The Stranger in the Elevator That Went Dark

I was traveling to Valencia for work, just like I did every two or three months. I left the car in the hotel parking lot, grabbed my carry-on suitcase, and went up to reception to check in. In front of me, a woman was finishing the same process, and one glance was enough for me to forget the fatigue of the trip.

She had a long black mane falling over her shoulders, the brown skin of someone who lives near the sea, and a dark, tight dress that left nothing to the imagination. High boots, a neckline that promised too much, and a way of leaning on the counter that was pure confidence. I looked at her more than I should have.

She signed, picked up her key card, and stepped aside. I went up to check in. I was in a suit, in the middle of a Valencian July, suffocating in the heat, and all I wanted was to get to the room and tear off those clothes that clung to my back like a second skin.

I finished the paperwork and headed for the elevator. When I got there, she was already there, waiting, her bag hanging from her shoulder and her eyes fixed on the numbers as they went down. The heat was unbearable, but sneaking looks at her distracted me from the misery.

The doors finally opened. She got in and turned toward the panel. I stepped in behind her and said hello.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

“Good afternoon,” she replied, with a brief smile.

I stood behind her. The elevator started to rise slowly and, without warning, it stopped dead between two floors. The light flickered once and went out completely. We were left in the dark.

She pressed the buttons one after another, with no response. She groped for the emergency bell and pressed it. Several long seconds passed before a distant voice, from a receptionist, told us to stay calm: the power had gone out in the whole neighborhood and it would take a while to get us out.

“Well,” I said, trying to sound calm, “we’ll have to wait. My name’s Daniel.”

“Lorena,” she answered.

“A pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine.”

After a while, the emergency lights came on, a dim yellowish glow that cast shadows across her face. Their delay made me distrust how efficient the hotel service really was. We were alone, trapped, and it was starting to feel like an oven in there.

The two of us walked back and forth inside the cabin like caged lions. Luckily, the elevator was spacious, the kind made for suitcases and strollers, and that gave us a little room so we wouldn’t brush against each other at every step.

An entire hour passed and nothing changed. I couldn’t stand having my jacket on anymore, so I took it off along with my tie and laid them folded on top of the suitcase. We kept pacing, making a few comments about how poorly organized everything was and how absurd the situation was.

Then I noticed that Lorena made a grimace of pain every time she put her foot down. The boots were killing her. I set the suitcase on the floor and spread my jacket over it.

“Lorena, sit here,” I offered. “That way you can rest your feet.”

“No need, really,” she said.

“We may be stuck in here for hours. You’ll be more comfortable sitting down than standing up.”

She looked at me warily, as if sizing me up, but in the end she sat on the suitcase with her back against the wall. She let out a sigh of relief that betrayed how much those boots were weighing on her.

The heat kept rising. Lorena took off her boots and set them aside. She was wearing short white socks, and without meaning to, my gaze climbed up her legs until I forced myself to look away. This wasn’t the time or place for that, I kept telling myself, though my body thought otherwise.

As the hours went by, we both sweated without trying to hide it. She shifted uncomfortably, fanned herself with her hand, and looked at me.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take off my dress,” she said. “I’m wearing a bikini underneath. I came from spending the day out.”

“Of course, of course,” I replied, swallowing hard. “Whatever you need to be more comfortable.”

She took off her socks first, then stood up just enough to pull the dress off over her head. She folded it carefully and set it on top of the boots. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and saw that body barely covered by two triangles of fabric, and the heat I felt no longer had anything to do with summer.

Don’t look, Daniel. Don’t look.

“You’re going to melt too with that soaked shirt on,” she said, pointing at me. “Why don’t you take it off? Put your clothes on the floor and sit on them. It’s not like anyone can see us in here.”

“The thing is, I’m not wearing swim trunks,” I said, half joking.

“But you’re wearing briefs, right? It’s practically the same thing.”

It made sense, or I wanted it to. I took off my shoes, my trousers, and my shirt, and was left in my briefs and socks. I spread my clothes on the floor and sat down beside her, trying to keep a distance that was already starting to seem impossible.

“You should take off the socks too,” she said, holding back a laugh. “Briefs and socks isn’t the best combination I’ve ever seen.”

“If you want, I can take off the briefs too,” I shot back, playing along.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” she replied, and laughed heartily.

I took off my socks and left them in a pile. We started talking about random things to pass the time. She told me she had met a man at the hotel to spend the day at the beach, but it hadn’t gone the way she expected. I told her I was coming from Seville, that work forced me to live in hotels for half the year, and that I no longer remembered the last time I had been this uncomfortable and this at ease at the same time.

***

While we chatted, I tried not to look at her too much. But then, almost without realizing it, she started brushing her foot against mine. She did it as if it were nothing, while she told me an anecdote about that frustrating day, speaking naturally. I barely listened. I only noticed the toes of her foot stroking mine, slow, deliberate.

She kept talking and I stared ahead, pretending to be interested, until I felt the outline of an erection in my briefs that there was no longer any way to hide. Lorena noticed it, lowered her gaze, and laughed. I apologized, dying of shame.

“Relax,” she said, moving a little closer. “It’s natural.”

And as she said it, she laid her hand over my crotch, over the fabric, and began to stroke me slowly. I stopped breathing.

“What a surprise you were hiding in there,” she murmured, her mouth very close to my ear.

She leaned forward and asked me to unfasten her bikini top. I did it with clumsy, nervous fingers. She slipped out of the top and, in front of me, two perfect breasts appeared, round, with dark nipples hardened by the heat. Just seeing them sent me soaring.

She slid her hand inside my briefs and I felt her touch my skin directly, with no fabric in between. Carefully, she freed me, straightened up, and knelt between my legs. She looked me in the eyes for a second before leaning down and starting to suck me off.

I could feel her breasts pressed against my thighs while her mouth moved up and down with a skill I hadn’t expected. She licked me, kissed me, took me all the way to the back of her throat. I was in another world, my head against the wall of the elevator and my eyes closed, letting myself be carried away by a situation no sane mind would have planned.

With one hand she held the base and with the other she touched herself between her legs. I heard her moan softly, and that sound turned me on even more.

Then she stood up, came closer, and, pushing the bikini fabric aside with her hand, sat on top of me and guided me inside her. She was soaking wet. She settled herself astride me, her breasts pressed against my chest, and started moving slowly, setting a languid rhythm that drove me crazy.

I held her by the waist. I could feel myself going in deep and sliding back out, while she rose and fell, grinding against me. In a burst of impulse I stood up with her on top of me, holding her with both arms, and pressed her against the elevator wall to keep her suspended in the air.

Her moans, growing louder and louder, pushed me to move harder. She dug her nails into my shoulders, buried her face in my neck, and, trembling, came with a cry that was muffled against my skin.

I set her back down on the floor, still shaken. I turned her around, made her stand against the wall, and, with her whispered consent, took her from behind. I felt her tighten around me as I went in and out. She touched herself with her right hand, setting her own rhythm, and the two of us got lost in it as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

Just when we were both about to finish, at the exact moment pleasure made us forget where we were, I heard a metallic screech. The elevator doors began to open from above. The firefighters had arrived.

They caught us both naked, sweaty, and tangled against the wall, with no time for anything. The firefighter’s face appearing through the gap said it all. Lorena let out a nervous laugh while trying to reach for her dress, and I covered myself as best I could, wishing the earth would swallow me whole.

I never saw her again. We didn’t exchange phone numbers or surnames, and there was no need to. Those hours trapped in the dark were exactly what they had to be: an impossible encounter between two strangers whom chance, and a blackout, decided to bring together. Even today, every time I step into a hotel elevator and it takes a second too long, I can’t help thinking of Lorena.