Stuck in an Elevator (With My Hung Freshman Roommate) (Patreon)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

The couch looked like a great idea when Greg first showed it to me on FaceTime.

"Dude, it's perfect," he said, spinning the camera around so I could see it sitting on the curb outside the dorm. It was a little worn, but big and soft, deep cushions, wide arms. "Tell me this wouldn't look sick in our room."

I had only known Greg for a week. Freshman roommates, randomly assigned, still figuring each other out. He was bigger than me in every way. He was taller, broader, louder. Made friends in about forty seconds flat. I mostly followed his lead.

"Yeah," I said. "It actually looks kind of awesome."

"Come help me carry it in."

"How heavy is it?"

"It's a couch, not a car."

Famous last words.

—[]—

Ten minutes later I understood why someone had left it on the curb. The thing weighed approximately one thousand pounds and smelled like elderly people had their last breath on it. We had made it maybe a hundred feet and already stopped twice.

"You said it wasn't heavy," I said through my teeth.

"It's not that heavy."

"Greg."

"You're just weak."

"I play three sports."

"Carrying a couch uses different muscles," he said, completely seriously, like that was a real thing.

We shuffled another few feet. My forearms were burning. The wooden frame kept digging into the same spot on my palm.

"Okay we need to flip it," I said.

"We're not flipping it."

"If we flip it on its side we can—"

"We are not flipping a couch in the middle of the hallway."

"It's not a hallway, it's a—"

"Do not say sidewalk, because if you say sidewalk again I'm going to—"

"It's a sidewalk, Greg."

He made a noise that wasn't quite a word. We kept moving. By the time we reached the elevator I had genuinely considered leaving him and the couch both on the sidewalk and going back to bed.

He hit the button with his elbow. "Fourth floor. Straight shot. Then we're done."

The doors opened. We looked at the elevator. We looked at the couch. We looked at each other.

"It'll fit," he said.

"It will not fit."

"It'll fit if we angle it."

It did fit. Barely. We had to tilt it sideways and feed it through the doors like threading a needle, and by the time we got it inside we understood the real problem, which was that the couch now occupied approximately ninety percent of the elevator. The remaining ten percent was us. 

“You’ve got a bubble butt for your small frame,” he said jocularly. “I don’t know if that is gonna fit in here with us.” 

He reached down and smacked my butt. I just shook my head and stepped into the crevice of space we had made for ourselves.

We had to squeeze into the curved gap between the back of the couch and the wall, and the couch was not giving us any room. I didn’t exactly want to be pressed up against the muscle meat-head I had just met, and already found annoying, but the oversized piece of unnecessary furniture was melding us together against the wall, and the result was that Greg and I were essentially laminated together, his chest against my shoulder, the left half of my ass jammed against his crotch, no meaningful distance between any part of us.

It was warm in the elevator already, but Greg was radiating his own heat. I could smell the sweat on him, and it reminded me somehow of how much more athletic and masculine he was than me. I felt a tinge of jealousy. He smelled like a man when he sweat, whereas I just smelled like a teen with BO. It’s weird to notice the difference, but in close quarters with another dude, the thought occurred to me. I could even smell that specific scent that comes from balls, with his crotch that close to me, and him being on the tall side.

"This is intimate," he said, looking down at the top of my head.

I stared straight ahead into the back of the couch. "Don't."

"I'm just saying."

"I know what you're saying. Stop saying it."

He grinned. The doors closed.

The elevator hummed. Started to rise. Then, about halfway through the second floor, it made a sound like a large man sitting down very hard on a wooden chair, mixed with a robot exploding. And the whole elevator just stopped.

We both looked up at the ceiling for some reason. Like the answer would be up there.

"Hm," Greg said.

"Shit," I agreed.

He reached his long arm through the tight crevice beside the couch, and pressed four again on the buttons panel. Nothing. He pressed the door open button. Nothing. He pressed the emergency call button, and a faint buzzing sound came from somewhere in the wall, and then a dial tone for maybe ten seconds, then silence.

"Cool," I said.

"Someone will come."

"When?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Soon…ish, maybe."

I leaned my head back against the wall. The elevator was small even before the couch was in it.

“We are so dumb for stuffing this in here,” I sighed. 

Now it felt like we were crammed into an airplane bathroom, and it was getting warmer by the second. The ceiling felt lower than it had a minute ago, which I knew was not physically possible but the adrenaline and cortisol in my body wasn’t reacting to logic. And Greg was still right there, had been right there since the doors closed, his whole warm solid self pressed against me with nowhere for either of us to go.

"Hey," Greg said. "You okay?"

"Fine," I said, in a voice that did not sound fine.

"You claustrophobic?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I said I'm fine."

He nodded slowly, not believing me. He started talking, gabbing a bit, maybe trying to helpfully distract me. I couldn’t say. I wasn’t registering everything he said, but he talked about nothing, about everything, about some lake near his hometown, about a party he'd heard was happening next weekend. I tuned in and out randomly, and I caught him mention a girl in his intro psych class who had smiled at him and he had absolutely frozen up and said nothing, which made me laugh despite myself.

"You froze," I said.

"Completely."

"What did you say?"

"I said 'yep.'"

"Yep."

"She said hi and I said yep."

I was laughing for real now. My shoulders dropped about three inches. "What does that even mean."

"I have no idea. I was panicking."

"You're the most confident person I've ever met and you said yep to a girl saying hi."

"Confidence has nothing to do with girls, those are completely separate skill sets. When I see tits I basically forget English."

That's when I noticed it.

I wasn't even looking. I was staring up at the ceiling, still half-laughing, and I just became gradually aware that the pressure against my ass had changed. It was like he had something big in his pocket, like a bulky Android phone, but it wasn’t there a minute earlier. It was the same contact we'd had since the doors closed, couch on one side, the wall on the other, and Greg stuffing me into a corner, smothering me with his muscles. But there was a new muscle pushing into me now, and it was growing.

I was in denial for a moment. I thought maybe the couch had shifted. I looked down.

It was not the couch.

"Greg."

"Yeah."

"What is that…" I said, knowing exactly what it was.

He paused. "...a problem."

I looked up at him. He was staring at the elevator doors with tremendous focus, jaw tight, the expression of a man willing himself through something entirely through concentration alone.

"Dude," I said.

"I know."

"That's, why do you…"

"I don’t know."

"Can you angle it somewhere else?"

He turned to look at me for the first time since this started, slow and deliberate, and then looked pointedly at the couch behind us, the wall in front of us, the approximately four inches of combined clearance we had in either direction.

"Where," he said sarcastically. "Where would you like me to angle it."

"Away from me."

"I can’t move. We’re stuck until the doors open."

"Point it at the couch."

"I can’t!" he said, starting to laugh.

I chuckled as well, appreciating the levity of his demeanor, as I tried to shift anyway, purely on instinct, and achieved nothing except making myself more aware of exactly how little room there was and exactly how much of Greg was pressed against exactly how much of me. The claustrophobia had quickly been replaced with a weird sense of shame. Not only was he bigger than me, and confident as hell, but his deal down there was clearly on the large side of large, and I was finding this out by direct contact. 

I grimaced, and the heat radiating off him made it worse somehow. Or more confusing. I couldn't even tell which.

"Why," I said.

"Talking about that girl, I think. I don’t know."

"You got a boner talking about the girl you said yep to."

"Apparently."

"That's insane."

"I agree," he said, still staring at the doors. "I fully agree with you."

I made the mistake of looking down again. Through the thin gray sweatpants it was just… there. The size of it was almost comic. I was not a small guy. Greg was just built on a different scale entirely, and apparently that applied everywhere, and the couch was not going to let me put any distance between myself and that fact.

The worst part was I could tell he wasn’t even wearing underwear. I could see the head of his cock as it was jammed against me, and I already knew he was circumcised.

I shifted slightly anyway, trying to create some distance, and achieved the opposite.

"Damn," I said.

"It's fine."

"I was trying to—"

"I know." A beat. Then, very carefully: "...your butt is incredibly soft, by the way."

"Do not."

"Like, soft but also firm? At the same time? How does that work."

"Greg, I swear to God…"

"I'm just making an observation —"

"Make a different observation."

"I'm just saying it's remarkable is all."

The elevator groaned. Then the whole box shuddered, a deep mechanical lurch that sent both of us lurching sideways into the couch, which shoved us right back. There was nowhere to absorb the movement. Greg grabbed my shoulders reflexively and the jolt pressed us together even tighter than before, his chest fully against me now, his breath landing on my neck.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, okay, okay…"

"It's fine," he said, but he didn't let go, because the floor was still vibrating and the couch was still pushing and there was nowhere for either of us to go. 

"Just stay still."

His hands on my sides were steadying, which I hated to admit. He was solid, and it made me feel like whatever was shaking, he wasn't going to. The heat of him through my shirt was different from the stuffy elevator heat. The full length of him against the full length of me, and his manhood now throbbing against me as the room vibrated us together. I could feel that the movement wasn’t helping his situation downstairs.

"I'm still."

"Good."

"You're not still."

"That's the elevator, that's not me."

Another lurch. The couch rocked into us and Greg's hands gripped my sides harder and the motion dragged us together and I heard him suck in a sharp breath. He was basically dry humping even if he didn’t mean to. He was holding me tight and making me feel safe, and we had no control over it. 

"Sorry," he said immediately. "That's not… I'm not trying to…"

"I know," I said.

"It's the elevator."

"I know, Greg."

"I genuinely cannot control my—"

"I know."

The shaking settled into a low persistent, clunky vibration, but it didn't stop, and the couch didn't move, and Greg didn't move, and I didn't move, and the sum total of all of that was that we just stood there pressed together like two peas in a pod together, while the elevator hummed and shook around us.

"This is so bad," he said, under his breath, almost to himself.

"Little bit," I agreed.

The vibration built again. Another rough jolt. His whole body went rigid against mine, fingers pressing in hard on my sides, and then, a long, slow exhale against the back of my neck, combined with an intense pulsing against my ass. I closed my eyes, realizing what was happening, and feeling the weirdest boner of my life growing in my own pants. His grip loosened gradually, like air going out of something.

I stayed still. His chest rose and fell slowly against my back. The shaking had stopped. It was just his warmth now, steady and solid and closer than anyone had been to me in a long time, and my heart was doing something unreasonable that had nothing to do with being stuck in a box. I was aware, distantly, that my own body had been doing its own thing this entire time.

Neither of us said anything for a second.

"Greg."

"Yeah."

"Did you just…"

"The elevator was shaking."

"That's not really an answer."

"It really was shaking a lot."

"Greg."

"I'm sorry," he said, and he actually sounded it, in a helpless, mortified, genuine way that made me want to laugh and also never speak of this moment again. "I'm so sorry. That's never happened to me before."

"Ummm… it's fine," I said.

The elevator suddenly dinged, making me flinch. The doors opened.

Six guys were standing in the hallway waiting.

"Finally," one of them said. "What took so long?"

"It's broken," Greg and I said, at exactly the same moment, without looking at each other.

The couch started to fall out of the open door, and one of the guys standing there caught the end, lowering it down for us. We moved the couch into the hallway. The six guys looked at the elevator, looked at each other, and got in anyway.

"Guys, it's seriously messed up, we were stuck…."

"We'll risk it," one of them said. The doors closed.

Greg and I got the couch into the room and I plopped down onto it immediately, exhausted. Greg went straight past me into the bathroom, the big wet stain on his sweatpants leading the way. He came out a minute later, wearing a different pair of sweatpants, looking sort of sheepish. 

He sat down on the couch next to me. I put down my phone. We stared at the wall for a second.

"So," I said. "Do you always get boners in elevators. Or was that just for me."

He breathed out a short laugh and looked at me. Then looked away. "I'm sorry dude, I don’t know what the fuck happened."

"I didn't say anything."

"I just haven't… it's been a while. I don't know what happened."

"Okay."

"It was the girl. The psych class girl."

"Sure."

"It was."

"Greg."

"What."

"Never mind." I leaned back into the cushions. They were as good as advertised. "Let's never talk about it again."

We talked about it again.