Feb 14th – Elevator love

February 14th – Elevator love


She pressed all of his buttons.


She literally pressed all of his buttons.

Gemma had a problem. She was aware of the problem, which was one thing, and so far she had managed to keep her problem hidden from her colleagues, which was another. But she definitely had a problem, and for now she had absolutely no intention of doing anything about it.

Gemma worked in an office in town. It was a big building, with six floors, and Gemma worked on the third. She was an Admin Officer, or AO, which meant she had a lot of cases to deal with on a daily basis, and had to go up and down a lot. Which is where the problem started.

It used to be fine. Gemma could come in to work, get the lift up to the third floor, go to her desk, log on, sort through the day’s claims and arrange them into an order of priority, deal with things on the phone as they came in, go up to the tip floor to talk to the guys on the Fraud desk, go down to the ground floor for face-to-face meetings when necessary, all with the minimum of fuss.

Then they changed the lift.

Well, they didn’t exactly change the lift: what they did, one weekend in January, was to upgrade the lift, give it a shiny new interface, and a voice.

And it was the voice that got Gemma. The voice was her problem.

It was like no-one she had ever heard before. It just got her, every time. Fourth Floor was a particular favourite: she never needed to go to the fourth floor ordinarily, but the way that he said it made her want to go there all the time. Doors Closing gave her an unexpected frisson; Going Up was staggeringly erotic, and Going Down made her melt. Every time.

Gemma was in love with the lift.

She’d been seeing Barry for about six months when she ended it: nothing Barry could do or say even came close to the lift voice. She’d named him Michael. Always Michael, never Mike. She had recorded Michael on her phone, as separate files, and then had taught herself how to edit them into one clip, that she could play to herself at night, alone in bed, over and over, as Michael told her how he was Going Down over and over. It was heavenly.

Her days were spent in finding excuses to ride the lift as much as possible. Nothing was too much trouble: fetching pens from the stockroom, getting reams of paper to refill the printer – anything that gave her the opportunity to get into the lift and ride with Michael.

Gemma had a problem. She was in love with the lift. And she really didn’t care.


Inspired by a prompt from here

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