THE AIRPLANE TRIP
The Troubador
This is a fantasy, of course. Yet I weighed the possibility of dedicating it to one of my web friends. The possibility of it’s being misinterpreted stopped that, but perhaps the friend will understand. Who knows, mayhap such has happened to others.
I am sending this off into the land of the pixel without the careful editing I usually apply to my pieces. But this is a fast and passionate vignette. I hope you like it.
This is copyright August 2001 by the Troubador. All rights are reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced for any reason without explicit written permission from the author. Do not remove this copyright statement.
Unless someone has downloaded this from the site on which it was found, you already know it is erotic, and I assure you there will be graphic sexual content. If for some reason you aren’t legally supposed to have access to such content, please go away and come back when it is legal. I assure you it will be much more enjoyable then, and you will understand it better and get more out of it. I know this is true because that is what my mother told me almost sixty years ago, and I have learned everything my mother told me is correct. That is why I always wear clean underwear. The reason I am always polite and courteous to women has other, ulterior, motives.
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The weather was miserable, but it was mid-December after all, so what could I expect. A family shake up had needed my presence on the East Coast, so I’d gone. I never did figure out why they needed me, but it is nice to be needed anyway. After all, I’m retired now and don’t do much more than write these stories.
Anyway, I was heading back to the West Coast and the weatherman decided to throw everything at the country that week. The trip turned out to be nice, as my seatmate turned out to be an attractive gal, well out of the giggle stage and not yet into the lumbago stage. I prefer my women to be full-grown, like them to be clean, neat, smart and funny. If they are smart, they will look attractive if they have anything to work with at all. This gal had a lot to work with, and could better and then oust me in any conversation, so I was having fun.
The problem become apparent when we were getting ready to land in Chicago. The Attendant, guess I’m not supposed to call them stewardesses any more, and it hurts me not to. Anyway, the gal up front announced that we were going to be the last plane that was to be allowed to land that day. Of course she then gave all the required gobbledegook about not worrying, connections would be made, and we would have lodging. Sure, you bet. Santa was coming in a few days, too.
My seatmate, whose name seemed familiar for some reason, got pretty disgusted. She had been going to a family problem, while I was returning from one. Neither one of us saw a reason to rush to the door once the plane had tied up to the terminal so we sat while it emptied itself, then got up and grabbed our carry-ons and headed off.
Turns out our delay getting off wasn’t too swift. Chicago of all places had little room at the inn, according to the people waiting for us at the desk in the terminal. Matter of fact, they had only one spot available.
I had all kinds of really lurid ideas about my seatmate and I sharing a room, but it didn’t turn out to be quite so drastic. I just hoped my temporary companion didn’t hear my muttered, "Damn, not even that can go right!" She might take it the way it was meant.
What they had wasn’t all that bad, really. There had been a screw up and a real VIP in first class had toddled off to his companies lodging in the windy city so the space reserved for him was the one available for us. I never did understand why they didn’t have enough rooms for us passengers in steerage.
What we were sharing was a three-room suite, two bedrooms and a sitting room. I cussed to myself again, seemed to me two sitting rooms would have been much better. I smiled at her and told her I didn’t walk in my sleep unless she did. So we were matched up.
When we managed to trek to the suite, braving a Chicago cabby and a real live blizzard, the accommodations really looked pretty good. Especially when we realized that the piece of paper they gave us, meant for the VIP of course, authorized us to use room service and by extension the bar at the airlines expense. We wondered if they would survive the financial hit we might put on them that night.
What interested me in this mess, was the name we were being housed under. Not mine, or my seatmate’s, but, ‘Troubador, Mr. and Mrs.’ They assured us we would be contacted in plenty of time to make the plane when it took off, just stay in the suite so they could contact us. After gifting me an over night guest like my ‘mate’ I couldn’t figure why they would expect me to stray. Then I understood they were worried about her straying, they knew where I would be.
Anyway, we got settled in by early afternoon, opened the bar in the room then settled down to swap some more stories. She kept giving me these funny looks, kind of like she had a secret she wanted to share, but it was too precious to spoil. I finally got her to talking about herself, and things just kept clicking into my over stressed and under utilized memory banks. Considering that my personal brain computer was so obsolescent it shouldn’t be surprising how long I took to put it all together.
Suddenly I sat up from my habitual lounging position and almost shouted, "Hey, you’re Fancy Girl!"
She grinned at me, "I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out!"
"You must have given them my nom de plume when they set up lodging," I muttered.
"That’s right, we are here as T. Troubador. I don’t know how they got the Mr. and Mrs. out of it."
"That calls for a toast," I decided and pulled poured us each another drink from the bar. We even had our own refrigerator built into the thing.
Noticing that my feet were not their usual nimble selves, I started counting and realized we both were opening our fourth of fifth libation of the afternoon. Well, we weren’t allowed to go anywhere, so what the who. I poured two more for good measure, serving us each doubles.
My ‘mate being more aware than I, called down and ordered dinner from room service. Then we went over to the windows and watched the blizzard sock it to Chicago.
When the meal arrived, it was obvious it was intended for the original people who were to populate this suite. We enjoyed it immensely. Probably the only time I’ll be able to afford a meal of that caliber. Couldn’t have afforded it then if I had to pay for it. Then we went over to the window and I drew up a sofa-loveseat and we enjoyed the blizzard.
She was a web writer too. That’s how we had met on the web. I admired her work and she lied and said she liked mine. I asked her what she currently had in the works for her next story. I liked the ideas, but couldn’t help throwing some ideas at her on how to ‘dress-up’ the love scenes.
Yeah, like I had better ideas than hers!
Anyway, what we ended up doing was opening one of the brandies in the bar, and began sipping out of those great balloon glasses and begin trying to out-eroticize the other. From my standpoint, I was losing badly because she was so damned regal and attractive she was cranking my engine and I was having trouble thinking. All my mind really wanted to concentrate on was doing, not describing. And that just couldn’t be in the works. We were both committed to others, and cared for them very much. So we each poured a little more brandy and talked some more.
When I noticed her nipples were a whole hell of a lot bigger now than when we sat down I decided maybe I could at least get a draw in our unspoken one upmanship game. That’s when I stepped beyond the rules we were playing under. The great thing was she either didn’t notice, or didn’t mind my doing so. What I did was begin using my hands to demonstrate the use of non-sexual areas as erotic zones.
I picked up her hand where it was lying on her thigh, and start playing with her fingers. It has always amazed me how sensuous it is to have someone take each finger, one at a time, and just explore it. Try it some time. Play with the web between the fingers, stroke and explore each joint of each finger. Then trace the patterns in the palm, kiss it and lick them. You will do it again, I guarantee it. Her eyes began drooping, getting that hooded look, and I raised her hand to my mouth and began licking and exploring her fingers and hand with my tongue. That was about the time she went silent and just watched me, sipping at her brandy.
We were both topping our snifters off regularly and I realized we could only judge how much we had drunk by measuring what was left in the bottle. It looked suspiciously low, and I decided it hadn’t been a full bottle to begin the afternoon.
Pulling her hand away from where I was sucking and chewing on each finger individually she called the number the airline had given us. After a short conversation she turned and told me the airport wouldn’t be open until sometime tomorrow afternoon. The storm we were watching outside was a real ‘Norther’. They promised to call us in plenty of time to make the flight when it left.
We discussed it for a moment, and decided we might as well get comfortable as we would be sharing the luxury suite for the night. I took the room on the right of the ‘sitting room’ and she went to the one on the left. There we each showered and climbed into our sleepwear. That was a problem for me, as I hadn’t been planning on sharing sleeping quarters with a lady. Hadn’t really expected to spend the night anywhere but at home tonight. I finally settled on some sport-shorts I had thrown in my carry on for some reason, and a tee shirt.
Walking back out to the sitting room, I settled into one corner of the love seat we had pulled in front of the picture window. There I settled in to enjoy the show nature was giving us for free, leaning back into the right hand corner with my left leg curled under me.
She came out maybe ten minutes later, wearing a nightgown that reached just to her knees and a light chenille robe over the top. She was covered, but with the elegance with which she was wearing the casual nightwear she looked like a princess.
She stood before the window, in our darkened room enjoying the patterns the snowflakes were making. Then with a shiver she turned and came back to the sofa. When she sat down, she was shivering. I don’t know if it was from a chill in the air or the chill of watching the snow swirl down outside. I reached over and pulled her to lean back against my warmth, wrapping my arms around hers and hugging her companionably with my arms below her breasts. She snuggled back against me, holding my hands against her belly with hers.
In a moment she gave a sigh as my heat enveloped her, driving the chill away. We sat silently, enjoying the closeness in the room and the beauty nature was providing us outside the window. The snow was coming down so thickly we couldn’t see the rest of the city. Then the wind would ‘lift the veil’ and we could see the city’s lights, but only the lights twinkling in the air before they were again swallowed by the white patterns of the snow.
Musing to myself, I realized my lovely, dignified, regal companion knew more about me than almost anyone I knew. In our online correspondence, with the anonymity of distance and email we had confided in one another and asked advice on matters we had not and would not divulge to anyone we knew in ‘real’ life. And here we were, with my arms effectively around her in a hotel suite only the disgustingly rich should even think of affording.
My companion sighed and commented on the hypnotic beauty of the snowfall, and nestled her head back against my right shoulder. Without thinking of it, I began lightly stroking her belly and side with one hand while holding her close with the other. She picked up her brandy snifter and sipped at it, then held it to my lips for me to sip.
She shifted slowly to a more comfortable position, and I found her lying with her head on my right arm, looking up into my face.
Studying my face, she sipped her brandy and held the glass to my lips to enjoy. I found myself lost in the mystery of her eyes, and overcome by the sensuousness of her person. Yet I felt the being lying like an offering on my lap was as regal and dignified as anyone I could remember. She had me mesmerized.
Putting the brandy snifter on the floor, she raised her hand and traced my face. Almost without volition I bent my face to hers and we found ourselves kissing. Gently, softly, her lips soft and yielding to mine. I found myself ‘mouthing’ hers, tasting her sweetness. Almost imperceptibly the kiss grew hotter, demanding and wet. Our tongues played and licked at one another, and our room grew warmer.
Her hand was playing with the nape of my neck, caressing me and running her fingers through my hair. I found my hand inside the chenille robe, cupping a breast, which I discovered was unbound under her gown.
Flattening my palm I rubbed it in little circles over her nipple, tickling my own palm and raising her nubbin to heroic proportions. It was as hard as the icicle growing outside the window, but hot as the breath I was sharing with her in our kiss. She shuddered delicately as I stroked her and pulled her robe fully open.
She sat up and shrugged her shoulders to slip it off. I leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck and froze her in position as a tremor ran delightfully through her body. My hands slipped down her sides, caressing the outside of her thighs, then slipped over her knees and slowly and agonizingly crept up the soft inside of her slowly opening legs.
They met at her center.
I ran both hands in tiny movements up and down her juncture, pressing against the soft tissue, never entering, just giving her almost innocent sensation.
She shuddered again and twisted in my arms, pulling me off the sofa and around until I was lying full on her wonderous body. We kissed, loved with our hands and somehow we were naked.
Neither of us asked or wondered if we should ask. She accepted, pulled me into her as I pushed my love sword into her sheath. We were not two, and our oneness was loving as we both knew we would.
We had no idea how long we loved, just that it was long, long yet much too short a time.
When I again became aware, she was looking up wonderingly into my face. Her eyes flicking here and there, as if seeing it for the first time ever, memorizing it. She whined as I pulled my still half-hard self out of her but smiled when I bent and carefully lifted her in my arms. For a moment I stood undecided on which bedroom we should use, then went to hers.
Once there I stood by the bed as she leaned over from my arms and pulled down the bedclothes. Then I slipped her and myself into the bed. Once we were in, she pulled the blankets over us, and we cuddled in one another’s arms.
There we spent the night. Maybe twice during the night, when we got up to use the bathroom, were we not touching. And often we made love. I woke her from marvelous dreams to help her climb to the peak of ecstasy, and more than once I awoke to discover she had sheathed my sword once again in her body and she was working to bring me such joy as seldom is felt.
We were shocked out of sound sleep about 10:45 the next morning when the phone woke us. It was the airline calling to tell us the airport was expected to be opened in an hour, and our flight was being scheduled to leave at 1:30. We were to be in the lobby at 12:45 for transportation.
I called room service immediately and ordered a big brunch. For some reason we were both voraciously hungry. Then we showered, together of course, dressed and ate the meal I had ordered.
We sat and talked. The night’s passion had thoroughly shaken both of us. We had no desire to harm our significant other, and our lives were so different from one another’s it was entirely impractical to even consider making a life together. But we had to acknowledge the spark, passion and wonder each had for the other. It was real, and both of us wished… no! Had to… remember it’s magic. We were careful to give one another our full addresses and particulars. We could and would continue our email friendship. It would just have undercurrents and electricity never suspected before.
We had each discovered a treasure never guessed at. I knew, as did she of me, that anything I asked or needed of her in the future would be mine on my request. We still had our everyday loves, and they were true loves in themselves. But in addition we had found an impossible soul mate, totally consuming, totally magical. And to be known only one by the other.
We made the flight of course. After all we were being treated as VIP’s. Our flight went through Denver, and for a while it looked like the Chicago experience would be repeated. Unfortunately the storm held off long enough for us to fly out, she to her destination, me to mine.
I doubt if we will meet again in person, except on the internet. As I said, we each love our partners, and we don’t care to risk heartache for them. But we still have each other. I often speak goodnight to her before I sleep at night.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had met earlier, but that is of course nonsense. Because of the difference in our ages, I was married and a father before she was a teenager. But the love is there, and will be there, and returned.
If you liked, or disliked this. Please let me know. If you don’t give a rats ass, don’t bother. But I write because it is fun, and hopefully others will enjoy my ideas. If I can get some feedback one of two things will happen, depending what you tell me. If it’s good, you have a better chance of reading something else of mine.
If you don’t like it, but read it anyway, tell me what you didn’t care for, and maybe I’ll change it. Maybe not, too.
In any case, write, and give me the chance to say thanks for your input. When a dog gets stroked he likes to give a lick, and when he is punished he likes to give a lick too. Let this dog get his licks in. Okay?