It was early rush hour in Detroit. The afternoon glare was just an annoyance to most of the people on the freeway heading west on the way home. As far as I was concerned, I knew I’d have another three hours of sunshine, and I was happy about that.

And I was about to get happier.

I touched his name on the contact list of my phone and hoped he would pick up. He did.

“Hey, babe, how is your day going?” I asked.

“Surviving,” he said, sounding mentally exhausted, if not annoyed. “I will be so happy when it’s over.”

“Awww …” I said, feigning sympathy. “I guess you’ll be too tired to pick me up from the airport at 8 o’clock.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and then I heard, “You what … umm … are going to be where???”

His voice was a mixture of excitement, panic and glee, followed by a bunch of questions about my flight information, if I had a place to stay, if I had a car, and how long I planned on being in town.

“I’ll see if I can make this work,” he said. “How long do you have until you get on the plane?”

“About an hour and a half,” I said. “I’m heading to the airport now, that is unless this isn’t going to work for you.”

“I’ll make it work!” he said, with joy and excitement replaced by the initial panic in his voice. I gave him my flight information and told him I booked a hotel room near the airport. I could get there by shuttle if for some reason he couldn’t see me that night.

About ten minutes before the plane started boarding, I got a text: “I’ll have someone meet you at in the lobby of the ticketing area.”

I was a little disappointed, but not entirely. I knew pulling off a last-minute trip would have some setbacks. Secretly, I was hoping for one of those lingering hugs and long, lingering kisses in the airport lobby that usually set the tone for our previous rendezvous.

“Will I see you tonight?” I typed back.

“You’ll see lots of me this weekend. What are you wearing?” was his reply.

I didn’t want to ruin the surprise of showing up in a purple low-cut V-neck wrap dress, or the initial plan, greeting him in a buttoned and tied lightweight flowing trench coat, but logistics were logistics.

The plane was a non-stop, but the four-hour flight seemed to take much longer than I anticipated. I tried reading, but couldn’t focus on my eReader. Not even on Kenneth Rexroth, John Dunne or Pablo Neruda. The anticipation made my heart race and was setting every nerve ending in my body flashing, making me feel tingly, nervous and excited. I knew I would see him, but when? And what would I expect when I landed? I finally succumbed to a cocktail to calm my nerves. I could have used two, but I didn’t want to be tipsy when I got off the plan, or worse, tired.

The last glimpses of light backlit the blueberry, magenta and orange sky of post-sunset painted the sky when I landed at SFX. The gate corridor wasn’t very busy, which would make it easy to find whoever it was that was meeting me in the lobby.

As soon as I reached the lobby, there was a tall, stoic, bald and muscular man in a dark suit and white shirt and tie holding up a card with my name on it. He looked like the type who could send a man flying across the room with just one punch if he had to. He walked up to me, took my luggage, and guided me to the taxi stand. He was a man of few words and politely asked me about my flight in a quiet, low tenor. When I asked what his name was, he only said, “Bingo.”

He let me in the back door of a black limousine. A tasteful sedan, not one of those tricked-out stretch limo.

Sitting in the back seat was my handsome and distinguished paramour, impeccably dressed in a sport coat, trousers, dress shirt, and a silk tie.

He barely let out a squeal before we locked into a rapturous embrace. Our urgent lips crashed into each other, breaking like the wild waves of a seawall in a wind-swept thunderstorm. Our tongues entwined like our arms and hands that sought to reconnect with every part of our bodies that had missed each other for exactly five weeks and four days. Our bodies meshed together as if they weren’t separated by the fabric of our clothing.

His hands glided over my shoulders and arms, over the back of my thigh up to the roundness of my ass. I could feel a smile on come on his face as we kissed when he became very aware of the absence of a panty line. The lace of my bra rubbed against my hardening nipples as his hand swept over the curve of my breast. Feeling his solid, firm chest made it confirmed that this was indeed that this was real; I was really with him, only it was better than I ever expected.

He pulled away just far enough to look into my eyes that were just on the edge of welling up with joy. His were beaming as bright as his smile. As he reached over to grab a bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal stems, I finally noticed that it was Miles Davis playing “In Your Own Sweet Way” soft and low through the speakers.

We clinked glasses and he made a toast to the woman who could surprise and delight him like no other. I couldn’t resist to kiss him again, only to taste the dry and mellow taste of champagne that I gently sucked off his lips.

I asked where we were going.

He didn’t answer; he just refilled my glass and told me how absolutely thrilled he was to see me. As I savored my second glass while we talked, he slipped a strawberry into my mouth. I reciprocated, and once again, our lips locked and he pulled me onto his lap facing him. The skirt of my dress rode up high enough that the skin of my pussy could feel the hard bulge that felt as if it wanted to break free from his trousers. His hand glided over the back of my thigh and up towards the front of my hips and stopped long enough to caress and tease me, lighting a switch inside of me that instinctively made me sway my hips against him. I slipped his jacket off his shoulders and deftly loosened the buttons off his shirt and softly and gently ran my fingers and palms all over his chest. On occasion, a thumb and forefinger would pass over one of his nipples – sometimes just to pass over and brush over the tiniest tip. A few times, my thumb and forefinger would grasp a nipple from opposite ends, pinch it at the very center, and then release it.

His hands rubbed their way over my thighs and my ass to the tempo of “Nuit Sur Les Champs-Elysees.” I backed away and quickly got to the serious business of unfastening the belt and the button of his trousers before tearing them, and his boxer shorts, off.

I bore my knees into the firm leather of the back seat bench, towered over him, and ripped the tie apart on the side of my dress, letting it fall to the floor of the spacious back seat area. I would have felt like a bit of an exhibitionist if it weren’t for the dark tinted windows and the champagne in me saying, “Do it like the world is watching.”

I would have slid my wet, slick pussy straight down his cock, except that he beat me to it by sliding two fingers up my inner sanctum as if they were missiles on a heat-seeking mission. They slid in an out, sometimes caressing, sometimes probing hard. I undulated over him, swinging back my head every time I let out a long moan or shrill as if I were dancing to the tempo of my very own song.

He stopped and swiftly lowered me by my ass to the top of his penis. I slid down his shaft very swiftly and slippery. I rose up slowly, feeling his cock rub against my inner walls. I rode him slowly up and down until I felt the sharp sting of his palm against the cheek of my ass.

I felt my wetness coating his cock even more, and then asked him in a little girl voice, “More, please,”

His hand swiftly smacked my other cheek, and then he grabbed hold of my hips and guided me to pick up the tempo. I grabbed onto his shoulders to brace myself and let out a long string of cooing moans each time my pussy bore down on his cock. Moans turned into gasps as my movements became shorter, deeper, quicker. His breathing became clipped as he shoved his hips forward quickly and urgently. He closed his eyes started to let out a crying howl. Quietly at first and then louder until his cry burst out in a deep gasp, as if it released his hot sperm deep inside of me.

I too, had come, either over several orgasms or a long extended one. I hadn’t really noticed. It didn’t matter. We were symphonic.

We stared into each other’s eyes and smiled as we slowly came down in sync. I pumped over his lap gently until I could no longer slide over your cock with east. He turned me over so I could sit on my ass. We held each other close for a long time until you looked up and said, “We’re here.”

We were in the parking lot of a crowded hot dog stand. I didn’t know for how long. I wasn’t even aware that we had gotten off the road or when. I asked how long we’ve been here. He just assured me now one could see in. We couldn’t help but to bust out laughing as we looked for our clothes and put them back on. He handed me what was left in the bottle along with the flutes and we walked out to the stand.

This place was old school – regulars, foot-long, chili dogs. I told him I wanted some onion rings, but he insisted on fries. I found out why. He slipped one into his mouth and guided the other end onto my lips and we ate it slowly until our lips met. I think it was even hotter for him to watch me purse my lips around the tip of the hot dog. We couldn’t help but bust out laughing, feeling rather giddy about putting our public display of sharing food like this out in the open.

It turned out it was more than OK to bring the champagne out to the picnic table. A group of hipsters at the table next to us were drinking PBR out of cans with several to spare, and not paying any attention to us at all.

“As always, I take you to the best places,” he said as he filled our glasses.

I laughed and said I couldn’t agree more. This place and these dogs couldn’t be more perfect, especially paired with champagne. We laughed even more and busted into our first real conversation of the evening, trying to pack in everything we otherwise would have shared during the car ride here.

We stepped away from the crowd to stare out into the stars and the inky dark midnight blue sky, holding hands and catching our breath.

“The next time you decide to surprise me, give me a little more head’s up, OK?” he asked.

“And what would be the fun in that?” I said with a grin.