11 November 2010

half a mile high club

He left the plane ahead of her, after resting his hand on the small of her back and saying goodbye, he had a meeting to go to while she went to wait in the lounge for a connecting flight.  He didn't look back after that, but the married ones never did.  Not now the weird intimacy of sitting by a stranger for thirteen hours was over.

Hurtling through the skies in a darkened cabin, over land so far below and so uninhabited that there were no lights to be seen even though the clouds had scudded out of the way.  You couldn't feel the speed except when the turbulence sloshed the wine in their glasses.  He kept calling the stewardess over to top up the wine, and the first few times she smiled as he spoke in her native language.

It was nice, to talk to someone on these flights, she thought, so many times they passed virtually in silence after the opening Good Evenings.  He asked questions and listened to the answers, and she was in a sociable mood, open to the flow of conversation and ready to talk.  They talked with the ease of people relieved to find a pleasant way to pass the time.  They were the same age.  His job, her job.  His youngest child was just five months old.  They talked through the meal, and the chocolate tart went virtually untouched as she explained that blogging was her main hobby. 

The wine helped of course, and as the meal trays were cleared away, further top ups requested and their heads inclined together as their voices lowered.  He asked her what she blogged about, and she smiled as she told him, Sex.  He smiled back, more drawn in, they both were.  Engaged in flirting, he made a note of a couple of websites she told him about.  She said Fuck deliberately, spelling out the website's address.

People reclined their chairs all around, put eyemasks on and slept fitfully.  The cabin lights were dimmed but his reading lamp was on, creating a warm pool of light between them.  He asked her if she'd ever had sex on a plane, and she said, truthfully, No.  Heads leaning ever closer, and when the stewardess grew resentful at bringing more wine, he went to fetch some, stepping over her legs, stepping close to her with his groin at eye level.

More talking, and now she cannot remember what was said when, but they both knew it was only talking to fill a gap until something more.  The wine bottles were drained so she got them whisky, and then at his turn, he said the purser refused to give them more as they had had enough to be drunk.  They giggled at this and then he reached a hand to her face to kiss her.

Faces sideways on the pillows under the privacy hoods, lips touching and even this was only a prelude for his hand reached into the neckline of her blouse and he grasped her breast in his long fingers.  His hand was not gentle, it kneaded her, fingers pushing into her flesh and squeezing towards the nipple.  His kiss was gentle but he gripped her tightly, she felt the strength in the bones of his hand under the rubbing skin.

He removed his hand and told her to unpack the airline blanket and lay it over herself so he could move his hand lower.  She loved being told what to do, loved that he took charge and let her lay there under his exploring touch.  He slid his hand into the elastic waistband of her trousers and under her knickers and now his hand was gentle again.  He told her to move her legs apart and she did.  Her knickers proved to be too much of a barrier for him to probe her folds so he told her to go to the toilet and remove her underwear. 

She took her knickers off in the garishly lit cubicle, mirrors reflecting her flushed face back at her, saying Look at you!  What are you doing?  She ignored this voice, and on her way back to the seat had to scoop the knickers up from where she accidentally dropped them before tucking them into her handbag.  Back in the seat they adjusted the blankets and he replaced his hand inside her trousers, bumps under the blanket as he rubbed his finger expertly along her slit, and she whimpered, quietly. 

Ssshh he told her and then made it hard for her to do so.  Made it hard for her to concentrate on anything other than the growing need for release, the trousers slid down and she tried to clutch the blanket so it would cover her bare legs.  Ssshh he said again, and smothered her rapid breathing in his kiss.  Ssshh and he brought her thumb to her mouth to bite on it and Ssshh as he plunged two of his fingers deep into her cunt.  She could feel the cool metal of his wedding ring against her.  She could feel so much.

Afterwards, she wanted to return the favour but he said there would be too much mess.  She pulled her trousers back up and they slept, and in the morning, bleary with lack of sleep and incipient hangovers they exchanged business cards and she found out his name.  His long fingers rested on his black jeans as they talked, coming into land, and lust coiled lazily in her stomach. 


Gita Smith said...

O fabulous. This made me quite swollen! I believe I'll go have a lie down for a bit!

Michael Solender said...

Oh my if Gita swells, it must be hot. And it is, much different they my neighborhood in the sky to be sure.

Sandra Davies said...

Now I know why you prefer to travel business class.

rlavalette said...

i'm gonna go lie down with Gita...um, I mean like Gita.