"Mommy,
I want my motorcycle! And I'm thirsty!" You're so annoyed you can hardly
find words for it and you haven't even taken off yet. Being stuck on a plane for
almost a whole day is bad enough, but being stuck on a plane for a whole day
while seated next to the horror-child from hell is a nightmare. You like
children alright, but from a distance, or when they're asleep, but certainly not
when they are jumping about in the seat next to you (the window seat, for
Christ's sake!) yelling at their parents who for some reason only known to the
staff of this airline are in the row behind you with little sis'. And instead of
putting this ghastly boy in the same row as the rest of his family, they put him
next to you. Thanks A LOT. You catch the eye of the stewardess walking along the
aisle; she seems to pity you, as do most of the other people on this plane, but
of course no one has the slightest intention of… "Excuse me, but maybe I
could swap seats with your son; might make everything a bit easier." The
man who sits in the window seat next to the mother gets up. You'd taken him to
be the brat's father but apparently he isn't. Whatever, you don't care what he
is; he's your hero for saving you from this spawn of the devil. Funny though,
for a second you thought his voice sounded familiar, a bit like…oh, f**ing
hell…it is…! He flops down in the seat next to you, "Hope you don't
mind the change." You grin wearily and shoot him a look that hopefully says
'You kidding? You saved my life!' rather than 'OhgodIcantbelieve
thisnoonesevergonnabelieveme whenItellthemaboutthis-thisjustisnttrue.' He grins.
So either the look has worked or he's just amused by how pathetic you are.
"I'm James." You look at him, "I know," you answer.
PLING!
A little angel appears on your right shoulder shouting 'Don't stare at him like
that, he'll think you're trying to pull him!' PUFF! A little devil appears on
your left shoulder shouting 'And you bloody well are as well!' Of course, as
ever so often, the little devil is right, but for the moment the angel wins and
you quickly look down on the trashy magazine in your lap and the immensely
fascinating article about orange being the new pink or something.
"Interesting article?" Aaargh! Stop talking, will you? You can't lead
deep and meaningful conversations now, you need all your energy to make sure you
don't faint. "Not really, no."
"Why are you reading
it, then?"
"Well, you have to, don't you? Long flights like this just call for that
kind thing. Boring flight, trivial magazine, it just, sort of,
corresponds." He gives you a weird kind of half-smile, "Yeah, I
suppose you have a point there." He agrees with you! Hurray! From then on
he just takes a massive interest in your reading material, discussing the agony
aunt's answers in great detail and commenting upon the gossip section. You've
just finished the personality test, when you sense a slight resentment at the
thought of having to turn the page. You've leafed through the magazine at the
airport and know what's next. A comprehensive analysis of how your star sign
affects your sex-life. You're not at all sure, though, that you feel fit to
discuss sexual positions with HIM, of all people. "Turn over," he
urges "I'm through with the page. Oh, cool!" He grabs the magazine,
"What star sign are you?" You gently take the magazine from his hands,
"It's a magazine for women, James. It's about men. What star sign are
you?" Move of genius that, pretending you don't know already. He looks you
straight into the eye, "I'm Pisces. So, what am I into, then?" You try
and focus on the page, which is not at all easy. All of a sudden, you've
realised how little room there is on a plane and how close he consequently is to
you. "Go on, I'm curious."
"Alright, Pisces. You are extremely sensitive to your partner's needs, you
like a bit of dirty talking – tut tut, James, naughty - and to pull you one's
supposed to wear something pink." He looks you up and down very slowly and
somehow suggestively. If any other man did that, you'd think about suing them
for sexual harassment. You're not a piece of meat, okay? But the way he does it
just makes you quiver. "You're not wearing anything pink." he
concludes. "I am, actually. My knickers are pink." You didn't say
that, right? Right? Surely you only thought that, right? Right? "Well,
that's what you're telling me." Shit, you did say it. The little devil is
pissed off because you ignored him earlier on and is taking revenge now.
"But maybe you're lying just to impress me." What? He's actually
managed to make you speechless, which is not something that a lot of people can
do. You know he's just teasing. You're not that obvious. You may be going to
pieces on the inside but you know there's no way he could tell. You're good at
hiding your feelings. You still can't think of anything to say so you decide to
go for action instead. You undo your trousers so your knickers show. They are
pink. Sexy in an innocent way. Sort of. You hope. He looks startled. HA! Gotcha!
He swallows hard, "Okay then, you're not trying to impress me."
"No." you reply a bit more curtly than you'd meant to and do up your
buttons again. This is just totally absurd. Why couldn't he leave you alone?
Okay, the little boy wasn't exactly an ideal companion, but at least you
wouldn't have shoved your knickers into his face. Usually, you have at least
some decency. You wonder where it's gone now you need it. You can feel him
looking at you. You really wish he wouldn't. Well, not really, but - oh, you
just hate it when someone makes you feel so…aware of every square inch of your
skin. You turn your head and try not to flinch. He does have beautiful eyes. And
lovely lips. You never understood how some men could just have such soft-looking
lips. No no no! You must stop thinking like that, it's pointless anyway and you
really have to get away from him or you'll end up doing something really stupid.
Yes, even more stupid than the knickers-thing. You scramble to your feet.
"Could you…?" you ask, nodding towards the toilets. He stands up to
let you pass and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as you squeeze
past him. Oh God! A thought flashes through your mind: The Mile High Club. He
doesn't think you want him to…? Because you don't. You think. You know he's
looking at you while you make your way down the aisle, but he doesn't follow
you. You shoot a glance over your shoulder before entering the toilet, just to
make sure. He really didn't follow you. Good. No. Why didn't he follow you? He
must've known that you wanted him to. Because you did. A bit. Rubbish, you did
want him to follow you, really, really wanted it, and you want him here right
now, very close to you, as close as possible, you want his hands underneath your
t-shirt and between your legs, just as you've always wanted it, and you'll
probably fall over any second now because your legs are so weak and now you'll
get a f**king grip on yourself and go out there again because you are not that
desperate, you're not bloody Ally McBeal or something and you are quite capable
of going out there again without having 'F**k me, please, I'm gagging for it'
written across your forehead and airplanes are terrible anyway and next time you
need to get somewhere you'll f**king walk.
You
take a deep breath and unlock the door and there he is, gently pushing you
inside the tiny toilet again, locking the door and turning to look at you.
"I know this is silly, but you do want it, don't you?" he mumbles. He
looks all insecure, like he really isn't sure about it and you can't help
thinking that this is just so cute and would probably be enough to make you want
to sleep with him, if you didn't want it anyway. And you are speechless again,
although this time you couldn't speak even if you wanted to. And the next thing
you know is that your lips are touching his and his hands really are underneath
your t-shirt, running up and down your back which makes you tremble with desire.
His tongue darts greedily around your mouth while he lifts you up and turns
around with you so you're leaning against the door. "I've never ever wanted
someone so badly." he groans, pushing against you. You can feel how hard he
is through his trousers and wish you were naked already because you can't wait
to have him inside you. You start tearing at his flies, which makes his breath
come in short hot gasps. Your clothes just seem to fall away, his hands are all
over your body and he can hardly control himself anymore when he pulls down your
knickers, now not only pink but also completely soaked. He gives another loud
moan when you finally grab his cock. It looks amazing, even better than you
thought it would. You run your hand along the shaft, slowly at first, then
building up a steady rhythm. You know he has to make a real effort not to cum.
You're completely torn, you want to go on touching him like this, you want to
take him in your mouth, suck him off, swallow him, you want him to f**k you
really hard, again and again. He grabs your wrist, "Your turn." His
fingers slide inside you, expertly rubbing your most sensitive spots. For a
moment it feels as if a part of you detaches itself from your body, steps aside
and watches. You have thought about this so often, touching yourself the way
he's touching you now, imagining how he would feel, imagining his breath on your
skin, your legs around his waist, your hands running through his hair. He's so
unbelievably good; you've never been so turned on in your life. His fingers feel
absolutely fantastic but they just aren't enough, you need something bigger,
harder. You pull him towards you, "I want you inside me. Now." His
eyes are firmly fixed on yours, all dark with lust. You're so wide and wet he
slides in easily, obviously enjoying how ready you are for him. He's still
looking at you, almost challenging. Then he pulls out again, painstakingly
slowly. You moan. If he wants you to beg for it, then he's won. You press
against him so he can feel your breasts against his torso, bring your lips close
to his ears and start sighing his name. That's all the encouragement he needs
and he immediately thrusts inside you again, almost screaming out. And this time
he doesn't stop, he just goes on and on, faster and deeper with each movement.
You're so loud the whole plane must hear you, but you can't help it, it's just
too amazing. You just want him to know you're enjoying this more than you ever
thought possible and that you don't want him to stop. Ever. You hardly notice
how close you are to your orgasm until you finally feel his hot cum inside you
and you just explode, gabbing his arse to keep him in place. You rest your head
against his shoulder and run your hands over his sweaty back, with his dick
still buried inside you. You're just about to say something when there's a knock
on the door. "Just a second." James calls. He looks at you and shrugs.
"Doing it in toilets does have its downsides." "I'd figured
that." you sigh, pulling on your clothes. After you've made yourself
presentable again he unlocks the doors and you step out. Outside there's the
mother with the horror-child from hell who immediately begins asking questions
about what you were doing in there together. His mum wisely ignores him, but
shoots you a glance expressing utter contempt. "She's just jealous."
James mumbles, takes your hand and leads you back to your seats.
You
pass the rest of the flight giggling and whispering naughty stuff into each
other’s ears. Needless to say the time just flies by, and you can't help
feeling a little sad when you touch down. You're wondering whether you're going
to see him again, whether he wants to see you again at all. Your worst fears
seem to be confirmed when you lose sight of him somewhere between the baggage
reclaim and customs. Okay, so it was just a quick shag to pass a boring flight.
Beats the usual in-flight entertainment. Anyway, it's still quite a story to
tell your best mate over a bottle of red wine. You're trying to work out how to
break the news to her, absent-mindedly dragging your suitcase out towards the
taxi stands, when you hear a now even more familiar voice. "Hey, you took
long." James. "Come on, I've already hailed a cab." He grabs your
suitcase and lifts it into the car, then holds open the door for you. "I'd
like to see where you live. Are you going to ask me to visit you?" You just
fall back into your seat and tell the driver your address.