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I’m on the plane. Holy. Shit. I’m on the plane. I had thought of this moment hundreds of times over the last month, but now here it was and I was even more anxious than I had imagined I would be. I walked down the too-narrow aisle toward my seat in row 18. I looked at my ticket again and back up at the icons on the overhead bins. Fuck. I was in the middle seat. I hated the middle seat. Hadn’t I told him I hated the middle seat?
“Excuse me, I think we’re seat buddies,” I said through pursed lips to the lumber-jack looking man in his early 30’s, who smiled politely and got up from his aisle seat. The Asian woman behind me indicated in broken English that she would complete our row, next to me, by the window. We all settled in our seats and pretended that we weren’t uncomfortable being this close to one another since we’d be stuck like this for the next four hours and 22 minutes.
I pulled out my iPhone. “Just boarded the plane. Will text you when I land. Love u.” I sent the text and before I could start composing the next one, got a response. “Love u too. Xoxo.” My husband’s text instinctively made me cringe. Dave was a good guy – a nice guy. My head reeled and I could feel my cheeks getting warm. Stop it. It’s too late. You’re on the plane. No time for guilt now. Just ride the wave.
Composing a new text, I typed “Laura Stefan” into the “to” field. “Boarded the plane. See you in 4+ hours. Holy. Fuck.” The response came a few minutes later. “Safe travels. See you soon!! ??”
My wedding rings suddenly felt tight on my finger and I began to fiddle with them, twisting them around and around. After a few minutes, I sighed and took them off one by one. First my anniversary band, then my engagement ring, and finally, my wedding ring. I opened my purse and dug around for my wallet. Without another look at them, I shoved the rings in the change compartment and zipped it up. My heart was thudding in my chest like a jackhammer and it was really hot on the damn plane.
I needed another drink… like a hole in the head. I had gotten to the airport, parked the car, checked a bag, got through security, and sat at the bar across from the gate for nearly an hour before being one of the last people to board. I managed to down two double rum and diets in that short time, and the buzz was getting to my head. Normally that amount of rum wouldn’t have bothered me, but the only thing I’d consumed for the past 4 weeks was Slim Fast and raw vegetables and it turned me into a bigger lightweight than usual.
Considering the possibility of further intoxication, I smiled at my neighbor, the Lumberjack, and made small talk. I felt like I was going to explode if I had to keep my nervous excitement to myself one moment longer. I took that to mean I didn’t need another drink. Out of habit, I glanced down at his hands. The Lumberjack was wearing a wedding ring.
“Business or vacay?” I asked the Lumberjack. It turned out the Lumberjack worked for one of those discount/coupon website companies and was on his way back to Seattle after working for two weeks in Chicago. We chatted a bit about his job and he mentioned he was happy to be going home to his 3 month old son. I smiled and told him to enjoy every minute, because he’ll be a toddler in the blink of an eye. I thought back to how my own son looked at three months – chubby and happy and so easy to please.
In that split second I saw so many images running through my mind. Dave and I marveling over the miracle and the beauty of our newborn son, sleeping peacefully in my arms… My now two-year old’s smiling face as he proudly exclaimed “I did it!” about some new accomplishment… The three of us playing together with his toy cars on the floor in the living room… and now here I was, alone, on a plane to Seattle with my rings in my purse and a suitcase full of slut-wear. What was I doing?!?
“How about you?” asked the Lumberjack, “Going home or leaving town? Business or pleasure?” Surely I wanted him to ask me this or I wouldn’t have started a conversation with him. But my cheeks instantly turned red and my lips curled into a guilty grin. “Um… Both… I think.” He assessed me quickly and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “I’m going to visit a friend. But my husband thinks I’m traveling on business.”
He raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head, not judging, just listening. “Do you travel for business often?” I told him that I traveled a handful of times per year, and that this didn’t raise any red flags.
“You seem anxious,” he observed. My eyes grew wide and I laughed, nervously. I was anxious – so anxious that I would have loved to take a xanax, but wanted my wits about me when I landed so I refrained.
I looked up at him and smiled. “I don’t know you. So I’ll level with you. I’m going to Seattle to spend the weekend with a man, who isn’t my husband, for the first time. So this flight is going to be the longest four hours of my life.”
Somehow those four hours and 22 minutes passed and the plane hitting the Bayındır Escort ground jolted me back from my spinning thoughts into reality. I grabbed my purse and jacket, and strode off the plane in an attempt to exude a hundred times more confidence than I actually felt. The Lumberjack walked past me and before he headed off down a different corridor in SEA-TAC he turned around and looked me in the eyes. “I hope everything turns out the way you want it to. Really,” he said, gently squeezing my arm, “Best of luck to you.” I hoped so too, but still couldn’t put my finger on exactly which way I did want it to turn out.
Following the signs down to baggage claim, I picked up my phone and dialed Laura Stefan. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, are you here?”
“Yeah, I just got off the plane. I’m headed down to baggage.”
“I’m running late, I won’t be there for another 25-30 minutes.”
“No, seriously… I got hung up. I’m sorry. Just hang tight and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “Really? I flew in all the way from Chicago to hang out at SEA-TAC?”
“Deal with it. I’ll be there soon enough.”
“Okay, call me when you’re here, I guess…” But I was talking to dead air. Typical.
The Lumberjack was not at baggage claim, thankfully. I could do without ever having to own up to my sins to a complete stranger again. And in my own ‘recovering Catholic’ way, I decided that counted as confession and forgave myself for my impending trespasses, leaving the guilt on the plane.
While I waited for my bags I decided to go freshen up in the ladies room. I locked myself in a stall and leaned up against the door. I could hear my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ears. My guilt and anxiety were giving way to something else – excitement? Yes, I was excited to see him, to kiss him… I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down. When I pulled them back up again, my black lace panties were in my hand and there was nothing separating me from the warm softness of the well-worn denim. Who ARE you??? The “good angel” in my head shouted at me.
Ever since Trey and I started our relationship, I’d felt like I had the proverbial cartoon devil and angel on either shoulder, both telling me what to do. At first I thought it spoke to the fact that I had obviously lost my mind. But now I was used to the feeling of being conflicted and I found myself siding with the little devil more often than not.
I tucked the panties into my purse and headed to the mirror to freshen up my makeup. I fussed with my hair a little, and decided that the two hours I’d spent on it earlier that morning were worth it. Finally, I touched up my lip gloss and headed back out to the baggage carousel, but everyone had already collected their bags and scattered. My bag and one other were the only ones left slowly making the rounds on the loud metal conveyer belt.
My phone rang and I retrieved it from my purse to see the call from Laura Stefan.
“Are you here yet?”
“I’m pulling into the airport now. I should be there in 5 minutes.”
I grabbed my suitcase off the carousel, ran my fingers through my blond highlights one more time, took a deep breath, and headed outside.
-One Month Earlier-
The laptop screen glowed brightly in the dark of my living room, the words on the screen, “Want me to call you?” staring me in the face. Trey and I had been having our late-night facebook chats for a couple days now; four days in a row, actually. The more I thought about it, I realized that we started a conversation that had never actually finished. It just kept going and going. We never said goodbye, we just paused to do things like sleep or drive to work.
At work, facebook was always up in the background, and I was a pro at rapidly tabbing between screens to continue our constant conversation while I half-assed my boring desk job. My smart phone made it easy to talk anytime outside of work, and it was permanently attached to my palm. I’d chat with him using my phone until Dave went to bed, and then I’d switch to the laptop. Our conversations were nothing short of erotica at least half of the time, if not more. We loved talking about the kinky shit we wished we could do to one another. I felt such a cliche´ but it didn’t stop me from doing it.
Trey and I ran in the same social circles two thousand miles apart. I’m sure I’d bumped into him at a concert or two, considering we both had been seeing the same band at different venues across the country for a decade and a half. Our friends were friends, and it was pretty much a guarantee you would run into someone you knew at the shows. Thanks to the ease of social media, we connected through fan groups on Facebook and after some innuendo on a few threads and a provocative picture I posted in one of the smaller groups, we moved it to the inbox.
It started with dirty talk and raunchy photos. Then, four days later, I found myself wishing I could hear his voice while I got off to the sexy things Bayraklı Escort he was saying to me.
“Want me to call you?”
“I have a few minutes, but it’s now or never.”
My response was typed and sent before I even thought about it. “8475554992.” A minute later my phone was ringing.
“I want to hear you come for me,” he growled.
It was sexy as fuck. Here was this guy that I hardly knew, two thousand miles away, getting me off with his voice and his erotic, twisted mind. I don’t think I had ever been so wet in my entire life. And quietly, on the couch in my dark living room, I came at his behest.
I walked through the sliding glass doors and took a deep breath of the clean-smelling Seattle air. The scent was reminiscent of nearby water and smelled significantly less like the pollution of Chicago. I scanned the cars coming through the arrivals lanes looking for his Subaru. I saw him drive in and watched him pull over to the curb and come to a stop. He got out of the car, knowing that I was standing out there waiting, but I saw him before he saw me.
I briskly walked toward him as he moved around the back of the car. He scanned the people in the vicinity and finally our eyes met. For the first time, not through the use of technology, I could physically see him. After that moment, it was all instinct. A huge smile spread across my face and I knew I was probably grinning like an idiot, but I didn’t care. I found myself running, well, as much as you can run when you’re pulling a 35 pound suitcase, the last 15 yards to him and catapulted myself into his arms.
How many times had I thought and dreamed of this moment? Surely no less than a thousand. And now, here I was, in his arms, and God did he smell GOOD. Delicious, even. All the over-thinking in the world couldn’t have prepared me for how natural and electric our physical connection was. My mouth instinctively found his and we stood there kissing for a moment before I pulled back to catch my breath. His scent was intoxicating.
“Hi,” I said softly, through a wicked smile, while I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “Welcome to Seattle,” he said in a deep, sly voice.
I could no longer hear the angel in my head, and I didn’t care. Thinking was a moot point. It was all feeling and passion – it was like getting high.
The ride to the hotel was torturous. His hand moved up and down my thigh while he drove, making every nerve in my body stand at attention. My fingers played with his hair, just above the back of his collar, and I squirmed in the passenger seat while he teased me. However, the baby seat in the back, ironically the same brand as the one in my car back home, and the woman’s sunglasses in the cup holder did not escape my notice. A small guilty voice somewhere in my head reminded me that Dave and I hadn’t even so much as held hands in the car in years.
Trey’s wife and one and a half year old son were in Europe visiting family for three weeks. They left on a flight to London at the exact same time I left on my flight to Seattle. So many things could have happened to screw up our little “sex-cation,” as I called it. Her flight could’ve gotten canceled, or their son could’ve gotten sick – something to prevent her from getting on that plane. My flight could’ve been canceled, or one of our spouses could’ve found out and gone ballistic. I kept waiting for the universe to send me a sign that I shouldn’t get on the damn plane, but one never came.
And now, here I was in Seattle, walking into a spa resort with him while an overly-eager front desk receptionist smiled her greeting at us.
“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Miller!”
A laugh bubbled up so fast I could barely contain it, but managed to keep it to a smile with an eyebrow raised. Mr. and Mrs.?! She thought we were married? How funny was that?! Trey either didn’t catch what she said or ignored it, but he got us checked in while I hung back with the bags, fiddling with my phone.
I couldn’t make eye contact with any of the hotel staff. All I could think about was the scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts walks into the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel in hooker clothes and everyone gawks at her, obviously wondering what a hooker is doing in a five-star hotel. Good thing there wasn’t a seat in the elevator or I would’ve busted out with, “Well color me happy, there’s a sofa in here for two!”
I didn’t have time to say anything because we were all over each other as soon as the doors slid closed. We arrived on the third floor and I followed him down the hallway to our room. Our room – holy shit! I had a hotel room with a man who was not my husband of seven years. I felt breathless in that moment, the reality of what I was about to consummate hitting me like a brick wall. And I knew I wanted it.
He held the key in his hand as we stood outside the door, not saying a word. Before he put the key into the door he stopped and looked at me with a smirk Bornova Escort on his face.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want. We can drop our bags off and go get a nice cup of coffee.” I grabbed the key out of his hand and opened the door. “I didn’t fly two thousand miles for a fucking cup of coffee,” I snapped a little more forcefully than I had intended, striding past him into the room.
He followed me through the doorway and discreetly moved the “Do Not Disturb” sign from the inside door handle to the outside handle. I heard him flip the lock as I set my purse on the desk, and then the view caught my eye. Pulling back the sheers on the sliding glass doors, I saw Lake Washington spread out before me, twinkling under the full moon. I felt his arms encircle me and turned to kiss him. Kissing him was such a mind- fuck for me. I hadn’t felt passion like this in years. Things with Dave had once been passionate, but had long since grown into something else.
Dave was an amazing father, an upstanding citizen, and my best friend, but when it came to passion, the fire had fizzled out somewhere along the line. Maybe it was having a toddler and all that came with being a parent. Maybe it was being together for a decade, and married for seven of those years. I was 22 when we got married, and maybe we just grew apart. Likely it was a combination of all that and probably more, but if the embers of our former fire were still glowing, I’d call it a good day. Dave was content, and if you asked him how his marriage was going, he’d say it’s great. He had food in his belly, a roof over his head, a wife in his bed, and a son who he adored. He had a job that he was happy with and the bills were getting paid. That was enough for him. I, on the other hand, was another story.
Trey spun me around and backed me up until the backs of my legs brushed up against the king sized bed, reminding me who was in control of this little excursion. His hands were everywhere.
“Did you take your panties off for me like I told you to?” he asked, sliding his hand inside my jeans. I said nothing, but nodded slowly, my blue eyes wide and staring into his. He found his answer soon enough.
Two words, those two words, were exactly what I needed to hear, and he knew it. I gasped and felt my knees weaken as he discovered exactly how turned on I was. I curled my fingers in his thick brown hair and kissed him so hard I forgot to breathe.
He grabbed me by the hips and pushed me backwards. Startled and hot, I fell onto the bed behind me. He had my jeans off in record time, and before I could catch my breath his mouth was on me there and I could feel his tongue in ways I had only dreamt about until now. HOLY. SHIT.
Everything about it was different and exhilarating. He knew exactly how to touch me to bring me right to the edge and keep me suspended above it for what seemed like eternity. It was nothing like the fumbling first-time sex I had with Dave a long decade ago. Trey knew what the fuck he was doing, oh yes he did. Surely a month of foreplay, including us detailing our fucked up fantasies for each other, had nothing to do with it.
It was such a heady high. I have no idea how long he spent kneeling between my legs but I will never in my life forget the space he brought me to that weekend, beginning with this moment. I was completely sober when I walked into that room and now I was high on Trey. And he was the best fucking drug I had ever tried.
When he had enough of tasting me, it was time for me to return the favor. I sort of knew what to expect because of our x-rated FaceTime sessions, but reality was turning out to be so much different – better – in so many delicious ways. Trey was a big guy in every sense of the word, but in a very good way. He was a whole foot taller than me at 6’2″ and was definitely husky, but so fucking sexy. And he did not disappoint below the belt.
My eyes widened as I finally laid eyes on the cock I had thought about penetrating me in so many filthy ways. “Oh…” I whimpered as I dropped to my knees. I felt like I won the cock lottery, or it was like Cockmas morning and I got the biggest present under the tree. I marveled for a second at how fucking thick he was before opening my mouth, as wide as I could, hoping to God I could make it fit.
Trey’s impressive erection reminded me that I actually loved giving head. I have always considered it to be dirtier than traditional sex because you are so up close and personal with the most intimate parts of a person’s body. It’s fucked up, I know, but chalk it up to the whole “I’m a recovering Catholic” thing. This would be the final test – if everything went well with my visit to his southern region, all systems were go for anything he wanted. And I wanted to give my body to him any way he wanted it.
I licked and teased him, first swirling my tongue around just the tip, before he grabbed the back of my head and fisted my hair, pushing my mouth down onto his hard cock. I relaxed my throat and looked up at him, his blue eyes emanating heat that shot to my core. All I cared about was turning him on and getting him as high as I felt. I could comprehend nothing else besides our pleasure. Everything outside of what was happening between him and I in that moment simply did not exist.
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