First Kiss

Inspired by another prompt from Lori Carlson, this scene again takes place in an elevator, but under different circumstances. It should be noted that the names of the characters have been changed so as to not offend anyone. Enjoy.

Prompt: You’re stuck in an elevator with someone from your past. Write the scene. 

I ran to the elevator, hoping to catch it before it closed. I stretched my arm out and the doors slid open. I rushed in and bent down to catch my breath.

“Hey, lover boy.”

My ears perked up. That voice sounded all too familiar. I looked up to find a dark-hued woman standing in front of me. It was Danielle, the woman who gave me my first kiss. Only it wasn’t a kiss. It was more like she hocked saliva down my throat. It was sixth grade and the teacher stepped out of the classroom. I remembered her pinning my head down to a desk, sticking her tongue down my throat. It was the most humiliating experience of my life.

Not much changed since the last time I saw her, and that was thirty years ago. Her curly black hair flowed down to her shoulders, but with hot pink tips. Piercings lined both her ears. And she had a tattoo of some date on her shoulder. Had to be significant to her somehow.

Danielle leaned back onto the wall, wrapping her man-hands around the bar, flaunting her buxom figure. I wondered if she remembered. I didn’t want to chance it. I decided to play it off.

“Danielle,” I said. “Nice to see you.”

I felt awkward.

“Well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah. Small world.”

It was so uncomfortable. Every fiber of my being wanted to ask, but I thought better. She looked at me , then walked to the control panel. She pulled the emergency stop button out. I felt the jerk and started to panic. What was she up to?

“Do you remember sixth grade?”

Crap. She remembered. As much as I tried to say otherwise, I nodded. Danielle grabbed the collar from my shirt. Then proceeded to straighten it. I was puzzled.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t right of me.”

As she brushed my collar, I couldn’t help but be a little skeptical. There was no way she could be this friendly after so many years of torture. And yet, the proof was right there. She pushed the emergency button in and we started moving again.

“Friends?”

She stuck out her arm. I extended my arm slowly, grasped her hand and shook. I smiled and she smiled back. Just as the elevator stopped, she yanked me toward her and kissed me hard. She rammed her tongue down my throat. She pulled back and shoved me away. The door opened and she strutted out the elevator. I coughed and coughed some more. It was fourth grade all over again. Only this time, I didn’t mind.

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Author: G. R. McNeese

I'm originally from Illinois, currently residing in Georgia. I graduated from Georgia State University with a Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing. I am blessed with a supportive wife and family.

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