Saturday, December 21, 2002
Stranger in the Plane
I walked out of the plane and into the Newark airport and tried to orient myself. I’m used to airports, but this is a large one and I wanted to make sure I was going in the right direction. With my purse, a laptop case that is heavy enough to make me switch it back and fort between my hands every 5 minutes; and my heavy coat to fight the freezing north winter, I wasn’t up to walking around a busy airport fighting holiday travelers. You know, the ones that include lots of kids running, yelling and crying. This was my second stopover, and I was tired. It had been a long day. I woke up at 6:00 AM, worked until 9:00 A.M., got my bags ready, and left for the airport. I boarded the first plane at noon, had the first stopover in Atlanta, boarded the second plane at 4:00 P.M., and landed in Newark at 8:00 PM local time. It seems the day had 30 hours already and I still needed to catch another flight to Canada.
I finally found out that my next flight leaved from another terminal, so I looked for the entrance to the airtrain and took the escalator. Not many people there, so I looked around and saw him across the platform. The presence. The long, dark coat. Those blue eyes. One of those men that have an aura around them. They walk with a certain security about themselves. I couldn’t help myself and stared at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but just in the general direction of the train, so I studied him for a moment. His hair was a dark brown, not long, but not recently trimmed. His bangs had that casual movement that makes it even sexier. He finally caught my eyes and I couldn’t resist the temptation of talking to him. But I couldn’t thing of something right away, so I went for the obvious and asked what side of the platform I had to take to go to terminal A. I had to risk looking stupid. The sign with the arrow pointing to the platform was right above our heads, impossible to miss. Maybe he will be vain enough to think I was trying to make conversation because of him instead of thinking I was stupid.
He pointed it out and kept his eyes on me as if unsure of my intentions, so I made another trivial comment. He answered with a half-smile that made me think he got me right away and we both turned our attention to the coming train. We were a few feet apart along the platform and got into different cars. I concentrated back on the ride and my boarding pass, and forgot about him. When we arrived at terminal A, there were lots of people on the platform waiting for the train, so I didn’t see him getting out. I went about my business. I crossed the security checkpoint, got a bottle of water, and peered at a few souvenir shops. I had two hours to kill until my next flight. I finally made it to my gate to find out that it had been moved to another gate. At the new gate I was informed that the flight had not been posted yet because another flight was leaving first from this same gate. So I got a seat in a quiet corner far away from the gate, pulled out my John Sandford book, one of my last discovered favorite sagas, which I think has much to do with Lucas’s toughness. In real life, I’m attracted to the opposite kind of characters. I dread people that have suicidal tendencies like that, so I look for them in books where they can’t do me any real harm.
After a while, I realized I had been reading for an hour and a half, so I checked back at my gate. Everything and everybody was gone. I sensed that something wasn’t right and headed to the nearest occupied gate and checked on my flight again. It had been moved again, just two doors down the corridor. When I arrived, most of the passengers had already boarded, and I went right into the plane. I sat down at my window seat, put my laptop case under the seat in front of me, got out my book again, and adjusted my seatbelt. The plane was one of those express jets with two rows of seats on one side and one on the other. There were very few passengers. I was in the two seats row in the back and the seat next to me and all the seats around were empty. I was beginning to think I was going to have a quiet flight when somebody started walking toward the end. I didn’t pay any attention; just prayed internally that he didn’t have the seat next to me, but knowing my luck would not let that happen.
He accommodated his bags in the top compartment and sat down … right next to me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, as I looked outside the window irritated. Balancing the possibility of changing seats. But somehow, I always felt bad about doing that. As if it would let the other person know I didn’t want him next to me. I decided against it and relaxed. What the hell, it was just a two hour flight.
As soon as that thought crossed my head, my companion said “Hello” and I looked at him for the first time. His blue eyes were staring at me. His slightly long dark brown bangs over his forehead. His long coat was gone, probably in the top compartment. He was wearing a white button shirt with the top button unbuttoned and gray pants. He had a terrific smile.
I said hello with a smile, too, and went back to my book. The cabin’s lights went off and the plane was rolling down the runway. I turned my over-head light on and kept reading. All the blah-blah-blah from the flight attendant about safety went on. I used to put attention to them. I used to look out the window and follow every movement of the plane on the take-offs and landings. With time and the many trips it all became automatic. But this time, I wasn’t concentrating on the book, and I was very aware of the presence next to me.
We took off. A few minutes went by. I read a couple of pages, and then realized, I didn’t know anything about those pages. I was reading like an automaton, just reading, but not retaining any of it. I shut the book and put it in the front pocket, turned off the light, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.
The place was dark; my companion hadn’t turned on his light and nobody else was around. A warm feeling enveloped me. I was even more aware of his presence now. I could even smell his cologne, strong and masculine. He was very tall and I could sense his head over mine. I turned my head over just a bit and looked at him. He smiled. And at that moment, something happened. A feeling like the world was a fuzzy memory, not real. The only real thing was that we were both seated next to each other. We concentrated on each other for a while; not speaking any words but exchanging revealing looks. He finally made the first move. His right hand was resting just above his knee and mine was inches away. He didn’t even lift it; just slid it across to mine. For a moment, my smile froze. I wasn’t sure of anything. It was just a split second, and then I smiled again. He slid his hand upwards slowly. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to see. Like trying to escape the reality of it all. He was a perfect stranger and he had his hand on my leg. I couldn’t let that happen. But I was caught in the moment and didn’t dare protest; I had gone too far already. I chased all those thoughts away and concentrated back on the moment.
His hand kept moving very slow. For a second, I was afraid he would move too fast and I would come to my senses. At the same time, it occurred to me that I had to do something to encourage him to keep moving or he could interpret my stiffness as doubt. I was thinking too much too fast. I put my right hand over his and pressed it. Invitingly. He kept moving up and down my leg, going a tiny little bit towards the middle of my legs every time. My hand always on top of his, burning now. When he finally touched between my legs, in the middle between my knee and my crotch, I pulled my hand back to give him more freedom of movement. I was growing impatient with desire. My pussy was feeling hot and wet. He slid his hand faster now and kept it pressed against my pussy. His other hand reached the button of my jeans and unbuttoned them, unzipped them. All with the minimum possible movement. Like nothing was happening. He kept pressing and then took his hand out, and stuck a finger at the bottom of the zipper. He pulled down my underwear and moved his hand down, as if testing. I had waxed the day before and trimmed the remaining hair very short. He slid his finger across the thin line of hair and found the beginning of my lips. That was as far as my clothes would let him go, but it was enough for him to feel the warm, the desire, and the readiness. He touched around teasing, increasing the pleasure. I kept my eyes shut and was now in my own world, just concentrating on the pleasure. He finally withdrew his finger, eased my pants further open and put his hand inside, going for the center of the pleasure. He separated my lips and found my clitoris, massaged it expertly, pressing and pushing just right, up and down, one finger at each side. More pressure, less pressure. It became a rhythmic and predictable movement, my blood bubbling all over my body, the back of my neck sweating, my legs pressing his hand. His free hand went under my sweeter and caught my right nipple, squeezing so hard that it hurt. But I didn’t stop him. My nipple turned hard and he took his hand out of my sweeter and wet is fingers on his mouth, and then caught my nipple again. This time pressing softly between his fingers and then pressing with his index finger right on top of it.
I slid my left hand across his crotch reaching for his penis. It was pressing against his pant leg so hard that it seemed as if it was going to explode through the fabric. I massaged over it while concentrating on me. I finally came. An explosion of stars invading my head. I felt my uterus contract hard and fast. And relax.
I kept massaging his penis, went slowly deeper until I reached his testicles. They felt softer, but hotter. I started concentrating on him now, but still kept my eyes closed, escaping reality. I went slowly up, pressing harder. Reached his pants clip and undid it. Unzipped it. Pulled his shirt up and felt his stomach, muscular and flat. His underwear felt soft and wet at the head of his penis. Round, I could outline it. I moved faster, up and down. He moved his legs apart a little, making more room for my hand. I reached under the underwear, peaking out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed now, his underwear were a bright white in the dark of the cabin that only I could see. The plane roar and movement contributing to the moment; like magic. If somebody looked back from the front of the plane, it looked like we were asleep. His head slightly tilted back, he was moaning almost imperceptible. He finally came. His semen spreading over his stomach.
He kept his eyes closed for another minute, then reached into his pants pocket and cleaned himself with a handkerchief, put it in the brown bag in the front seat pocket and pulled himself together. I moved against the window doing so myself, and then looked at him half-closing my eyes. He was gorgeous.
A sudden trembling and my head bounced against the seat. I woke up. We were landing. It was pitch dark outside. I looked over and my companion was still there, just waking up. I looked at his front seat pocket: no brown bag. I looked at him, trying to reach under his pants, trying to get a peek of his underwear, but it was impossible.
I just hoped he had had the same dream. Did I say he was gorgeous?
I walked out of the plane and into the Newark airport and tried to orient myself. I’m used to airports, but this is a large one and I wanted to make sure I was going in the right direction. With my purse, a laptop case that is heavy enough to make me switch it back and fort between my hands every 5 minutes; and my heavy coat to fight the freezing north winter, I wasn’t up to walking around a busy airport fighting holiday travelers. You know, the ones that include lots of kids running, yelling and crying. This was my second stopover, and I was tired. It had been a long day. I woke up at 6:00 AM, worked until 9:00 A.M., got my bags ready, and left for the airport. I boarded the first plane at noon, had the first stopover in Atlanta, boarded the second plane at 4:00 P.M., and landed in Newark at 8:00 PM local time. It seems the day had 30 hours already and I still needed to catch another flight to Canada.
I finally found out that my next flight leaved from another terminal, so I looked for the entrance to the airtrain and took the escalator. Not many people there, so I looked around and saw him across the platform. The presence. The long, dark coat. Those blue eyes. One of those men that have an aura around them. They walk with a certain security about themselves. I couldn’t help myself and stared at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but just in the general direction of the train, so I studied him for a moment. His hair was a dark brown, not long, but not recently trimmed. His bangs had that casual movement that makes it even sexier. He finally caught my eyes and I couldn’t resist the temptation of talking to him. But I couldn’t thing of something right away, so I went for the obvious and asked what side of the platform I had to take to go to terminal A. I had to risk looking stupid. The sign with the arrow pointing to the platform was right above our heads, impossible to miss. Maybe he will be vain enough to think I was trying to make conversation because of him instead of thinking I was stupid.
He pointed it out and kept his eyes on me as if unsure of my intentions, so I made another trivial comment. He answered with a half-smile that made me think he got me right away and we both turned our attention to the coming train. We were a few feet apart along the platform and got into different cars. I concentrated back on the ride and my boarding pass, and forgot about him. When we arrived at terminal A, there were lots of people on the platform waiting for the train, so I didn’t see him getting out. I went about my business. I crossed the security checkpoint, got a bottle of water, and peered at a few souvenir shops. I had two hours to kill until my next flight. I finally made it to my gate to find out that it had been moved to another gate. At the new gate I was informed that the flight had not been posted yet because another flight was leaving first from this same gate. So I got a seat in a quiet corner far away from the gate, pulled out my John Sandford book, one of my last discovered favorite sagas, which I think has much to do with Lucas’s toughness. In real life, I’m attracted to the opposite kind of characters. I dread people that have suicidal tendencies like that, so I look for them in books where they can’t do me any real harm.
After a while, I realized I had been reading for an hour and a half, so I checked back at my gate. Everything and everybody was gone. I sensed that something wasn’t right and headed to the nearest occupied gate and checked on my flight again. It had been moved again, just two doors down the corridor. When I arrived, most of the passengers had already boarded, and I went right into the plane. I sat down at my window seat, put my laptop case under the seat in front of me, got out my book again, and adjusted my seatbelt. The plane was one of those express jets with two rows of seats on one side and one on the other. There were very few passengers. I was in the two seats row in the back and the seat next to me and all the seats around were empty. I was beginning to think I was going to have a quiet flight when somebody started walking toward the end. I didn’t pay any attention; just prayed internally that he didn’t have the seat next to me, but knowing my luck would not let that happen.
He accommodated his bags in the top compartment and sat down … right next to me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, as I looked outside the window irritated. Balancing the possibility of changing seats. But somehow, I always felt bad about doing that. As if it would let the other person know I didn’t want him next to me. I decided against it and relaxed. What the hell, it was just a two hour flight.
As soon as that thought crossed my head, my companion said “Hello” and I looked at him for the first time. His blue eyes were staring at me. His slightly long dark brown bangs over his forehead. His long coat was gone, probably in the top compartment. He was wearing a white button shirt with the top button unbuttoned and gray pants. He had a terrific smile.
I said hello with a smile, too, and went back to my book. The cabin’s lights went off and the plane was rolling down the runway. I turned my over-head light on and kept reading. All the blah-blah-blah from the flight attendant about safety went on. I used to put attention to them. I used to look out the window and follow every movement of the plane on the take-offs and landings. With time and the many trips it all became automatic. But this time, I wasn’t concentrating on the book, and I was very aware of the presence next to me.
We took off. A few minutes went by. I read a couple of pages, and then realized, I didn’t know anything about those pages. I was reading like an automaton, just reading, but not retaining any of it. I shut the book and put it in the front pocket, turned off the light, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.
The place was dark; my companion hadn’t turned on his light and nobody else was around. A warm feeling enveloped me. I was even more aware of his presence now. I could even smell his cologne, strong and masculine. He was very tall and I could sense his head over mine. I turned my head over just a bit and looked at him. He smiled. And at that moment, something happened. A feeling like the world was a fuzzy memory, not real. The only real thing was that we were both seated next to each other. We concentrated on each other for a while; not speaking any words but exchanging revealing looks. He finally made the first move. His right hand was resting just above his knee and mine was inches away. He didn’t even lift it; just slid it across to mine. For a moment, my smile froze. I wasn’t sure of anything. It was just a split second, and then I smiled again. He slid his hand upwards slowly. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to see. Like trying to escape the reality of it all. He was a perfect stranger and he had his hand on my leg. I couldn’t let that happen. But I was caught in the moment and didn’t dare protest; I had gone too far already. I chased all those thoughts away and concentrated back on the moment.
His hand kept moving very slow. For a second, I was afraid he would move too fast and I would come to my senses. At the same time, it occurred to me that I had to do something to encourage him to keep moving or he could interpret my stiffness as doubt. I was thinking too much too fast. I put my right hand over his and pressed it. Invitingly. He kept moving up and down my leg, going a tiny little bit towards the middle of my legs every time. My hand always on top of his, burning now. When he finally touched between my legs, in the middle between my knee and my crotch, I pulled my hand back to give him more freedom of movement. I was growing impatient with desire. My pussy was feeling hot and wet. He slid his hand faster now and kept it pressed against my pussy. His other hand reached the button of my jeans and unbuttoned them, unzipped them. All with the minimum possible movement. Like nothing was happening. He kept pressing and then took his hand out, and stuck a finger at the bottom of the zipper. He pulled down my underwear and moved his hand down, as if testing. I had waxed the day before and trimmed the remaining hair very short. He slid his finger across the thin line of hair and found the beginning of my lips. That was as far as my clothes would let him go, but it was enough for him to feel the warm, the desire, and the readiness. He touched around teasing, increasing the pleasure. I kept my eyes shut and was now in my own world, just concentrating on the pleasure. He finally withdrew his finger, eased my pants further open and put his hand inside, going for the center of the pleasure. He separated my lips and found my clitoris, massaged it expertly, pressing and pushing just right, up and down, one finger at each side. More pressure, less pressure. It became a rhythmic and predictable movement, my blood bubbling all over my body, the back of my neck sweating, my legs pressing his hand. His free hand went under my sweeter and caught my right nipple, squeezing so hard that it hurt. But I didn’t stop him. My nipple turned hard and he took his hand out of my sweeter and wet is fingers on his mouth, and then caught my nipple again. This time pressing softly between his fingers and then pressing with his index finger right on top of it.
I slid my left hand across his crotch reaching for his penis. It was pressing against his pant leg so hard that it seemed as if it was going to explode through the fabric. I massaged over it while concentrating on me. I finally came. An explosion of stars invading my head. I felt my uterus contract hard and fast. And relax.
I kept massaging his penis, went slowly deeper until I reached his testicles. They felt softer, but hotter. I started concentrating on him now, but still kept my eyes closed, escaping reality. I went slowly up, pressing harder. Reached his pants clip and undid it. Unzipped it. Pulled his shirt up and felt his stomach, muscular and flat. His underwear felt soft and wet at the head of his penis. Round, I could outline it. I moved faster, up and down. He moved his legs apart a little, making more room for my hand. I reached under the underwear, peaking out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed now, his underwear were a bright white in the dark of the cabin that only I could see. The plane roar and movement contributing to the moment; like magic. If somebody looked back from the front of the plane, it looked like we were asleep. His head slightly tilted back, he was moaning almost imperceptible. He finally came. His semen spreading over his stomach.
He kept his eyes closed for another minute, then reached into his pants pocket and cleaned himself with a handkerchief, put it in the brown bag in the front seat pocket and pulled himself together. I moved against the window doing so myself, and then looked at him half-closing my eyes. He was gorgeous.
A sudden trembling and my head bounced against the seat. I woke up. We were landing. It was pitch dark outside. I looked over and my companion was still there, just waking up. I looked at his front seat pocket: no brown bag. I looked at him, trying to reach under his pants, trying to get a peek of his underwear, but it was impossible.
I just hoped he had had the same dream. Did I say he was gorgeous?
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