[An encounter in the elevator]

In high school, I often saw elegant women in business suits entering and exiting elevators on TV, which filled me

with envy. I wanted to live that kind of life someday. So, while my classmates were experiencing their first stirrings of love,

I buried myself in my studies.

After graduating from university, I looked for a job, but after three or four months, I couldn't find a satisfactory one. The jobs

were either typist or clerk, hard work, low pay—far from my dream life.

In a fit of pique , I enrolled in a master's program, studying hard for another two years.

I graduated at 27. Finally, I found my ideal job, but then

I realized that my pale youth had been devoid of any romantic love. I gradually began to crave

the companionship of a man, even if there were no romantic feelings, at least my body wouldn't feel lonely.

Because I had been scalded on the neck with boiling water, I had a long scar. It was better in cool weather,

covered by a sweater, but in hot weather, the scar was clearly visible to everyone. Many men, seeing the

scar, would avoid eye contact and walk away, and my heart grew cold. Every day, I work mechanically, my desires

gradually fading into despair.

Our office building is the tallest in the city, and everyone working here is serious and

hurried. They are the city's elite. Every day, it takes

about Although we can all feel each other's breath, we are all strangers,

and no one takes the initiative to greet anyone.

That day, the elevator was unusually crowded as usual. I stared at the numbers on the elevator screen,

bored out of my mind . Suddenly, I felt a finger tracing small circles on my buttocks outside my skirt. I

turned around and saw a refined man, his eyes fixed on the elevator numbers, his face cold

and expressionless.

Surrounded by people, I couldn't move or make a sound, so I just stood there motionless. The hand

slowly became more and more audacious, and began to caress my buttocks. Gradually, a strange sensation spread throughout

my body with that hand, and every pore on my body opened up comfortably. Those hands tentatively lifted my skirt,

slipped inside my stockings, and rubbed back and forth between my thighs. I suddenly couldn't breathe, my whole body felt

like it was on fire. The elevator stopped, and those hands withdrew at just the right moment. I felt a lingering, unsatisfied feeling.

From then on, I became obsessed with elevators, often trying to take them during rush hour, subconsciously

hoping to experience that magical, wonderful sensation again. But for a long, long time, I never encountered

a man like that again.

One day, it was raining outside, and I was half-soaked as I squeezed into the elevator. The elevator was incredibly crowded; I almost

had to stand on tiptoe. All around me were tall men, and I, petite as I was, huddled in a corner, so

inconspicuous . The elevator slowly ascended, and the man behind me was very close, his breath brushing against my neck. I

suddenly felt incredibly excited, and I deliberately pressed myself against him.

I knew there was no escaping it in an elevator. I could feel the man's body gradually changing.

He pressed against my back, and then his hands quietly wrapped around me, slipping inside my clothes to pinch and

gently knead my full breasts. Afterward, his hands lingered on my waist, and finally, they slipped inside my skirt. My

body involuntarily became wet. Suddenly, the elevator stopped, and the lights went out. Amidst gasps,

I knew it was due to a power outage caused by the rain. Someone called the property management and learned that it would

take to fix. In the darkness, his hands grew even more excited, gradually moving towards my private parts,

gently circling my nipples. I suppressed my moans, but every pore of my skin screamed, desire engulfing me like

a tidal wave . Silence reigned around me, broken only by the man's heavy breathing…

As the pressure of his hands increased, I finally let out a suppressed moan in the darkness. Suddenly,

I noticed the man in front of me turn around, his large hands beginning to caress me. Then, countless hands reached out, covering

my breasts, buttocks, and private parts—everywhere was covered in men's hands. I wanted to scream, but the overwhelming pleasure was

too much for me . My body involuntarily opened, so desperately yearning. Finally, the man behind

me entered me, thrusting wildly. I could no longer restrain myself and groaned loudly, the

extreme pleasure finally engulfing me.

But it wasn't over. It seemed like another man came along, one after another. In the end, I was no longer

enjoying myself , but groaning in pain. But no one stopped. In the darkness, those men had become beasts.

Tears streamed down my face; I was numb.

When the elevator reopened, the lights came on. The men's expressions remained cold and indifferent,

sacred and untouchable . Only my disheveled state testified to what had just happened. They filed out of the elevator, as if none of them

cared about me; not a single person paid me any attention.

I quit my job and moved to another city because I couldn't face that city, that once-crazy

elevator .

A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Lying on the cold operating table, as the excruciating pain

washed over me , I vowed never to ride an elevator again. That dazzling, illusory dream had cost me my youthful

beauty, and now, besides its shattering, the physical pain was irreparable.

From then on, because of the elevator's malfunction, I walked up even the higher floors, though it was slower and more tiring,

at least it was safer. On each step, I tried to forget that unbearable past…

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[An encounter in the elevator]

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