The flight back to Boston was only half full that night. We filed into the cabin and went through the usual routines of cramming more luggage than was technically permitted into the overhead compartments and under the seats. With so few people, however, there was plenty of space for everyone as well as all their belongings.
I moved towards the back of the plane, away from most everyone else, and took a seat in the last aisle, by the window. I like to watch the nightlights of the cities below me. I find it’s hard to sleep in planes, no matter the hour or how tired I am. Rest, I do, but sleep never really comes.
The passengers spread out over the plane, taking up all the available space, most everyone finding a row to themselves so they could curl up across the seats and sleep through the flight. I envied them, knowing I would arrive at Logan with red-rimmed eyes. Shortly after I took my seat and began pulling out my laptop to look over some project specs I had been working on, a young couple settled into the seats across the aisle.
I’d noticed them briefly in the waiting area, her especially. She had an easy, confident air about her – the way she carried herself as she moved between the fastened-down rows of chrome and vinyl airport chairs, casually pulling her suitcase behind her. Her wheat-coloured hair hung in soft waves just over her lightly tanned shoulders, and she had a broad, full smile, its spread matched only by the natural swell of her hips. Her body was full and lush, and she exuded a carefree sensuality you couldn’t help but admire. Making love to a woman like that would be like rocking in the belly of a small boat over salty ocean waves. Her eyes were nearly golden, with darker flecks; I’d noticed them when we stood near to one another at the check-in counter. A tiger’s eye hung about her throat on a narrow leather cord, and I remember thinking how much that suited her – a tiger’s eye, for a tigress of a woman.
Her companion maintained a close distance to her, and I could hardly blame him. Her fingers would touch his dark tousled hair occasionally, and he would nestle his rough chin into the back of her neck from time to time, speaking softly to her and making her smile. Watching her full, pouty lips sent waves of electricity through my core. I thought I could make a meal out of just her lower lip. His shoulders were an axe handle across, but his body hung leanly from them. She rarely stopped touching him, and he looked at her like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
I didn’t know if seeing them snuggled in the next seats was going to be a blessing or torment. I knew I would be awake all night, watching those barely parted lips, as each sigh of her sleepy breath escaped, her breasts heaving in unison under the soft fabric of her dress. I felt myself stiffen in my pants, imagining how sweet it would be to release just one of those globes and clamp my mouth around its nipple, sucking and teasing it to a hard, trembling bud.
He crawled in towards the window seat, and she cuddled in next to him. As we prepared for take-off, the cabin lights were dimmed and they began to arrange the small airplane blankets around them. Nothing seemed untoward; everyone was preparing to bed down as best as they could for the six hour flight. We were launched into the night sky and I watched, as I usually do, as a chessboard of winking lights framed the city below.
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