One For The Spank Bank

I'd like to think that I’m pretty friendly with everyone in my building. I hold the door, help carry groceries, and even pet my neighbors' dogs. However, lately I’m starting to think that my friendliness is giving off the wrong vibe to at least one person in the building — a woman named Susie.

Last Sunday morning, while heading to my apartment after a Halloween party the night before, she put me in an incredibly weird and awkward situation. I got into the elevator as usual, and out of the corner of my eye saw Susie making her way toward the car. Being nice, I stuck my walking stick — a prop from my boy scout costume — between the doors and held the elevator for her. She thanked me, and that's when the weirdness began.

Susie is extremely nice and funny, but she is also extremely old. Now, you know I love women in all age groups, but I do have a cut off. And over the age of 58 is where I draw the line! But Susie is apparently blind to boundaries; she felt it necessary to let me know that she has a thing for a man in a uniform. Being that I thought I looked more like a pedophile than a boy-toy for a grandma, I found it hard to think of my outfit as sexy. But in an effort to be nice to my elder, I smiled and played along.

Knowing that I'd just moved into the building, Susie asked, "How do you like living here?"

"I love it," I answered. "My apartment is coming along great."

She nodded, and then asked. "What does your apartment look like? Can I see it?"

Now, if any other woman asked me those questions at any other time, I'd have thrown on the full court press, and it would have gone down as soon as we got off the elevator. But this wasn't any woman; it was Susie. And even though she was probably hot twenty-five years ago, I wasn't going there. So I lied. “I need to make a few more adjustments," I said.

But Susie had her own ideas about what needed adjusting, and before I knew it ... BAM! I felt like my balls were playing Mercy with Patrick Ewing. Yep, you guessed it — she reached out and wrapped her old, wrinkly hand around my goods.

I’m a freak, so I would be lying if I told you I didn’t like it a little bit. It felt good, but we were approaching my floor and it was time to make a move. So I gently grabbed her waist and let her know I was flattered by her gesture, but just couldn’t proceed any further.

Maybe you think I should have taken her wrinkly ass back to her apartment to see if she still had any butterscotch left in her tank, but I'd already gotten what I needed — some good ol’ material for the spank bank. Call me crazy, but at some point when I’m home alone, I'll refer to that elevator ride and use that material in a nice imagination-station session.

So, Susie, if you reading this, I love ya girl, but it was just the wrong time and place. Come back at me after a few cocktails and we might have a different ending.

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