Consent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “Why don’t you touch me?” she asked, once the elevator door closed and they were alone.
  “Excuse me,” he returned.
  “Every other man here touches me as they walk past,” she said. “My back; or my shoulders; as they move around me.”
  For several moments, he remained silent.
  “I would never put my hands on you without your consent,” he said, finally.
  “And, if I gave you my consent?” she asked, stepping toward him.
  “Then, I would put my hand on your cheek, tilt your head up, and kiss you,” he whispered, staring into her eyes.
  The door slid open.