JFK TO HEATHROW

“British Airways would now like to welcome all first class and business travelers at this time.  Please have your boarding passes ready.”

She started.  Did they just announce boarding?  Passengers were milling about, grumbling and filing into meandering lines.  The flight had been delayed, twice.  God!  I’m never going to get to this meeting on time!  She picked up her bag and wrinkled coat.  First class passengers were already lined up, edgy and staring down the hapless man checking boarding passes and identification.  What a crappy job he’s got.  She snorted silently.  Who am I kidding?  I’m about to have my ass handed to me!  She gave her pass to the harried man and headed down the jetway.

Oh, great!  The goddamn window seat’s taken!  She looked at her pass stub -2B!-  and threw her coat into the overhead bin.  Well, at least I won’t have to talk to this idiot.  The man in 2A was crumpled against the window, snoring softly, a copy of The Sun folded over his head.  Hah!  Some great reader.  I hope he doesn’t wake up and starting droning about football.  She kicked off her shoes and pulled the blanket to her chin, but sleep eluded her. 

Neither the hum of the engines nor the snoring of 2A lulled her to sleep.  Restless, she fished a notebook from her bag and scribbled a few ideas for the meeting.  If I can convince my editor, maybe I can get the hell out of New York for good…  Her notes, harsh and erratic, filled the blank pages.  Then, slowly, dialogue began to replace the disjointed ideas.  Heated exchange between fictional lovers from a long-unfinished story gradually appeared on the page.  She let it flow, writing without cease, oblivious to the flurry of activity around her, looking up only after the cabin darkened and the in-flight movie ended.

She pushed away the pages and switched off the light.  Darkness enveloped her.  She closed her eyes with a sigh.  For the first time in days, she allowed her shoulders to relax.  Maybe I might pull it off after all…  Her eyes strayed to the sleeping figure beside her:  Long legs clad in black wood, a large sensual hand resting casually, the soft rise and fall of breath.  Her mind, replete with fictional passion, began to drift.  She turned to observe him more closely.  Fair hair peeked around the corners of the newspaper and his scent caught at her nostrils, a faint musk of leather and soap.  She closed her eyes.  Jeez, what am I thinking?  Setting aside her notes, she abruptly rose and headed for the lavatory.

Upon her return, the glow from a single lamp illuminated the darkness.  I thought I turned off my light…  2A was awake and reading.

“Excuse me, but those are private,” she sputtered.

2A slowly looked up from his reading, holding her gaze.  Cowboy eyes, green and steady, held her own and she felt a strange heat creep up her neck and face.  Oh, shit, I’m blushing!  A dull sense of recognition tickled her.   Do I know this man? 

A smile curled his lips. “I apologize.  I wouldn’t ordinarily presume, but this story rather caught my attention.  “Are you writing my life experience,” he asked, eyes snapping up, “or from your own imagination?”

His voice was resonant and strangely familiar.  She lowered her eyes and mumbled a response, taking the page from his hand.  Long fingers brushed her wrist.  Burning, she recoiled and settled uneasily into her seat.

His chuckle was rich and low.  “Please, I didn’t mean to startle you.  I’m a bit disoriented myself,” he said, eyes flickering downward.  “I boarded in Los Angeles and must have fallen asleep.  I thought I might be dreaming still when I found these pages on the seat.”  He paused, stretching his legs.  “It’s rather good, you work… you write professionally?”

She murmured her assent, still unwilling to look at him.  Squirming in the seat, she fumbled with her notes, stuffing them into her bag, and tried to shake off the fog that clouded her mind.  God, this guy is HOT!  Think, girl!  Think of something witty to say!

She lunged from her seat and pressed the attendant light.  “Would you like a drink?” she squeaked.  “I could really use one right now.”

***************

He had a disarming smile, wide and boyish.  By the time she finished a martini, she could look at him and that grin without reddening.  His eyes, however, still made her flinch.  Like a deer caught be headlights, she froze and was uncharacteristically quiet.  He seemed unaffected by her silence, breezily speaking at length about his interest in drama and theatrical dialogue.  His manner was open and she began to warm to him, especially when he smiled and the corners of his mouth turned up.  She volunteered a few tidbits to the conversation and, before long, they were engrossed.  Encouraged by the drink and attention, she ventured several remarks that were not only brave but risqué.  His easy laughter emboldened her and she found herself secretly entertaining ideas, damp possibilities, that she had never before dared.

Her mind drifted.    Mmm, he smells good…  And she smiled lazily, letting him speak at will.  He talked about his work and the constant travelling, but she tuned out the words, hearing only the musical resonance of his voice, seeing only the supple way his lips moved as he spoke.  I wonder how the inside of his mouth tastes… 

“…. And how long will you stay in London?”

“I’m sorry,” she started.  “Did you ask me a question?”

She struggled to compose herself and answer him, but her head swam.  She felt drugged, intoxicated by the dim light, the scent of his skin and desire.  Though she tried to stay focused and non-committal, her mind stubbornly continued to wander and, this time, she let it roam unchecked.  She nodded and smiled, but heard nothing but the rush of blood in her ears.  Sighing, she sank back into her seat, gazing heavy-lidded at his mouth.  Did he just lick his lips?  Her eyes slid down his broad shoulders, over his chest and came to rest on his lap, where they lingered.

An odd sound roused her from her musing.  Silence!  He had, sometime during her rumination, stopped talking.  She looked up suddenly and met his knowing twinkle.  Gasping, she whipped away her head.

He smiled and put down his drink.  Taking hold of her hand, he brought it slowly to his lips.  He turned it over and pressed his mouth to her wrist.  Looking up from her arm, he caught her gaze. 

“Turn off the light,” he whispered.

Shaking, she switched off the reading light and turned to face him.  She felt his hand snake up her bare arm, cradling the nape of her neck.  His thumb brushed her lips, parting them gently.

“These lips are a torment to me.”  He held her eyes, pulling her face close, warm breath and lips just out of reach.  “You want it, too, don’t you?  You’d like me to make love to you, to fuck you right now, wouldn’t you?”  His voice trailed off.

“Uh, y-yes,” she stammered, nodding.

She found it nearly impossible to think clearly.  All she knew was that his lips were inches from hers.  All reason was set aside by desire.  It consumed her.  She wanted him, more than propriety, more than reserve would permit.  And she wanted it all:  His mouth, his voice, his body deep inside.  Her mind began to puddle and slip down, down, down the abyss.  She melted into his arms and his mouth closed down.

He crushed her to his chest, pulling her out of the seat.  Lips soft and tongue hot, she didn’t care if the ancient couple dozing across the aisle woke to find her compromised.  She let his hands move where they willed, over her nipples, down the curve of her belly to the cleft in her panties.  Taking hold of her skirt, he pulled it upward until her bare thigh met his hand.  Biting back a moan, she writhed.  Just pull ‘em off!  Oh, please, pull them off! 

Reaching for her panties, he pulled them slowly down, down over her hips, down to her knees before whispering hot in her ear, “Turn around…”

She willingly obliged, and slipping onto her side, nestled her ass into his lap.  Arching her back, she pushed her hips into the growing bulge beneath his zipper.  With a growl, he cupped her breasts in both hands and bit the back of her neck.  She gasped, a surge of wetness seeped down her thigh.  She steadied herself by taking hold of the armrest with one hand and a handful of his hair with the other.  She turned to him and felt his tongue flick slowly over her ear.  And with his breath burning his skin, he wrenched a hand from her breasts and freed his cock from the tight confines of his trousers.  Its thick length fell heavily against the cheek of her bare bottom and she smiled in spite of herself.  Jackpot!

He took a firm hold and pressed the head of his cock against the soft slippery lips that opened like a flower.  She held her breath as he slowly pushed into her, biting her lip as inch by succulent inch slid into the wet secret folds of her being.  Deeper and deeper it plunged, pulling her into a white-hot fury that dizzied her.  Weakening, she swayed.

Two strong hands encircled her waist.  “Steady now,” he breathed, lips on her neck.

She moaned softly, sinking back onto his chest and surrendered to the slow, relentless rhythm of his hips.  Again and again, his cock surged into her.  And she rode the waves like the prow of a ship, heading into the vast seas of her own unexplored passion.  He drew his hand over the warmth of her belly, through the curly down and slipped his fingers into the honeyed folds of her sex.  Pulsating, it jumped under his light touch. 

Her breath quickened as his fingers found their prize and lazily circled her throbbing clitoris.  “Mmmm, there’s the sweet spot, baby.  I’ll make you come,” he teased, “I’ll make you come all night long.”

She shuddered.  Familiar pangs were already beginning, sending shivers down both thighs.  How she wanted to scream!  She ached to turned around and face the man who had impaled her trembling body on a fleshy spike, this lover patiently coaxing the sweetest of spasms from her loins.  She wanted to devour him, and lose herself entirely in the hot pulsing undertow that pulled at every fiber of her being.  Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the wail rising in her throat.  He ground his hips tightly against her, pumping and stroking her slick velvety softness and she felt the wave of the unmistakable crest approach.  Bearing down, she waited for that wave to break and tear apart her body in delicious rolling contractions.

Her eyes swept slowly forward and woozily focused upon a shadow moving in the darkness.  “Wait!” she hissed.  “Stop!”

He halted mid-thrust and peered over the seat.  A figure stirred in the gloom.  The flight attendant!  Her heart, already pounding, began to race.  Oh my God!  What’ll we do?  Before she could panic, she felt a tap on her shoulder and a long elegant finger pointed to the blanket on the seat.  She threw it hastily over them and held her breath as the attendant drew near.  He covered his head with the blanket and resumed, driving his hips upward, fingers gently swirling over the tender bud that threatened to burst.

With each creak of the cabin floorboards, the attendant approached, matched in temp and volume by the soft wet slap of her sex as his cock thrust and churned inside it.  Her hips began to tremble, intimate muscles clenching and releasing, contracting around the thick pole of flesh buried between her legs.  Just a few more strokes over her swollen bud, and she knew she’d be beyond reach.

Closer and closer, the steward neared.  Closer and closer, her orgasm beckoned.  Until finally, she reached out and let it break over her in waves, pelvis spasming and dissolving in an eruption of pleasure so intense that she cried out just as the attendant passed by. 

“Excuse me, M’am.  Are you all right?”  asked the attendant in a low voice.

“I am now,” she sighed, waving him away.

She sank into the arms of her lover, sloe-eyed and content.  He moaned against her ear and quickened his pace.  Her sex, hot, drenched and indolent after orgasm, was irresistible.  Lost in sensation, he felt his cock convulse and his own climax broke free, engulfing his senses and unleashing a stream of white fire into her body.

He sank into his seat, spent and panting.  She slipped off his lap, locking onto his gaze briefly before curling up tightly next to him.  Too weak to hold up her head, she let it fall against his chest.  The mad thumping of his heart began to slow and she floated, suspended on its rhythm.  Drifting.  Slipping into that deep and heavy slumber that had eluded her for weeks.  Down she drifted until all was black and silent and motionless.

***********************

“M’am!  M’am, wake up!”

She jolted.  A searing pain slashed across her eyes.  Sunlight streamed through the port window onto her face and she cringed, raising a hand to shield her eyes.

“What?  What’s happening?” she cried, confused, eyes slit against the sun.

The steward looked annoyed.  “M’am, the captain has just announced that we’ll be landing shortly.  You must raise your seat and fasten your safety belt.”

She slowly raised herself upright and tightened the belt before collapsing against the window.  Pulling down the shade, she snuggled into the pillow and closed her eyes.  I got at least 20 more minutes to sleep.  Sighing, she clutched the blanket to her chest.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.  She sat up with a jerk and looked about warily.  The events of the night before flooded her mind.  Did anyone see us last night?  She sneaked a glance at the nearby passengers.  No one looked her way.  Even the elderly couple across the aisle paid no attention.  Puzzled, she swung her head back around, a quizzical look knotting her features.  Wait!  Why am I alone, sitting in the window seat?  Where’s …?  She rummaged through her bag and pulled out the boarding pass stub.  2B!

She flagged down the flight attendant.  “Excuse me, but what happened to the gentleman who was sitting here last night?”

“Gentleman?”  He shook his head.  “There was no other person assigned to this seat, M’am.”

She fell against her seat, more disoriented than ever.  Her head throbbed.  C’mon!  I couldn’t have dreamt all that, could I?  She tried to recall details from the night:  The lean strangers in 2A, the newspaper draped over his head.  She looked about, but found no newspaper wedged in the seat pockets or tossed to the floor.  She remembered his lips, those hands burning her skin, roaming freely over her body, pulling down her ….panties!  Her hands flew to her hips.  They’re gone!  Frantically, she searched the seat and floor before fumbling through her bad.  Nothing!  She shook her head, stymied yet smiling.  He couldn’t have… we didn’t, did we?

******************************

He watched her from a distance as she passed through customs.  She got into a waiting taxi and sped off.  He waited, watching the cab grow smaller and smaller until it finally vanished into the endless stream of traffic heading downtown.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bit of crumpled white silk and pressed it to his nose.  A faint trace of musky arousal still clung to the fabric.  He smiled to himself.  Folding it smartly, he tucked the souvenir into his lapel pocket and climbed into the back of the limousine.  Nodding to the driver, he stretched back and opened his newspaper.

The End.