I guess I went a little wild while I was there, maybe you could call it the forties crisis. I even had a tattoo made. Me, the person always saying tattoos were too permanent for me. But, yes, I had a tattoo, just in my left inner wrist of the BDSM symbol. I’ve wanted to do it ever since I recognized my submissive nature and so I finally did it.
Anyway, my watch will cover it most of the times. Although, right then I wasn’t wearing it, since I left it back home.
And there I was, with an eight hour flight to face and bored as hell, until I noticed a curious fact: the flight had more male stewards than female, and yes, some pretty hot male stewards. The one assigned to my row was one of those: tall, dark, with a lovely beard, dark chocolate eyes and a smile able to leave you breathless.
Best part of all?
He saw my new tattoo and his smile told me everything. He had recognized it, he knew what it meant and he made sure I knew he knew.
Eight hours is a lot of time when you have nothing more to do than staying sit on chair looking at a small screen, right? I can’t sleep on planes, so that was my dreadful destiny. That is, until my eyes met his, and suddenly eight hours sounded just perfect. After all you can do a lot of things in eight hours.
I was sitting by the window and the seat beside me was empty, so I was free to flirt with the man all I wanted. Every time he walked by, I managed to ask him something: an extra pillow, although I don’t sleep, another blanket, although I never get cold on a plane, a glass of water, because I’m hot… you get the picture.
After lunch was served, and the lights were dimmed, my devious mind started working. I noticed he was sitting alone at the back of the plane, so I decided to make my move.
I went to ask for another glass of water and I drank it right there.
“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” I asked him, and yes I know it’s a lame pick up line, but bear with me, I’m new at this. I don’t recall ever having flirted with a man before.
Anyway, he agreed with me.
“Yes, it’s quite hot.” His eyes were locked at my generous cleavage.
“You must be on fire wearing that suit,” I added, looking at him from head to toes.
His smile told me so much more than his words. “Oh, yes, I am.” And he took off his jacket, revealing a short sleeve shirt.
I rubbed my fingers at the base of my neck, as I relish at the sight of his strong arms.
He looked at my wrist intently. “That’s a nice tattoo you have there. Does it mean anything in particular?” he was asking but we both knew he knew what it meant. But I went along with him. Anything to keep the conversation flowing.
“Yes, it’s a special symbol, to commemorate a big change in my life,” I answered.
He smiled before he asked, “D or s?”
“Can’t I be both?” There was no pretending I didn’t know what he was asking.
“I am both,” he said, his smile getting broader. “But you look the kind that would only play one way.” He added and I giggled. He was right about me.
“S” I answered, lowering my eyes for a second. I believe it was the first time I admitted that to another living being, face to face.
I looked back at him and he was smiling, you know that kind of smile that just melts your bones, like butter under a summer’s hot sun.
“Lovely!” he said, and I blushed.
God, I’m forty and I still blush, I just hate that.
But there was no stopping me. I was a woman with a goal and my goal was to get him.