Later as the drinks arrived we spoke, my attention hanging on every word from that first moment. Pleasantries at first, then deeper conversation about life and our lives. Both of us married, both in that stage of life where it feels like work is too much of every day, and the moments for pleasure too far between. Both with other halves like best friends, not lovers. Both clearly in need but frightened to satisfy the need. Before long you could feel the tension rising between us, smiles, gestures, words, all adding to the flirtatious atmosphere. I guess we knew we wanted each other from the moment we started speaking, probably before, but both of us to frightened to ask or suggest.
Eight hours of conversation later as the carousel discharged the bags from the depths of the airport we were still talking, still flirting. I watched as she disappeared through the sliding doors to her taxi up state as I headed in to the city. Her high heels clicking on the tiled floor, watching her slim and petite figure retreat away from me. Thinking what might have been, regretting in that moment not asking for her number or email.
After four long days in the New York Office I was still thinking of her gorgeous sensuous outline from behind and the last words we had said to each other. I was just pouring some coffee in the lounge on the way home waiting to board when a breathy “Hello” whispered in my ear and I turned to see her there again for the return flight. Her smile sent shivers though me as I admired the wheaten long hair framing her face, taking in a new casual look on her fit body. The change from business suit to tight blue mohair jumper and jeans made her look simply stunning. I was struggling to hide my instant hardness as I turned to her. I could feel that tension again, same as the flight out, and this time I think we both knew we would not be leaving matters unfinished.
The flight was torture, luck does not strike twice and we were seated apart, and worse she was with other colleagues. I was relegated to watching her from across the plane, my constant fantasies keeping me awake through the overnight flight. Even the few moments to speak as we passed in the galley raised the tension higher, her few words “are you feeling as impulsive as I am?” leaving little doubt that we would not be heading home after touch down.
As I exited the plane I saw her, waiting, leaning casually against the wall in the terminal at the top of the ramp. I approached her. “Wait,” she said, “Let the plane empty.” As the last passengers disappeared up the corridor, I reached for her and touched her face. Our lips met and her tongue probed deep in my mouth, circling and circling. My hands smoothed the outline that I had watched across the plane. Fingers running over the fine threads of her top, feeling the contours of her skin underneath. She pressed against me and we both could feel the desire in us mounting. We walked up the corridor, every five yards kissing and reaching under each other's clothes. Fingers on skin, caring nothing for the airport video scanners or occasional passengers passing. The danger of being seen making us hotter and me harder.
How we managed to get through passports, retrieve bags, and exit customs with clothes intact is something I wonder. Somehow we had touched each other fleetingly everywhere, hands probing briefly, fleetingly in every place.