Message-ID: <1295eli$9706081041@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1295>
X-Good-Address: yup
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Delta <delta*@bc.sympatico.ca>
Subject: Delta: COINCIDENCE (mf)
Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at:
delta@bc.sympatico.ca
until late August 1997. After that comments should be directed
to alt.sex.stories.d
Comments are welcome.
Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's
imagination. Copyright by the author and is for private use of
reader only. It is not to be published in any form whatsoever,
including being made available on BBSs, without the express prior
consent of author.
Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.
Delta.
COINCIDENCE (c) 1996
by Delta
How long does it take a jetliner to reach cruising
altitude, I wondered, trying to take my mind off the people,
packed like sardines, all around me.
I'm not claustrophobic - normally. This, however, wasn't
normal. I'd just done a five month stint in an isolated 10-man
camp. I hadn't seen more than seven or eight people
together in one place during that period of time. Now, here
I was in a jet, chock full of people. It was sitting at the
gate and becoming hotter and stuffier by the minute. It was
not pleasant and I was beginning to feel a little anxious.
Perhaps it would have been better to wait a day or so to
acclimatize myself before setting off on this flight.
I looked around me. It was going to be a full flight.
Good for the airline, not so good for me. The only saving
grace was that the seat next to me was empty. It was, perhaps,
the only empty seat on the plane. I checked my watch for the
fourth time in the last two minutes. We were already late.
Why didn't they just shut the door? Then I saw why. Only
the long training we men have in keeping poker faces kept my
jaw from dropping open.
The last passenger had arrived. She was beautiful, and
her eyes snapped to the empty seat next to me. She would be
sitting beside me - all across the continent.
I felt her eyes on me and did my best not to let on that
I was watching her with my peripheral vision. We made quite
a pair - the contrast was stark. I tried not to smile at the
thought. I succeeded, it wasn't really that hard - considering.
She was slim and well dressed, lovely blonde hair just touching
the tops of her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. Her
light blue jacket covered a white blouse, her matching skirt
just covered her knees. I sat there in a plaid shirt and jeans,
clean but well worn, with a head full of medium brown hair which
hadn't been cut in five months - and my hair grew fast - down
just past my shoulders, and a bushy beard which I'd gotten out
of the habit of trimming.
She gave a slight frown as she looked down on me, then
stuffed her carry-on in the meager space left in the overhead
bins while I busied myself with the safety pamphlet. She had
light blue eyes, a small nose and even white teeth which lit
up her face when she smiled. That smile could light up a room.
She wore just a hint of perfume, just enough to catch a man's
attention, make him wonder what it was which had piqued his
interest. A beauty, but then I said that, didn't I. And she
would be sitting next to me! Of all the luck! The stinking,
rotten luck.
Anything else? Oh, yeah, her name. Her name was Lisa
and we'd lived together for almost a year before breaking up.
The break-up had been three, no, four years ago and had been
her idea. Oh, I'd gone along with it, all right, so I couldn't
place all the blame on her. Life together had become a little
tense and, though I had wanted to work it out, I had allowed the
break-up to go forward, uncontested. I still wondered, time to
time, if I hadn't given in too easily.
After the break-up things became bitter - fast.
Perhaps it had been my easy acceptance of the end. Maybe
she hadn't wanted it to end, maybe she had been merely
trying to wake us up, to force us into dealing with the
situation. If so, it had been a mistake. When she said
we should go our separate ways for a while, I, thinking
she knew what she wanted, had quickly agreed - she always
seemed to know what she wanted, and what I wanted was for
her to be happy. Whatever way it was, two or three months
after our initial separation there was nothing left to get
back together for. I left town soon after that, never
expecting, never wanting, to see her again.
No, that's not true, and I guess I should be truthful
here. Sometimes the ache in me had been so great that I
would have given almost anything to see her again. Often
I had fantasized meeting her, contemplated what I would say,
how I would react. Now that fantasy was reality. Now she
was sitting next to me and I would give almost anything for
that reality to be moved back into the world of fantasy - or
would I?
She hadn't recognized me yet. I hoped to see to it
that she didn't. Four years ago I had been clean-shaven,
had fairly short hair, had worn glasses and had been slightly
underweight. Now, besides the full beard and long hair,
I wore contacts, slightly tinted, making my light blue-grey
eyes seem darker. Eating three squares a day in the camp
had boosted my weight, too. I worked out some now, as well,
so it wasn't all that surprising that she didn't recognize me.
The jet lumbered down the taxiway and took its place
in the queue. The stewardess - sorry - flight attendant,
gave her little spiel, then moved off to strap herself in.
I waited - expectantly.
Sure enough, Lisa began covertly looking over to me,
eyes wary but hopeful. The plane edged forward. We were
next in line. The roar from the aircraft on the runway
ahead of us started her hand shaking. It wouldn't be long.
Our plane slipped onto the runway.
"Please . . ." Lisa would have said more, but my hand
was already open, palm up, and she gratefully placed hers
in mine and squeezed it tight.
Lisa had always been a nervous flier. Takeoffs and
landings bothered her the most. Once the plane leveled out
she would be okay, but until then she would maintain a
death-grip on my hand. Oh. When I say she would be okay,
I don't mean that she would return to normal, she just
wouldn't be a white-knuckler any longer. What she would
be was talkative. The times we'd flown together had been
real gabfests. I hoped to hell that she would find the
in-flight movie interesting.
How long does it take a jetliner to climb to its
cruising altitude? The question was now of more than
just academic interest.
When her hand touched mine I felt my stomach flip.
There were currents of something long forgotten shooting
up and down my body and my poor mind couldn't figure out
what was going on. I hadn't expected this. I hadn't
expected the mere touch of her hand to cause any problems at
all.
I tried to control my breathing and failed. Fortunately
she wouldn't be able to hear anything over the roar of the
jet engines as they accelerated us down the runway and pushed
us up into the sky. She wouldn't be able to see anything for,
upon take-off, she always closed her eyes tight, not opening
them again until the plane began to level off. She wouldn't
be able to feel anything, for the one part of my body I could
control was my hand, the hand that held hers. I held it firmly,
but not tightly, and waited for the jet to begin to level off.
How long does it take a jetliner to climb to its cruising
altitude? It takes forever.
It takes forever, and during that eternity I turned
my head to look at her. Time had stood still for Lisa. She
was as I remembered her. Such a sweet face - it was almost
a pain to look at it. Still had her hair cut the same way,
too, and, yes, she still wore the pearl studs in her ears.
I turned my head back to the front and closed my eyes.
There is something about the roar of the jets, about the
vibration, the pressure pushing me back into my seat, which
causes an altered state of consciousness in me. In it I can
go places. Sometimes I don't even realize I've been gone until
I get back.
"Cal? I'm back." Her voice was nervous.
I turned around, my smile coming to my face on cue. I
didn't care how it had turned out, I was going to love it -
whether I did or not. I needn't have worried.
"So, you did it. You had your hair cut. Looks great, Lisa,"
I beamed at her. Twice before she had changed her mind at the
last moment. "Turn around and let me see."
Lisa did a slow pirouette for me, but not before I saw
the joy leap to her eyes. She had been worried - eight inches
of hair made quite a difference, and once the deed was done
there was no going back. Now she knew her worries were without
basis. I loved the new look, and if I loved it, it couldn't be
too bad. Seeing the joy leap to her eyes like that did something
special for me as well. It's great to be in love. She came to
give me a kiss. I held up my hand.
"Hey. Hey. Stop."
"What is it?" she looked, and sounded, perplexed.
"Whenever I get my hair cut, you make me take a shower
to get rid of all the loose bits. Now it's my turn."
"Bully," she snorted, but her eyes were filled with
humour.
"Oh, and Lisa?"
"Yes?"
"You'd better be careful. With all that weight gone,
your balance may be a bit off." She looked at me suspiciously.
I immediately confirmed her suspicion. "Perhaps I'd better
accompany you - just to be on the safe side."
"Brat!" She swatted at my ass - and connected. "You just
want to see me naked."
I gave my head a small shake, looking as surprised and
hurt as I could, "But I thought that went without saying."
Then I brightened, "It's a great excuse, though, isn't it - ouch!"
I led her to the bathroom door, which was closed, and
stopped in front of it.
"What now?" She pretended to be put out.
"We don't want all those dirty clothes of yours cluttering
up the bathroom, so you might as well take them off here."
"Here?" Her eyebrows rose, along with the indignation in
her voice. "Do you really think I'm going to put up with this?"
She sounded annoyed. It was a sham. She knew something was up
and there was no way in hell she was going to miss out on it.
I stood there, blocking the door and said nothing.
"What about *your* clothes?" I was wearing running shorts and
a t-shirt - nothing more.
"*My* clothes are clean," I said in a superior tone.
"Well, if you're going to be like that - fine." Lisa tried
to hide the smile that was threatening to break out, and succeeded.
She unclasped the belt which encircled her waist and laid it
across my outstretched forearm. Then she unzipped her skirt,
stepped out of it, carefully folded it and placed it, likewise,
across my arm. I looked straight ahead, like a good valet should,
ignoring the fact that her lovely legs were now uncovered. She
kicked off her shoes and, with my feet, I carefully arranged them
against the wall opposite the door. She paused and regarded me
carefully.
A slow grin appeared on Lisa's face. With tantalizing
slowness she began to unbutton her blouse, one button after
after another, never pausing, yet never speeding up either.
During this slow procedure her tongue came out and wet her
lips. She was telling me, silently, that if I could play
games, so too could she. I loved her for it. At last she was
done, but the blouse still covered everything. Then with a
flourish she whipped it open, exposing her bra encased breasts.
I had been expecting something of the sort and I manfully
remained, eyes straight ahead, face without expression. I could
tell that the challenge appealed to her as she carefully folded
the blouse and placed it, too, across my arm. The look on her
face told me that she wasn't going to let me get away so easily.
Her arms went behind her and unclasped the bra, but left
it in place. She came up to me, turned her back and removed it.
If I looked down, I might catch a glimpse of a nipple. I didn't.
One of her arms came up and languorously fell, brushing across
the side of my face and my neck as it did so. It was the perfect
opportunity to glance down and see a perfect breast, highlighted
against the shiny hardwood floor. Naturally I took advantage. I
may be tough, but I'm not made out of rock.
I took advantage just as she knew I would, just as I knew
she wanted me to. And, just as I knew that, I knew also that
she would not try to catch me taking advantage. By the time
she had slowly turned around my eyes would be back where they
had been previously, so I took my time and had a good look.
I was wrong about her turning, however. She took a couple
steps forward, stopped, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of
her panties and slowly, luxuriously, bent over and slid them
down her legs, not bending her knees at all. By the time the
panties had reached her ankles, I had a pretty good view of
things. Naturally, I took advantage of the situation once more.
What red-blooded valet wouldn't?
Lisa rose back up and my gaze flicked back to the spot
where it belonged. She turned and, without betraying any
expression, placed her panties on top of the rest of her clothes.
I turned and carefully laid them across the back of a kitchen
chair which I had previously placed in the hallway for just
that purpose.
"Thank you, good sir." Her eyes were on my face, but I
knew damned well that she was well aware of the way my running
shorts were tented.
"Thank *you*, m'Lady. Now, if you will . . ." I opened
the door and allowed her to precede me into the bathroom. A
delighted gasp let me know that my preparations hadn't been
in vain.
The lights were out but the room was lit by a half-dozen
candles. A large beach towel, brilliantly coloured with
tropical fish lay on the floor and led the way to the tub.
The toilet was covered with bath towels which disguised
its obvious shape and the shower curtains had been taken down
and removed from the room. The place was going to get wet but,
with all the towels that I had on the floor, it wouldn't be that
much trouble for me to clean it up later.
Lisa looked up at me with a question in her eyes, a
question she wouldn't ask for it would break the mood. Later
I'd tell her that Sally, her hairdresser, had called me as
soon as she had left so I would know that she had gone
through with it and would have time to prepare before she
arrived home. When I saw her car pull up I quickly lit the
candles, then positioned myself for her arrival.
Yes, that would come later. Just now I edged around
her and turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature and
uncapped the shampoo bottle.
"M'Lady, your earrings." Lisa took off the simple
hoops and I carefully placed them on the counter. I then
turned and offered my arm, which she took, and aided her
into the tub, into the stream of hot water. Before my glasses
steamed up I took them off and placed them on the counter
beside the earrings.
In the flickering light from the candles she was beyond
beautiful and I thanked whatever gods watched over me. Lisa
must have seen my expression, for her eyes told mine
something which caused my insides to leap - I realize that
I'll never know exactly what they said, doesn't matter - then
the moment was gone, replaced with the playful love we'd come
to enjoy.
Lisa stepped fully into the shower, then turned her
back to me to allow me to shampoo her hair. I took my time,
doing a good job, then gently pushed her head forward into
the stream of water to rinse the shampoo out. It was a little
awkward, with me standing outside the tub, and the spray of
water off of her lithe body had me a fair ways towards soaked
in very little time. It didn't matter. I stood back to
appreciate her.
"I presume you don't consider your job over at this point?"
she asked coldly.
"No, m'Lady. M'Lady must be thoroughly washed."
"Ah." She nodded. She crooked her finger and I approached.
She surprised me by grabbing my t-shirt and twisting to get a
good grip then pulled me into the tub. "You can do a better
job from in here."
"Yes, m'Lady."
I soaped up the very soft sponge I'd purchased for just
this occasion and applied it to her back as she stood into
the shower spray. Very carefully, and without the slightest
erotic caress - which made it all the more erotic - I dutifully
washed every inch of her. I knew she was waiting for me to
make my move, I felt her tense up that little bit as I soaped,
then rinsed her breasts, watching the rivulets of water and suds
run down between them, over them, and over the nipples which were
so beautifully engorged. I felt her expectancy as I carefully
soaped in between her legs, felt her frustration as I completed
the job in a business-like manner. I would pay for this
later, I knew, and I was looking forward to it. Finally it
was complete.
"Just relax under the shower a moment, m'Lady. I'll be
right back. Again she didn't ask the question I saw in her
eyes.
Returning, after having toweled myself and replaced my
wet clothes with dry, I reached in and turned off the shower.
I aided Lisa out and began the very business-like process of
drying her. Hair wet, wrapped in the towel, the room flooded
with steam, she still was the most beautiful woman I'd ever
seen. Perhaps the knowledge of what was to come prejudiced me.
I sat her down and dried and combed out her hair. All
this time she made not the slightest motion towards me. She
played her role to the hilt. We finished.
"One moment, m'Lady, then we'll have you out of here."
I stepped out quickly, not wanting the comparatively cold
air to get in and cause her to shiver. I reached the dryer
in seconds and pulled out Lisa's terry-towel bathrobe, now
very warm and soft, and hurried back.
She was standing there, naked when I arrived, having
deposited the towel on the floor.
"May I say, m'Lady, that you are most beautiful, if
somewhat under-dressed?" My eyes were on her face, though
they wanted to roam.
"You may not," she replied haughtily.
I helped her into the robe and she shook her head,
wonderingly, at its warmth.
"M'Lady, I believe you are still slightly under-dressed."
Lisa face was the perfect question mark.
"With your shortened locks, m'Lady, your ears are more
visible and should be appropriately adorned." She nodded
and reached for the earrings which I had so carefully set
aside. They were gone. In their place was a small jewelry
box. Her eyes widened.
"For me?"
"None other."
The pearl studs looked perfect on her. I wiped a mirror
clean for her to see. I'd seen her admire them one day when
we'd been out shopping. I'd made as if I hadn't noticed, but
filed away the information, came back the next day and purchased
them. I hoped that she liked them as much as she'd seemed
to in the store.
She did. She turned and hugged me fiercely. I held on
tight. I could feel myself becoming erect. She could feel
it, too, but gave no sign. Finally she relaxed her grip and
we parted.
Now it was time for the seduction.
Lisa grabbed me by my waistband and began pulling me
along, out the bathroom door and toward the bedroom. I sighed.
The seduction would be played out some other time - she had
now taken control, and who was I to deny her? She flung open
the bedroom door and stopped short, causing me to bump into her.
The room was dark - I'd closed the blinds and the heavy
drapes - except for the light of six candles strategically
placed around the room. There were satin sheets on the bed
and the covers had been pulled aside.
"Umph." I grunted as she hauled me towards the bed, turned
me around, pulled down my shorts and pushed me forward onto it.
Lisa was on me in a flash, wrestling the t-shirt from me,
turning me over, straddling me, holding my wrists over my head.
She bent down and kissed me fiercely. It was a kiss which let
me know who was in charge, and that there would be no brooking
of any misdeed.
Suddenly she was kissing me madly. Kissing my lips, my
cheek, my neck, my chin - anything that came within the reach
of her lips. Her robe went flying off, to the floor, and her
right hand reached behind her to stroke me, while her left went
down to stroke herself.
Eager to get into the play as well, I reached up and took
her breasts in my hands, tenderly caressing them. A sharp
pull on my cock and the flash of her eyes told me of my mistake.
I roughly massaged her breasts, pulling and pinching at
her nipples.
"Oh, yes," she groaned.
I was ready, and so was she. She rose up and guided
herself down, until I was at her portal. She dropped suddenly,
causing us both to gasp. She was warm and wet and wonderful.
The woman went wild on me, bouncing hard and fast. I
contented myself with supporting her, letting her do her thing.
A couple of times there was some mad fumbling as she rose too
high and I came out of her, but mostly there was just the wild
ride. I was being royally fucked, and was loving it.
The build-up was fast and I approached the point of no
return.
"Slow down, a bit," I gasped. She responded by moving
even faster, fingering herself furiously.
"Oh, yes!" Lisa cried in triumph, tensing, throwing her
head back, holding still for several seconds, then collapsing
upon me.
I was close, real close, and I thrust up into her six
or eight times, threw my arms around her, hugged her tight
and came deep inside of her, an unintelligible cry wrenching
itself from my throat.
As we came down, I stroked her back, her legs, her sides,
anywhere I could. She was murmuring something, but it didn't
seem to make much sense.
"That was beautiful, darling," she said, raising her head
off my chest. "Everything was just beautiful."
"For me, too. Only one problem . . ." I began to chuckle.
"Yeah?"
"We need another shower now."
"Later." Lisa reached over and pulled a cover over us.
In a very few minutes she was asleep. I let her sleep on me,
feeling very good about it all, until her weight became too much.
Then I slid out from under her and cuddled in behind her. She
snuggled back into me.
Some time later I awoke. The candles were almost gone,
but there was still enough light to make out her head in front
of me. I closed my eyes again. Lisa's hand came up and took
my hand, which had been cupping her breast, and brought it up
to her lips to kiss. Her head turned slightly. Her grip on my
hand slackened and I heard her say, "Thank-you." I opened my
eyes to see the pearl stud gleaming through the blonde hair.
I felt the grip on my hand slackening and heard her say,
"Thank-you." I opened my eyes to see the pearl stud gleaming
through the blonde hair.
Lisa let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. I've always been
a little afraid of flying."
"No problem," I replied, lowering the timbre of my voice.
I'd have to be careful.
"Were you asleep?" she asked, sounding a little guilty.
"No. My eyes are a little tired." Usually I'd take out
my contacts, it was too dry in the aircraft for them to be
comfortable, but that wouldn't be possible this time. I would
rely on the eyedrops I carried to get me through the long flight.
A flight attendant passed by and I requested a blanket.
It wasn't cold, a bit cool, perhaps, after the stifling heat
on the ground, but I didn't desire the blanket for the heat it
would provide. I wanted it to cover the bulge which had grown
in my pants during my reverie. Sitting up straight, as I was,
Lisa wouldn't be able to notice it unless she looked there
carefully, but I intended to recline, to sleep if I could.
While I was placing the blanket over me - and over the
armrest on the far side from her in order to give myself some
room underneath - Lisa was thumbing through the flight magazine.
She stopped on the page that told of the inflight movies.
"Bridges of Madison County," she said out loud. "What
a coincidence. I just saw it yesterday."
Damn. Lisa was one of those people who didn't like to
watch the same movie twice.
"Too bad," I observed. "I hear it's a good one."
"You haven't seen it?" she sounded disappointed. It
occurred to me that if I were watching it I'd be unavailable
for her to talk to. It was a thought, but I didn't think
my eyes would be up to it.
"No," I lied. "I'll probably see it later, though. I
wouldn't miss a Clint Eastwood film for anything." The Cal
she had known had been ambivalent about most of the more violent
Clint Eastwood shows. "However, I can't stand watching them
in planes." The Cal she knew could watch a movie anywhere.
Lisa looked relieved. "Then what do you do to pass
the time?"
I gave an inward sigh. It had started. "Mostly I read
or try to sleep." I gave the appearance of being disinterested.
"Pity about your having seen the movie yesterday."
"Yes, quite a coincidence . . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"I knew someone, once, who didn't believe in coincidences. He
said that everything happened for a reason."
Damn. That was me she was talking about - at least I
thought it was.
"Ah. A fatalist." Why did I push it? Did I want her
to talk about me, to find out what she thought? Weren't her
letters enough? Was I a glutton for punishment?
"No, not really. He believed that the Universe afforded
us opportunities. What we did with them was up to us. If the
same sort of thing pops up more than a couple of times, it pays
to keep a sharp lookout - the Universe is trying to get your
attention."
It *was* me - and she had it pretty much correct. Maybe
she did have it correct - for the Cal that she knew. Perhaps
my outlook had changed so gradually that I wasn't aware of
the subtle differences between that which I held before and
what I now held. It didn't matter and I knew it didn't matter,
I was just trying to avoid the thought which was trying to make
itself heard over the noise - she still thought of me.
I grimaced to myself, and consoled myself with the idea
that she held me up as a bad example.
The first officer came on the public address system and
began to reel off the usual information concerning the flight,
but I wasn't listening. Lisa's words about 'coincidence' had
me thinking.
It was true. I didn't believe in coincidence. Events
come up for reasons, and then we have to deal with them. How
we deal with them is up to us. There are always choices. There
are no 'right' choices, or 'wrong' choices, simply choices.
Right now, though, it wasn't the choices which were
bothering me, it was the reason behind the 'coincidence' of
us meeting here and being seated together.
Was I, were we, being given the opportunity to get back
together, to become the couple that we had been and, perhaps,
should have stayed? Was this an opportunity to 'right' the
'wrong' of four years ago? Or was it merely an opportunity
for closure?
Being suddenly confronted by a Lisa I no longer knew,
meeting her in reality instead of in one of my daydreams, had
already made me realize that many of my imagined conversations
just no longer applied. Much of the bitterness I had when I
thought of her had simply fallen away. It had been, at the time,
necessary - maybe - but was now simply a waste of energy. She
had moved on and so had I.
On the other hand, I was not so sure that I wanted to be
involved with her even to the small extent of identifying
myself. While much of the bitterness had simply disappeared,
not all of it had. The break-up had been too acrimonious for
that.
It was difficult trying to follow Lisa's idle chatter
about the relative comfort of airplane seats while digging
through my own memories. However, I was relieved of the
responsibility of listening to Lisa while thinking my own
thoughts by the flight attendant, who came by with the
drinks cart. I lowered the tray in front of me and ordered
a white wine. It wasn't good white wine, but it was passable.
Somewhat to my chagrin I noticed Lisa ordering the same. She
swirled it around in the ridiculous plastic glass, breathed
in of its bouquet, then took a small sip. After the sip she
ran her tongue thoughtfully across her lower lip.
I noticed that, after her sip, Lisa ran her tongue
across her lower lip.
"Well, does it pass muster?" I asked, laughing.
"Heathen," she smiled in return. "One of these days
I'll have to teach you that wine is the nectar of the gods.
I don't understand how you can drink that muck," she indicated
my glass of beer, just now placed on the table by the waitress.
"Muck!" I pretended outrage. "I'll have you know that
this is made with only the finest of hops, the freshest of water
and . . ." Words failed me, as I had not the slightest clue as
to how beer was brewed. "Anyway, it's great stuff," I finished,
somewhat lamely, raising the glass.
Lisa's hand closed around on my wrist and I allowed her to
push my hand back down to the table, the beer untasted. I let
go of the glass. We hadn't been together long, yet I knew what
was coming nonetheless. I was about to be introduced to
the pleasures of wine.
"Here," she said, passing her glass over to me. I
accepted with a condescending smile. I'd seen movies before,
and I knew what was expected, but I'd let her teach me anyway.
Over the next few minutes she explained the rudiments of
wine tasting.
"Now take a small sip," she told me, at which point I
quaffed half the glass.
"I said a *small* sip," the teacher speaking to the rather
slow student.
"That *was* a small sip," I complained. "Can I help it
that you are so dainty? I'm a man. A man can down half a
bottle in a single quaff. A half-glass is a mere trifle."
It might have been a mere trifle, but my insides were
being pleasantly warmed nonetheless. It only stood to reason,
of course. The wine was probably 12 percent alcohol whereas
the beer had been closer to 4 or 5.
"Waitress!"
"Yes, sir?" The waitress had been nearby and came over
quickly.
"Take this away," I said indicating the beer, "and bring
us a bottle of whatever this is," indicating the wine.
"Is there a problem with the beer?"
"None at all," I waved off her concern. "We have decided
to partake of the grape, that's all. Oh, we'll need another
glass, too."
"A bottle?" Lisa raised an eyebrow, looking like a female
Mr. Spock on Star Trek.
"If I have to learn this, I'll learn it right, no matter
how much it takes, or where it leads," I proclaimed loftily as
my hand disappeared beneath the table and came to rest on her thigh.
Lisa's eyebrow arched a little higher yet.
"It's going to be a long night," she sighed.
"Oh, I do hope so," I replied, for which effort I received
a gentle elbow in the ribs.
We were at a corner table and it was cozily dim there and
I took advantage of that. Not that Lisa minded, she took
advantage as well.
We polished off the wine in between teasing touches and
kisses. We both were a little tipsy by the time we decided
to leave, and were both enjoying that light-headed feeling and
the lowered inhibitions. Inhibitions may have been lowered,
but there was something else that wasn't - I found our little
play quite exciting - so, after deciding to leave, we waited
at the table for a couple of minutes for things to calm down,
so to speak.
"I'll call a taxi," Lisa said.
"But my car . . . . Call two."
"Two?"
"Yeah. The second driver can bring my car home. They'll
do it, but it'll cost. However, I don't want to leave my car
here overnight, so it's worth it."
Outside, we breathed in the warm evening air. It was
great to be alive.
"So, how did you like the wine?" Lisa asked.
"It was great. It gave me inspiration."
"Inspiration?"
"To do this." I pinched her bottom, and it was such a
wonderful bottom to pinch.
"Ungrateful swine." Her eyes were laughing, so I knew
she didn't mean it.
"Toss not your grapes before swine," I misquoted, looking
at her bosom and not her eyes. She was a very exciting woman,
and I loved her breasts dearly. Loved all of her, but it was
her breasts which at that moment were attracting my attention
by being excited themselves.
"I'm insulted," she tried hard to look angry but couldn't
quite pull it off.
"Why?" I frowned, trying to think of what I might have said.
"You mention grapes when looking at my breasts. Surely
they're bigger than that?"
I looked at them, judiciously. They were beautifully formed,
but not large. I'd have to think quickly to get out of this one.
"Yes, ma'am. However, I was referring to taste and not size.
I'll give you my decision when we get home - unless you don't
want to wait." I licked my lips. Her smile told me it was
going to be a hot night. I also knew which would taste better,
I'm no fool. Besides, simple taste isn't everything, it all
depends on the context, and given the context, there would
be no comparison. Yes, indeed, I knew which would taste better.
"I've tasted better," Lisa declared, placing the plastic
glass down on the tray.
I merely nodded my agreement. The less I said, the better.
I put my glass down as well, looking at the white wine. It had
been Lisa who had turned me on to wine. I hadn't had a beer
since that day long ago. Didn't miss it either. I looked
at the wine sourly. It was one of the symptoms of what had
gone wrong. I was vaguely surprised that I hadn't rebelled
and gone back to beer.
Lisa had her concept of the ideal man. I was to be that
man for her, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. Her
ideal man wouldn't be a beer-swiller, but a wine drinker.
She wanted me more for what I could be than what I was, where
I was perfectly satisfied with what and who she was and didn't
want to change anything about her. I've since heard a few pop
psychologists saying that this is a typical man-woman thing.
What truth there is to that, I don't know, but after a while
it began to get to me. Where I had been accommodating at the
beginning, I became less so as time passed - much less so.
I don't blame Lisa for the break-up, though. We were
both to blame. She couldn't read me well enough and I didn't
know enough to explain, and the same could be said in reverse.
Eventually we both were living for the good moments. However,
a relationship can't be based on sex, and soon sex was the
only thing that was going very right for us. It wouldn't
have taken so much to work it out, just some simple communication.
Communication, such as it was, was the first thing to go. The
ending became inevitable.
I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, to nod at
appropriate times, but memories kept coming up and interfering.
Fortunately, in her anxiety about flying, Lisa didn't notice
that I wasn't always responding appropriately. If she noticed,
she might pay more attention and, if she did, I had doubts that
I would be able to keep up my masquerade.
So many memories. So much pain, so much joy. It is
difficult to believe that it had only been ten short
months, and those four years ago. Of course it had been
longer than that. It had been those ten short months
plus all the months I'd dwelled on them after we parted.
It had taken a long time for me to recover.
"What time are we due in?" Lisa's direct question
brought me back to the here-now.
I opened my book to pull out my ticket, scanned it
quickly and told her.
"Yes, that's what I thought, but I can't seem to
concentrate too well when I'm in the air." She paused,
thought for a moment, then continued, "I'm staying the
night at the airport hotel, then off again in the morning."
She told me her flight details and I quailed inwardly.
We had the same flight, the same destination. Outwardly
I gave a closed-mouth, lopsided smile and nodded.
We were both going back to where it had all started,
going back together. I hate it when the universe does this
to me.
In the dimness of the cabin, as the movie played, as
Clint Eastwood wooed Meryl Streep, Lisa tried to draw me out
and I did my best to evade her questions, deflect her
inquiries. Something had happened to cause her to change
her focus, and I was damned if I could figure out what.
It had definitely changed, though, there was little doubt
of that. The focus was now my person. I didn't like that
at all and was very relieved to feel the engines slow and
the plane begin to descend.
Almost immediately Lisa lost all interest in me.
She sat back, pushing herself hard into her seat. She
looked wanly at me, eyes pleading. I held out my hand
and she gripped it once more, tightly, more tightly
than ever before, as if she were afraid of it being
withdrawn.
Again the skin to skin contact caused me difficulties.
I wondered if she could feel the pounding of my heart. I
looked again at her face, the eyes shut tight, and a void
engulfed my stomach. I closed my own eyes and before I
knew it the plane was on the ground. It was almost with
regret that I released her hand.
"Thank you, again. I don't know what I would have
done if you hadn't been so kind." Lisa smiled brightly
at me.
It was the smile that could light up a room, the
very smile which could cause a man's heart to leap with
possibilities, yet undreamed of. I felt a great emptiness.
"You would have survived," I answered in a monotone,
downplaying any part I had had in it.
"Yes." Her smile dimmed, and I felt the loss.
At the luggage carousel I stood on the far side from
Lisa. Her luggage arrived first, yet she remained there.
Finally mine came around. As I lifted them off the conveyer
Lisa tapped me on the shoulder. I hadn't seen her move.
"Yes?" My hair was all over the place and I looked
at her through it.
"I'm in room 348."
This time my jaw did fall.
She smiled wanly. "I don't usually do this, haven't
done this before - ever. Room 348." She turned and left.
Room 348. I walked down the line of shops in the
airport concourse. I was in a daze. Room 348. The sex had
always been great. I stopped at a newspaper stand. I couldn't
do it. It would be like getting something under false pretenses,
living a lie. And if she ever found out who I was, she would
never forgive. Room 348.
I looked down at the newspaper. A local politician was
in trouble. The headline blurted out that it was his 'last
stand'. Room 348. I shuddered. Our last stand, Lisa's and
mine, had been in a hotel room.
It was to be a weekend away, an attempt to recapture the
past.
Her breasts were pale mounds of delight and my lips sought
out the hardened nipples even as my hands roamed her body over.
I knew all her special spots and treated them with loving care.
Her neck was caressed until she moaned, the undersides of her
breasts were given a like treatment. I kissed my way down
from her breasts, past her stomach until I reached her thighs.
Lisa had such sensitive inner thighs. I kissed and stroked
them until she begged me to continue - which I did.
I always had loved the musky smell of her, it was like
heady wine, engaging all of the senses. My tongue made its
approach in the old familiar way, eliciting groans and pleas
from her to hurry, to slow, to go harder, softer but never,
never to stop. It was what she loved best of all and I was
going to give it to her until she could take no more.
Finally, with her thighs clamped tight around my head
I sucked her clit into my mouth and she went wild around me,
crying out her joy. She relaxed and I moved up between her
legs, giving her no time to prepare. I positioned myself and
kissed her on the mouth before driving in.
I loved the sound of her gasp, loved it when I raised
myself above her and watched her breasts jiggle, move about
like waves as I thrust hard into her. I loved the feel of her
hard nipples against my chest as I lowered myself to her,
feeling her legs come up, her heels pressing me in deeper,
deeper until I couldn't take it any more.
Lying by her side, I realized that, for the first time,
we had fucked without really saying anything (we had stopped
making love some weeks before). There had been no words of
love, no terms of endearment. It was then that I finally knew
that it wouldn't last - that it was over, actually.
Late in the night, I sat up against the wall, watching
her sleep. The light from the moon entered the window, lighting
up the small bag we'd packed for this weekend, my bag, the one
with the half-torn ID tag.
The ID tag. My eyes snapped open. Could it be? Damn.
Her focus had changed after I'd gotten out my ticket to find
our arrival time. Had she seen my name on it? Had she waited
at the carousel to confirm by checking out the name on my
luggage? She had stood where the bags dropped. I had been on
the other side. Was that how she knew when to come around?
My hands, holding the newspaper, began to tremble.
Room 348. I could do it two ways. I could go as I was, admit
who I was and take it from there, or I could wait for tomorrow,
get a hair-cut and shave and meet her on the commuter flight.
Maybe even wear the glasses I kept for emergencies. Room 348.
After our long flight we could both use a shower - maybe we
would take one together. I began walking towards the exit,
towards the Hotel.
"You should have worn a tie. It's more fitting," the woman
said to the man, as I passed them.
"Okay, dear," the man sighed. I have one in my suitcase."
I smiled and shook my head sadly. Room 348.
How long does it take a jetliner to reach its cruising
altitude? I was going to find out, I promised myself as
I noted the time on my watch.
The thought of another long flight was a horrible one,
but it was the best decision I could make.
The woman at the airline desk had been surprised when
I turned in my ticket and bought one for Hawaii (the next
flight to a vacation area). I had smiled at her and told
her that there was a joy in doing things on the spur of
the moment. It was nice, if you could do it, she agreed.
I like myself. It had taken a long time, but I have
come to enjoy the man I am. I wasn't going to allow that
to change, allow anyone to change me, not even for the
pleasures behind the door of Room 348. If Lisa had changed,
was willing for me to be myself, then the Universe would see
to it that we met again, that there was another 'coincidence',
or I would meet someone else who would let me be me.
I was happy with myself, proud of myself. Yet in
spite of that I felt empty, lost. Lisa's face, so
beautiful that it caused me pain to look on it, rose
before my inner eye. My hand felt the loss as there
wasn't another one to grip it, to take comfort from it.
How long does it take a jetliner to reach its cruising
altitude? It takes forever.
End of COINCIDENCE, by Delta.
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /