Couple Doing PDA in High Rise Elevator Sensually Caresses Me as Well

After waiting 3 hours and 27 minutes for an elevator to bring me up to the humble high rise triple that I pay $2000+ a month for, I find myself in the presence of the most genuine expression of love that our society has to offer: public displays of affection. 

They enter the elevator after me. A couple of the utmost caliber; he’s wearing piss stained sweatpants, she has a Longchamp bag. I shift into the corner to make room. The boy places a hand smack dab on her ass, just groping and squishing. I observe that they seem to be enjoying it. I am not. 

More people file in until I am right next to America’s top couple. There is no room for me to move.

He’s blocking the floor buttons. 

Thankfully, he realizes and asks, “What floor?”

I answer: “Eighteen, thanks.”

He lifts a hand (the one not squeezing his girlfriend’s ass) and presses the button for me. Chivalry lives.

They’re getting off after me. Floor 21. 

He moves behind her, hands moving to get to the bazookas. The ass wasn’t enough, it seems.

The tension is building. Her hand is reaching behind for him, to reciprocate, but I’m standing next to them and she grazes me instead. Her hands find my bicep, and begin to caress. 

She doesn’t realize that I am not her boyfriend. Perhaps because I am around the same size as him: petite, dainty, elfin. 

He sees that her hands are on me. 

“Babe, you’re touching that off-putting girl in the corner who got on the elevator before us. I thought we talked about this. Just because you’re bisexual doesn’t mean that you get a pass to micro-cheat with females, unless I can get a threesome out of it.”

He eyes me up and down. Shakes his head, reconsiders, then shakes his head again. Her hand releases, and they turn from me.

I exit the elevator. Sometimes, life humbles you in mysterious ways, and all there is left is for you to ask yourself, “What have I learned?”