had to do was think about getting on an elevator and she started to get excited. Jimmy’s Brooklyn accent echoed in her ears whenever she dreamed of him — streetwise and confident.
But she played it cool, not wanting to seem a perfect slut. After all, she had to wait another two months before she’d even be allowed to date. And certainly her parents wouldn’t sit still if she decided to date an elevator operator, would they?
Nonetheless, Goldie found her midnight visions filled with Jimmy, imagining him kissing her, touching her, making love to her. She wondered what other scars he bore on that muscled body underneath that conservative red uniform. She had her first orgasm thinking of Jimmy, sprawled in the covers under her bed biting her finger very hard so as not to issue the passionate moans that were surging up inside her body. Her finger had teeth marks for three days.
Each time she entered the elevator Goldie could smell him, his rough scent of blended male musk, machine oil and Brylcreem. Her pussy would clench firmly, thinking, remembering the frequent fantasies of Jimmy atop her, moaning as he lost that cool exterior, trading it for a torrent of lust for her.
But Jimmy remained distant, aloof, despite the way his eyes roved over Goldie whenever she stepped into the elevator. He was always coolly polite. He never offered her more than a “Good morning, Miss Gosling” or a “Good evening, Miss Gosling.” He never even asked her how she was doing.
The night it happened, she had been at the library very late, studying for her final exam in her summer school class on The Philosophy of Quantum Physics at the NYU Extension Program. She was quite sure to get an A, but there’s nothing wrong with getting an A+, is there? The chauffeur dropped her off in front of the building and watched to make sure the doorman was on duty before parking the car.
Sleepy and somewhat giddy with exhaustion, Goldie found herself the only person on the elevator. Against her better judgement, she entered.
“Good morning, Miss Gosling,” said Jimmy, his eyes flickering up and down Goldie’s body. She felt somewhat ashamed that she’d worn a brief summer dress that left her quite exposed, but it got so hot in that library.
Goldie said “Oh, is it after midnight?”
“Just barely, Miss Gosling,” said Jimmy, his eyes never leaving her body, lingering over the way her full breasts filled out the dress.
“Then good morning, Jimmy. Busy night?”
“It is now,” he said.
Puzzling at that last comment, Goldie turned around and faced the door. The elevator hummed silently to life, and without warning, Goldie felt a sudden pinch on her pussy. She gasped, leaping forward. She looked at Jimmy with horror. He looked like the cat that ate the canary.
“Something wrong, Miss Gosling?”
Goldie felt a tiny shiver go through her lower regions, her pussy swelling and moistening with the touch of Jimmy’s hand. He had touched her, hadn’t he? Or perhaps she had just imagined it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, turning back around. “Nothing at all.”
Another pinch, and this time Goldie didn’t turn around. Then Jimmy’s hand was on her more firmly, and she was pushing back onto him as he stroked her pussy, finding it wet. Goldie shut her eyes very tight as the elevator whirred on in its long journey up to the 57th floor. . “Don’t turn around,” Jimmy said, just to make sure, and Goldie seized the grab rails as her orgasm exploded through her.
Jimmy’s hand withdrew, and Goldie stood on unsteady legs as the doors slid open.
“57th floor,” said Jimmy. “Good night, Miss Gosling.”
“Good… good night, Jimmy,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Goldie didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. She thrashed in her bed, moaning as she remembered Jimmy touching her — and pictured him doing more. Kissing her. Undressing her. Fucking her for the first time up against that elevator wall on the long journey to the 57th floor.
For the rest of the summer, Goldie started making a habit of studying late — very late. Jimmy was an expert; he could always make her come before the 57th floor, provided she followed his instructions and didn’t turn around. Within a few weeks she was climaxing on 34, then 24. Jimmy had her getting off three times on some nights before they reached 57 — all without touching her anywhere except her pussy.
Goldie’s pussy remained in a perpetual ache, as she was rubbing herself violently to orgasm every night after her trip with Jimmy. She dreamed of him always. She believed she was in love.
The day before classes began at Columbia, the ever-fastidious Goldie was at the library well past midnight studying her schoolbooks to make sure she would be ahead of the game on the very first day. She returned from the library with Jimmy on her mind. She had been thinking of him all evening as she studied, and the mere sight of him made her melt.
“Good morning, Miss Gosling. Particularly late tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Jimmy,” she said. “Good morning.”
Goldie trembled as she turned around.
The elevator whirred to life and Goldie took the grab rails, supporting herself as Jimmy’s fingers slipped under her skirt, under her panties, and began stroking her. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it any more.
She hit the emergency stop button and launched herself at Jimmy, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she pressed her lips to his.
“The surveillance camera –” he said weakly, but then his protests were lost in moans as Goldie dropped to her knees and clawed his red uniform pants open. His cock in her mouth tasted even sweeter than she’d dreamed of, all the nights she pictured herself doing exactly this. She sucked him hungrily as Jimmy ran his magic fingers through her hair.
But she wanted more. Goldie took her mouth off Jimmy’s cock, looked up into his beautiful eyes and whispered “Fuck me.”
Jimmy lifted Goldie onto her feet and pushed her against the wall of the elevator, propping her ass on the guardrails as he tugged her underwear to one side and entered her. Goldie felt only the slightest twinge of discomfort as Jimmy’s hard cock opened her pussy for the very first time — and then it was nothing but ecstasy, as she came on Jimmy’s cock, his hands roving all over her body and tearing her dress until it was nothing but shreds. She came slumped against him, moaning as he emptied himself inside her.
Goldie was very lucky that her parents were already asleep. She slipped inside and tucked her dress down the garbage chute — there wasn’t much left of it, anyway. She slept fitfully for the rest of the night, awakening periodically to touch herself and thunder eagerly and repeatedly into the throes of orgasm as she dreamed of her next elevator encounter with Jimmy.
But when Goldie entered the elevator, wearing a smart businesslike outfit of navy blue for her first day at Columbia, some elderly man she’d never seen was operating the elevator.
“Wh — what happened to Jimmy?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m afraid he’s been fired,” said the new elevator operator. He chuckled and nudged her in the ribs. “I heard he had a bit of a toss with one of the tenants right here in this very elevator. Shocking, eh? He was fired on the spot.”
“Oh,” she said primly. “Good riddance.”
Goldie wept all the way uptown on the subway. She hid her face behind a copy of Nausea and bawled. Her skin tingled all over remembering the touches Jimmy had given her, and her pussy clenched remembering how he’d entered her for the first time, making her come as he crushed her against the elevator wall.
Never again. She had made a slut of herself and she would never see Jimmy again.
Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were pink as she walked, 15 minutes early, into Existential Despair and the 21st Century Mind. She sat miserably in the back row — she had never sat in the back row in her whole life, always choosing the front so she could ask pertinent questions and impress her teachers. Now, though, poor Goldie just wanted to disappear.
Her face was buried in a copy of Being and Nothingness that was rapidly edging toward the Nothingness side as Goldie’s tears soaked its pages.
“Yo, you’re gonna ruin that book, lady.”
Goldie looked up, staring wide-eyed at the familiar sound of Jimmy’s Brooklyn accent. Jimmy wore a tight white T-shirt and blue jeans folded up over his engineer boots. He had a pack of Luckies wrapped up in the sleeve, their colorful logo just visible through the white cotton. He had a motorcycle helmet crooked under one arm and a backpack over the other shoulder. There was a copy of Plato tucked alongside the helmet.
Tears streamed down Goldie’s face.
“I… I got you fired,” she said.
Jimmy shrugged. “Ah, I didn’t need that job anyway. I just had to keep it for the summer in order to hang on to my scholarship. Now that the term’s started, I’ll do okay. I mean, hey, you wanna get out of Brooklyn and be a philosophy professor, you gotta play by the rules. I wouldn’t have kept that job anyway. Listen, you wanna get a cappuccino after class?”
The professor took the podium and said pretentiously: “Desire. What is the place for desire, desire that ascends to the stars from the lowest depths of human misery?”
Goldie threw her arms around Jimmy and kissed him.
Thomas Roche is a widely-published writer and editor of erotica, horror, and crime fiction. You can visit him online at his new website, www.skidroche.com.