I sat fidgeting in the airport lounge.

I looked around at my fellow passengers and wondered where they were coming from and where they were going. I peered out at the jets imperfectly seen through the rain-soaked window, and glanced up at the simple round clock on the wall, as though willing it to turn 8:15 PM. At that magic moment, the flight from Montreal to Amsterdam would be called, this stage of the wait would be over, and the next stage would begin. I looked back at the pages of the book I was holding loosely in my hand, but although I could read the words, I couldn’t focus my attention on their meaning. I read through the two open pages without having absorbed a thing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a faint glimpse of red hair, as a tall, slim woman who must have been in her late twenties glided languidly past and took the only empty seat at the far side of the room. I felt my pulse quickening at the thought of being seated next to someone of such beauty all the way across the Atlantic, and red hair always gave me a thrill, even when the wearer was otherwise unnoticeable. I looked back at my book, and began reading the same pages a second time, but still I couldn’t focus. I looked up at the red headed woman, but saw that she was absorbed in a magazine.

I got up and paced across the waiting lounge, wondering if the flight would be full, or if I could somehow manage an extra seat to help me stretch out and sleep. I rather doubted it, given the number of passengers that seemed to be waiting at this gate. Crossing to the window, down which long rivulets of rainwater were streaming, I stood squinting out onto the tarmac, and was lost in some private reverie when the announcement came calling the flight for boarding.

Joining the queue, I noticed the red headed woman, still sitting, reading her magazine. A smiling woman with dark, liquid brown eyes took my boarding card, and I followed the other passengers down the ramp, and into the waiting jet. I looked at my boarding pass for the first time, and noticed that I had been given seat 21B, a middle seat in a bank of three, near the left-hand side of the aircraft.

I grumbled to myself about remembering to ask for a window seat so I could at least try to sleep undisturbed. At the designated row, I opened the overhead bin, crammed my hand baggage into it, pushed it shut, and flopped down. It had already been a long day, the earlier flight from Halifax was crowded, and the ride bumpy.

For a few moments I watched my fellow travellers stream past, or take their seats ahead of me. I could feel that this was going to be a long and boring flight, as flights usually are for people who are used to active engagement, and at the end of this flight there was another long and boring flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi. I placed the tiny pillow behind the small of my back, closed my eyes, and was beginning to drift off in spite having convinced myself that I couldn’t sleep on aeroplanes. My incipient somnolence was interrupted, however, when I heard a woman’s voice.

“Excuse me,” she said. “May I please get to my seat?”

I opened my eyes, feeling offended that anyone should dare intrude into the peace of my oncoming dreams, but this feeling did a quick about turn when I saw the intruder. I stood up to let the red haired woman slip quietly into her seat. She composed her skirt, which was pale green, almost ankle length, with a slit up the side facing the window. Without saying a word, or otherwise acknowledging my presence, she unpacked the airline blanket from its plastic wrapping, and unfolded it over her legs.

I sighed softly, reached into the seat pocket, and took out a copy of the airline’s magazine, and began to leaf through the pages. However, my concentration was overwhelmed by the red hair that I could see out of the corner of my eye no matter which way I looked. I was momentarily distracted when a family came down the aisle, and began to discuss who would take which seat. After some shouting in what seemed to be Dutch, I found myself sandwiched between the beautiful redhead, and an apparently Dutch grandmother with bright blue hair.

The grandmother, kept looking around, and talking to someone behind her in Dutch. The redhead was now absorbed in a paperback novel. The great monstrosity of metal was started to taxi out to the runway, while passengers were being given the standard pre-takeoff safety lecture. The aircraft turned onto the runway, and the captain called for the flight attendants to be seated. The engines roared out their powerful thrust, and the planeload of nameless souls began their rush to be airborne.

A few minutes later, the fasten seatbelt lights went out. Granny Bluehair got up, spoke to a flight attendant, disappeared into the back of the aircraft, and did not come back. I was wondering whether she had fallen out of some unknown hole in the tail of the plane, when a flight attendant came by offering drinks.

I took a scotch on ice, which was also what the red-haired woman demanded when she was asked what she would like to drink.

“Hello,” I said. “What a coincidence. You also drink scotch.”

“Oh, not usually,” she replied. “But I find it helps me to sleep on airplanes.”

“Ah yes, me too,” I said, not sure it was true.

“The joy of airplanes,” she said somewhat ambiguously.

“Do you travel a lot?” I asked, now that the ice was broken.

Maybe this wouldn’t be such an unpleasant flight after all. At least there was someone with whom to talk, and she did have red hair.

“Yes, well, I am in the retail business,” she said. “I travel a lot to look for stock, and my name is Sabrina.”

She smiled at me pleasantly, the way you would smile a dog on the sidewalk when out for a stroll.

“I’m David,” I replied. “Are you going to Amsterdam?”

“No, I change planes in Amsterdam, and go on to Milano,” she said. “I am looking for some good upmarket designs for my shops. I sell very expensive ladies fashions.”

As she spoke looked directly at me and smiled, a different kind of smile. More a pleased to meet you kind of smile.

I looked into her deep green eyes, framed by a flaming mane, saw her nearly perfect teeth, and nearly melted into a pool of blubber in my seat. I wasn’t sure what came over me. I regarded myself as a cool one, and women didn’t do this to me, not usually. Not even redheads.

“Um, ah, ah.....” I paused. “Oh, ladies fashions. You mean like the things they show on TV when there is a fashion show. Spring collections, and that sort of thing.”

I really didn’t think I was doing very well.

She laughed an almost tinkling laugh, that made me feel even less adequate, and said that it was more or less like that. She told me that she was going to a spring showing of the top fashion designers in Milan, and expected to make some purchase of items in their collections.

Grabbing my wits by their handles, and hanging firmly onto them, I managed to ask her if she was from Montreal, to which she told me that she had a small shop in Vieux Montreal, the old quarter and a few other shops throughout Montreal and Quebec City.

When she smiled again, I was overcome, and couldn’t think of any thing to say. “If my friends could see me now,” I thought. “Me, the talkative one, left totally speechless!”

Sabrina went back to reading her novel, and I began leafing unconvincingly through the airline magazine. Finally I got to the map at the back, and when I saw Africa, I remembered where I was going and why.

I was about to try another stab at conversation, when the flight attendant brought supper, a rather boring looking mixture of potato, meat, squishy peas, and something unspeakable. The passengers in seats 21A and B ate their meal in silence, each aware of the other’s presence, but neither seeming to know how to get the conversation flowing again.

When the flight attendant finally brought coffee, I found an opening, and tried to talk again to Sabrina.

“These overnight flights are hard on the body, hey,” I said. It was not a question.

“Mmm,” Sabrina agreed, and went back to her book.

I closed my eyes, tilted the seat back, and tried to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, however, Sabrina hopped into my head, and dominated my thoughts. I saw the sharp, strong outlines of her chin, her perfectly proportioned nose; the high cheekbones that made her penetrating green eyes seem to dance when she smiled. In my mind, I could even see the faint outline of her bra through the thin cloth of her blouse and, unbidden, my mind began to see one small, excruciatingly beautiful breast carefully hiding behind each cup. I remembered the faint glimpse of silky smooth leg I’d gotten as she was taking her seat.

This is silly, I thought. I don’t want to frustrate myself with erotic thoughts, nor do I want to insult Sabrina, even silently in my head. But try as I might, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

This is so not me, I thought. I respect women, and while I am not asexual by any stretch of the imagination, I don’t treat women as sex objects. I began to feel uncomfortable with myself.

Feeling Sabrina shift in her seat, I opened my eyes, and saw her looking at me and smiling.

“Did I drool,” I asked, half jokingly and half wanting to curb my erotic imagination.

“No,” she replied. “I was just thinking how peaceful men look when they are asleep, and how dangerous they are when they are awake.”

“Do I look dangerous,” I blurted, incredulously.

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean to imply...” she said.

“It’s OK,” I said, not knowing quite what was OK.

“It’s just.... No, never mind.... Well, actually you were sort of smiling and frowning at the same time, like you couldn’t decide whether your dream was happy or sad,” she said.

“Actually, you hit the nail on the head there. But anyway, which do you prefer,” I asked. “Peaceful, or dangerous?”

“Much to my own chagrin, I suppose dangerous,” replied Sabrina, looking me straight in the eye. I melted again under the gaze of her absorbing green eyes, but somehow I managed to keep control of my breathing.

Then, quickly, she asked, “Where are you heading?”

“I’m going to Nairobi. I have been asked to do a survey for the World Bank to examine the effects of tourism on the reefs at Mombasa. I’ll be in Mombasa for six to eight weeks,” I answered.

“Eight weeks! That’s a long time to be away. Are you married,” inquired Sabrina.

“Well not married, as such, but I have been living with the same woman for three years now. Same thing, I guess. You?”

“I have been married for eight months,” she replied. “I guess we are still in the honeymoon stage. I hate to be away for more than a few days.”

“Oh, how long will you be away now?” I asked.

“This trip I will be gone for three weeks, which is the longest that we have been apart since we were married,” she said.

“That is a while,” I said. “We have an open relationship, so I am sure she will make up for my absence.”

“Wow, that sounds exciting,” she replied. “Serge, my husband, joked that there is a certain part of his anatomy that he wished I could take with me.”

Sabrina’s face and neck turned a little crimson at that statement.

“And do you wish you could take that part?” I asked.

“Or an inanimate version,” she said blushing brightly.

“I believe you can buy them nowadays,” I said. “Particularly in Amsterdam.”

“Haha,” she said. “Pity I am not going into town.”

Listening to Sabrina talk, seeing her perfect face, hearing her talk like that, I began to get a sexual glow in the pit of my stomach. I felt really silly, but I decided to try to build on the intimacy that Sabrina had begun. It was just so nice.

“I know what you mean about the honeymoon stage. Even after three years, I think Linda and I have the same kind of relationship. We are very, ah, well, I guess, sensual people,” I chanced.

“By sensual, do you mean horny,” asked Sabrina, taking the bait that I had offered.

The glow in my stomach spread outwards, down the front of my legs, and my pulse quickened.

“Yes,” I replied. “That’s what I mean. Linda and I have a very healthy sex life, which of course makes it hard to be going away for up to eight weeks. It is going to be a long dry time.”

“What about your open relationship?” she asked.

“I guess she is more open than I am,” I said.

“And you are OK with that?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, she is mostly with women when it is not me,” I said. “She is bisexual, so I get to hear all about it after.”

Sabrina’s green eyes were beginning to look a little liquid.

“Wow, that is hot,” she said. “Seriously hot.”

“That is my view too,” I replied. “It makes life interesting.”

“How do you cope with the need, being away for so long?” she somewhat sheepishly asked. “Don’t you ever find another partner, as it were?”

She blushed again, and it was beautiful.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “I can’t believe the direction this conversation is taking.”

“You want to talk about the weather?” she asked.

“Hell no!” I exclaimed. “If you really want to know, I have fantasised about having sex with another woman, and I came very close a few times, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go through with it.”

“That seems very noble,” she said.

“Well, then I have to survive on my fantasies, and do the usual business that men get up to when they are alone with their imaginations,” I responded.

“I like that,” she said.

I paused, then said, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“I know” she said. “Me either. It’s really strange. I want to talk to you about sex, which I have to say I have never done before with a stranger.”

“Maybe I am not really that strange,” was all I could think of to say.

“It feels strange, sensual, and more than a little exciting to talk about it with someone I don’t know,” she said, her eyes deep and liquid. “I have this deep desire to say something really outrageous.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said. “I love outrageous.”

“OK, here goes,” she said, then went quiet.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You mean to say that you imagine making love to a strange woman, and you play with your cock, and make yourself have an orgasm,” she asked, squirming a little in her seat.

I could hardly contain myself. My pulse quickened, and I felt myself flush. The glow spread down my cock, which became achingly wet.

“Wow,” I swallowed. “I have to say that this is the first time anyone has asked me that question. Anyway, I guess you have me figured out. If I didn’t do that, I think I’d go crazy on these long trips.”

“Would you be surprised if I told you that I do more-or-less the same thing, even on short trips?” she boldly enquired.

“Surprised that you play with yourself?” I asked. “No. But I am very very happily surprised that you are telling me. I love to hear about other people’s sexuality. I suppose I am a voyeur, in a way.”

“Well, I seem to be discovering that I like to tell,” she said with another small blush.

“A verbal exhibitionist, and an aural voyeur are seated together in a plane,” I said smiling.

“I’ve never talked about sex to a stranger before, but you seem genuinely interested, and you don’t seem to have any power trip to get on,” she continued. “I like that.”

“So tell me, what are your favourite fantasies,” I asked. “The things you think about when you touch yourself, erm... masturbate. I love that word.”

“Well, let’s see,” she said. “I have so many. I guess one of my favourites is lazily making love to my best friend. Actually, I often fantasize about other women. A girlfriend and I once watched a blue movie and masturbated together, but that was as close as I have come to actually living my fantasy. What about you?”

“I fantasize about Linda quite a bit when we are apart,” I said. “She has told me everything about her past sexual experiences, especially discovering her sexuality and masturbation as a teenager and as an adult. I hope you don’t think my fantasizing about my wife as a teenager is too sick,” I said.

“No. Of course not,” replied Sabrina. “I fantasize sometimes about teenage boys. I have one fantasy in which I imagine I am the teacher, and a seventeen-year-old boy has fallen in lust with me. Anyway, what else?”

“In relation to your fantasy, I think you and Linda would get along,” I said. “She would love to make you cum until you can’t cum any more.”

“Damn, that would be hot,” Sabrina replied. “Maybe I should meet her.”

“Maybe you should,” I continued. “I also fantasize about being given oral sex in a car while I am driving in rush hour traffic. I imagine watching two women make love, and I guess that is my favourite.”

“I sometimes play with myself while driving a car,” said Sabrina, carrying the conversation to a hotter level. “I get really excited sometimes in slow-moving traffic, and I just diddle myself until I come. I actually used to keep a little vibrator in the glove compartment and get off with it when I was stuck in traffic.”

“Wow!” I gulped, a delicious ache spreading over me from head to toe. “That is just so beautiful.”

We continued talking like this for another fifteen or twenty minutes. When Sabrina moved her hands in gesticulating I could see her fingers shaking.

"Gosh, I'm going to be a raving horny maniac soon," I said, noticing that the blanket has fallen away from her silky smooth legs.

She looked at me with her liquid green eyes, and said, "Soon! Hell, David, I already am."

“That makes me very happy,” I said. “I love these feelings.”

“Me too,” she replied. “I crave them. Sometimes I am wet all day from thinking about them.”

Sabrina lifted up her right leg, and because of the slit along the left leg, her dress fell back to just above her knee. My heart was beating at a racecourse pace, and my cock became so wet that it soaked all the way through my jeans.

I reached across and placed my hand softly on her knee as non-threatening as I could, and told her how beautiful she looked. Sabrina reached down and picked up the blanket, threw it over both of us, and let out a soft moan.

“I like your touch,” she said. “It is kind and caring, like you are.”

“Wow,” I replied. “I do try to be that, I am glad you noticed.”

To tease her, I just left my hand on her knee, and started telling her about my 3-way experience. As I talked, I could see that her eyes were getting so wet that there were almost tears in them. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I allowed my hand to creep up her thigh. By now the ache in my cock and the glow in my belly were almost unbearable.

There was a trust there between us. I moved my hand slowly upwards as I talked, and when I reached the edge of her panties she let out a little sigh, and her legs parted involuntarily. I touched the edge of her panties, which were very warm, and soaking wet. More like drenched.

She slid down in the seat to give me better access, as I allowed my fingers to slowly work their way up the edge of her panties, just pressing very softly, until I reached top of her panty line. I let my fingers inch their way across the top, and tantalisingly down the other side. By then her breath was coming out in soft moans, and her legs were half closing and opening of their own accord. I still hadn't touched her pussy.

I asked Sabrina, “What would you like me to do?”

"Just touch my fucking pussy for godsake, before I catch fire to the plane!" she exclaimed with a greedy look in her eyes.

“Not quite yet,” I replied. “I want you to feel a lot more yet.”

I let her wait a little while longer, just to get her to that aching stage when you know that you have to have an orgasm soon. I rather moved my fingers slowly down the edge of her panties to the other side, tucked them under the edge, and back along the edge of her smooth ass.

“You are such a beautiful tease,” Sabrina sighed. “You have no idea how much I love being teased.”

“We can work with that,” I replied. “Or play with that, I guess.”

Under the panties, I let my knuckles slide up along the gorgeous wetness of her lips. When my knuckles brushed past her clitoris, she moaned so loud that I was sure someone would notice, but most other passengers were asleep already.

“You like my fingers on your clit,” I observed.

She just looked at me with a greedy look as if to say “Of fucking course I do.”

By now I could imagine the intensity of what my teasing was building in her belly, and I thought that now was about the right time to touch her clitoris so that she could maximise the intensity of her orgasm.

I moved my hand back down to her clitoris, and patiently worked my finger back and forth across it, slowly, and softly, over-and-over, and her breath began to come out in little gasps. I could imagine the feeling of liquidness building up inside her as she got closer to her orgasm, and I was dying to be touched, myself. I love that feeling, no need to hurry it.

“Finger me, David,” she whispered. “Fuck, this is just the best.”

“It gets better,” I smiled.

I wanted her to have a good orgasm, not just a quick one, so when I felt she was just about to come, I eased off on the pressure, and moved down to take one of her wet and slippery pussy lips between my fingers. I slipped my index finger inside of her and tried to place pressure on her G-spot.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, I managed to contort myself around so that I could get my other hand inside of her panties. I had one finger inside her, not moving very much, just putting pressure on her G-spot, and moving back and forth over the spongy tissue. The other was rolling back and forth across the hood of her clitoris, on which I slowly increased the pressure, while keeping the rhythm the same inside and out.

“God that is nice,” she said.

“You want to cum, Sabrina?” I asked.

“I fucking finger cum me,” was what came out of her mouth I think.

This was the right time for her to come, I was sure after that message, so when I felt her orgasm approaching I didn't hold back. Sabrina arched her back, almost throwing me onto the floor, but somehow, I managed to continue the rhythm, and she came in a glorious crescendo of beautiful female orgasm.

I was amazed that she had stayed quiet, and even more amazed that nobody else noticed.

I felt my conviction affirmed that there is nothing more beautiful under the sun, and nothing more stimulating, than the face of a lovely woman as she rockets over the edge of her orgasm, and slowly subsides into the glow post orgasmic peace.

That “just fucked look,” as Linda liked to say.

I slowly, carefully, extricated myself from what was by now an uncomfortable position. Sabrina slowly, sensually came back to reality - or was it from reality - and languidly flowed back up into a more comfortable position. She reached across, took my hand in hers, placed it on her cheek, kissed my palm, and simply said one word in a still husky voice - "sweet."

"I hope you liked that," I said.

"Oh god!" was all she managed.

“That is what love must be like,” she said, a tiny tear in the corner of her eye.

I reached over, caught the tear on my finger, and licked it off.

“You are just so amazing,” I said, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. “How sweet can a person be!”

I could feel a terrible yet beautiful painful pleasure, arising in my testicles, spreading out through my cock, and down my thighs. I knew I needed some physical stimulation as well, and was quite prepared to do it myself. I fully expected Sabrina to fall asleep, so peaceful she looked, but as I leaned back, and closed my eyes, I felt her hand reach out and gently brush the wet spot on my jeans.

"I'd better see what's going on here," she said.

Sabrina covered me up again in the blanket that had fallen off while I was playing with her. She found the wet spot on my pants, and slowly began to circle her fingers around the tip of my cock through the soaking material of my jeans. This made me even wetter.

She slipped down my zipper, and placed her hand inside, running her fingertips over my glans through the wet material of my underwear. I began to glow all over, but I didn't move. Instead, I just lay back in the seat and enjoyed the feeling.

Sabrina slipped my underwear aside, and took my cock fully in her hand. I was really feeling high, and the glistening wet liquid was pouring out of the end of my cock.

“You have a beautiful cock,” she said. “I like uncircumcised, I wish I could take it into my mouth.”

As she stroked her fingers gently around my glans, she told me what she would do if they weren't in an airplane. I was going wild. I really wanted to be inside her, but that was obviously impossible in the plane.

Sabrina continued teasing my cock, running her fingers down to its base and back again, and slowly circling around its glans just the way I liked. All the while she was telling me about how she played with herself, which is something that really appealed to my voyeuristic side.

“Once I made myself cum at a sleepover,” she said. “We were all sleeping in the living room, and I just fingered my clit and came, twice.”

“You are brave,” I said. “I love that.”

Somehow Sabrina managed to get herself turned in the seat in such a way that she was able to get both hands on my cock, and she stroked it - not hard - just gently, and at the same time she ran her other fingers around its glans, concentrating on the lower sensitive edge when the glans joins the shaft. I could feel the intensity building in myself, until I was almost overwhelmed by the pure sensuous joy of it all. But, just before I passed the point of no return, I gripped her hand tightly and spoke in a husky voice.

“Please wait,” I said. “Tease me some more.”

She held back, but with the sexy talk, and the stimulation it wasn't long before I was being overcome with an intense wave of burning sensations, and I exploded in an orgasm of almost unbelievable intensity. Sabrina kissed my ear, and whispered into it.

"Gosh, I think I enjoyed that almost as much as you did," she whispered.

Sabrina was not finished with me yet. She had another use for my attentions. She looked me boldly in the eyes, and spoke.

“I want to play with myself, and I would like you to look into my eyes while I make myself come,” she said.

“That’s so hot,” I said.

“Will you do that for me, look into my eyes while I make myself cum?” she asked, squeezing her legs together to enhance her passion.

“Please be my guest,” I said. “Your eyes are sensuously beautiful, and I would love to gaze into them while you are having an orgasm.”

“Nobody ever did that for me before,” she said. “I have always been too shy to ask.”

I found it tremendously erotic watching her eyes, knowing what she was doing but not being able to really see anything except her movement and her delicious green eyes.

Sabrina teased herself for about ten minutes, while I looked into her eyes, and told her about my own sexual encounters, and about the way I played with myself. Sabrina found the situation and my sexy talk stimulating, and I noticed her eyes were looking increasingly liquid. Her eyes began to lose focus, but still she looked into my eyes and rubbed her clit under the blanket. I could see the flaring of her nostrils increase, and little beads of sweat breaking out on her quivering upper lip.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that Sabrina’s hand was moving faster and faster across her clit as she masturbated towards a waiting orgasm. When she built it up to the point where she couldn't hold on any longer, she just arched her back, little tears came into her eyes, and her face became clouded by an intense look of pleasure, her eyes turned upwards so only the whites were visible as she reached the peak of her orgasm. I thought again that the look on a woman's face when she has reached the heights of her sexual pleasure is surely one of life’s most beautiful sights. Maybe even the most beautiful.

I was so tremendously aroused by seeing her face, that as I watched her come, I became hard again. Coming down from her orgasm, Sabrina sensed my renewed vigour, and reached out for my hardness, still wet from the previous orgasm.

“You are worse than me,” she said. “Will you marry me?”

“Haha, we would make an amazing team,” I said.

“We would,” she said with what looked like a moment of sadness.

She began to smooth the wetness around the end of my cock, touching softly on the soft sensitive junction between glans and shaft. Slowly, she moved her fingers up and down my shaft, taking slow turns around my glans, up and down, around and around. All the while she talked to me, telling me about her first orgasm, the time she masturbated with a friend, how Serge made her come once in a restaurant.

I closed my eyes, and listened to her soft sexy voice. She kept her steady, slow pace up and down, around and around my cock. Her voice and my fantasising her stories carried me away, and I could feel the intensity building up again. I opened my eyes, and saw Sabrina looking at me, and as I looked into her eyes, I knew I was going to come. I arched my back, muttered her name, and exploded into her stroking fist. She continued stroking softly for a moment, then cupped my testicles in her hand, and kissed me sweetly on the lips.

“You said you could come more than once,” she said still stroking my cock.

“Yes,” I said shaking my head with enthusiasm.

She continued stroking me, and telling me about sexual experiences, fantasies, and favourite porn.

It was not long before another orgasm hit me hard, and I almost jumped out of the seat. There was not much left in my balls to squirt, but what was there was all over her hand.

“Don’t stop,” I said. “One more.”

She kept stroking and in less than two minutes I was cumming again. That was a short and intense one. I knew I was done.

“Fuck, that was nice,” I said.

“Nice?” she asked. “Fucking nice my ass. That was incredible.”

“Yea, multi-orgasmic man, huh,” I replied.

“I never would have believed it if I had not seen it,” she said.

“You didn’t just see it, you caused it,” I replied.

Sabrina handed me a tissue, and I was wiping myself under the blanket while coming down from my orgasm when the cabin lights came back on in preparation for breakfast. Hastily rearranging our clothing, we both got up and went to the toilets to clean up. Afterwards we made small talk while eating breakfast. Soon the plane was landing in Amsterdam, and we parted company in the transit lounge.

We hugged, held each other in the transit lounge for what seemed like five minutes. We shared more than sexual pleasure that night, we shared our humanity, our love, and all the good things the humans could be. Each of us would take a little of the other with us, carrying the memory of our night as passengers in seats 21A&B for all of their lives.