Laid Over

Although the time we spent together was memorable, how we met that night wasn't particularly odd. We were both stuck in Charlotte's airport. She was waiting to see if her flight to Chicago would happen at all that night because of snow at O'Hare. I was stuck since my short connecting flight home had no airplane. When the weather turns bad, equipment gets stuck somewhere and isn't available for other scheduled flights. We both could have gotten rooms somewhere in Charlotte and caught flights the next day, but we both wanted to get home, so we were both prepared to wait it out in the airport to see what might happen that night.

She had walked into the crowded airport bar and I had offered her my seat. Thinking back, the moment I offered it to her, my first thought was that she'd say no and maybe be insulted. In the eyes of some women, men aren't supposed to do things like that for women. But she did agree, almost happily, in fact, and to my surprise, she immediately insisted on buying me a drink in return. As she leaned into the bar from the stool to order two Heineken, I noticed the book she was carrying to read. It was Andrea Dworkin's, Pornography: Men Possessing Women.

The beers came and she turned in her stool to hand me mine. She was smiling a genuinely friendly smile. We clinked bottles and gave a mock toast to traveling in the winter. We both knew it could turn out to be a long night.

Somehow we launched into a conversation, probably because it had been a long day for both of us and we each had grown tired of reading alone in crowds. As people began to thin out in the bar, finding rooms or making flights, tables began to open up, so we took one along the wall.

I enjoyed listening to her talk as we cruised through the regular things, work, home, where we grew up, places we had both traveled to, all the expected things strangers talk about. As she talked and listened, I noticed her making more eye contact, smiling more comfortably, letting pauses in the conversation sit easily untouched. It was becoming pretty apparent we both liked each other. I suppose that's why when she asked about hobbies, I told her I like to write erotica and that I share stories I've written with a group of friends on the internet. I was surprised when her eyes lit up.

"I couldn't help but notice the book you're reading," I told her, "What do you think of erotica?"

She smiled and held my eyes for a moment. "Well," she began, "To some, erotica is just high-class pornography. But to others there is more of a difference. In my mind, and the minds of some feminists like me, erotica involves mutuality and reciprocity. Pornography involves dominance and violence, it often involves men using women somehow, whether paying them or whatever. Erotica involves willful, often eager participation. Women participate in erotica; they usually get exploited in pornography. So," she added, grinning then, "I like erotica while I think pornography sucks."

I smiled and waved at the bartender for two more beers before I told her I agreed.

I didn't get a chance to build on her point or ask any questions before she asked me what I usually wrote about and where I got ideas for stories. She listened and sipped her beer while I told her about some stories and how they were built around personal experiences. Fictionalizing events, I told her, playing "what if" with things that had happened or could happen. I told her of other times, writing stories for friends who had told me of their fantasies, things that interested them. It was rewarding in a special way to capture the desires of someone in a story, to catch the feeling that they were looking for, to have them like my description.

"I write too," she told me somewhere in the conversation, "But I've never tried erotica."

"Well," I suggested, "If you try, consider trying to write about something that hasn't happened to you that you would like to have happen. Take a real event in your life and shape it to include something about which you have a real desire or interest."

I could almost hear the wheels turning as she smiled and picked at the label on her beer. When she looked up at me her eyes were twinkling.

"Interesting," was all she said, but her eyes said there was more on her mind.

"Okay," I told her, "We're complete strangers and will probably never see each other again, so why not just tell me what you're thinking?"

She leaned closer and told me through a grin, "No lover I've known has ever cum on me, I mean cum outside of me, on me. And no lover has ever made love to, fucked, my tits."

For a moment I thought she was blushing but she wasn't. She was turning a bit red with excitement.

"And those things excite you?" I asked. "They excite you in a way that you could write about them and have fun doing it?"

She only nodded yes. I noticed then her eyes beginning to scan the bar. I could tell she was wondering if anyone had heard her, whether or not anyone was near enough to catch any of our conversation.

"Would you like to get out of here?" I asked, "Go somewhere more comfortable, more private?"

"There is a place?" she asked, smiling again.

This time it was me that only nodded as I stood and tossed some money on the table. She stood too and began to gather her things.

We walked through the terminal together lugging along our carry-on baggage. She told me she rarely traveled through Charlotte, so I told her a bit about the area and the airport. Charlotte being a hub for U.S. Airways, they had a great airlines club lounge. That's where we're headed, I told her.

We found the door and I pressed the button and waited for the metallic click of the door unlocking. With the click, I opened the door and let her enter, watching her look around as she entered. I showed the woman at the desk my card and asked if they had a conference room available. They did, so I signed up for two hours and left a credit card. She and I left our luggage in the drop-off room and walked through the lounge toward the empty, private conference room. I walked behind her, still watching her, liking what I could see, remembering that no lover had ever cum on her, or fucked her tits, as she had said. Such a thing to remember at a time when you're almost alone with someone, I know.

We found the room and went in. It was a small room filled with an oval hardwood conference table and a number of chairs around it. She moved toward the door and leaned back on it, locking it, I could see, with her hands behind her.

"Will this be one of your stories?" she murmured.

"Maybe," I told her honestly, "Maybe. Would you like it to be?"

"Yes, and I want to read it, I want to know it's me I'm reading about."

"Then I'll e-mail you the link or something," I promised.

What do you want your story to be about?" she asked.

I didn't answer, not with words, I just kissed her. My hands came up to her neck, then the back of her head, my fingers into her hair, and I let my lips finds hers softly, easily, tenderly. Her tongue found mine first, warm, eager almost, it seemed.

We stood there kissing, beginning to undress each other. Her finger moved over my suit coat and removed it, they took away my tie and tossed it toward a chair, they took my shirt away, too. They found the buckle of my belt and loosened it. My feet had helped her, freeing themselves of their shoes and socks. Without the belt, my loose suit pants fell by themselves.

My hands were trying to match hers. They had removed her sweatshirt and worked her jeans down her hips. They had even discovered the secret of her sports bra and solved it.

Neither of us wore underwear. Such a coincidence, I thought, but I didn't dwell on it.

I broke the kiss and whispered, "Let me help you with your shoes," as I moved to kneel in front of her. Her pussy was only inches from my face while I looked down and untied her shoes so she could slip out of them. She did as I watched and pushed her jeans down further for her to step out of them. As I remember it, I think her pussy was speaking to me from so close, the messages weren't in English, I realized, but there was some kind of speaking or communication.

She giggled and asked me what I was staring at. I didn't mean to stare I told her, it was just that I thought I saw a silver hoop piercing between her legs.

"You do," she giggled as she stepped around me and moved toward the table. I knelt there on the floor and watched her begin to crawl onto it, the thick, heavy table.

"Stop," I told her, "Please."

She did, leaving herself on all four on the edge of the table. Such a view, I told myself.

I've discovered as I've lived a few years that circumstances often determine what one does. I think this circumstance was one of those time, because I moved toward her without thinking, standing slowly, moving my feet apart, wide apart, until my face with even with her ass and her pussy, the pussy with a silver hoop piercing in her right labial lip.

I could hear her giggling before she began to wiggle her hips at me. "Thinking of adjectives?" she asked. I mumbled some sort of answer, nothing really important, before letting the tip of my tongue find the silver loop. I had never been with a woman with a labial piercing, and never since, but I thought the feel of my tongue on her there, the feel of my tongue licking and lightly flicking over her pussy there just might be good for her. I think I was right. She began to moan a bit, more than a bit, before she said, "That is always so good, always, damn, so good."

Well, in a word, I felt encouraged, so I began to press my tongue inside her to open her, to hopefully give her the feel of not just my tongue, but the feel of my face pressing into her, my chin into her clit, my nose into her ass. I think she liked it, because she pressed her ass and pussy back into me, pressed and moved and sought my tongue, my face. On a hunch, I took the silver hoop in my mouth and sucked it, pulled it gently into my mouth, pulling her lip along with it, letting my tongue circle it while I sucked it, letting her feel how it felt to be held in my mouth.

"Goddamn it," came her raspy voice, "Goddamn, I thought it would feel like that if anyone sucked it. Goddamn."

I let her jewelry go for the moment and moved my tongue upward to slowly circle her tight puckered ass.

"Oh, oh, yes, please," she moaned.

But I didn't let my tongue stay there, I wanted to move and surprise her, to keep her guessing and hoping, so I moved my face downward letting my tongue find her clit. It was hard and swollen. As I licked it and tried to suck it, my face pushed hard against her swollen pussy, one lip wearing the loop, the other wet and folded back as if to ask for attention.

Her knees widened to give me even more access. I had to move my feet to position myself at the right level, to keep my mouth where I could reach her best, but it occurred to me to do more, to do something different, so I leaned back and left her pussy for a moment. I let my left hand find her, the thumb easing inside her pussy, my middle fingertip easing inside her ass. Holding her that way, I could take her clit again to suck and lick at unexpected intervals. She came then, hard and intense and so deliciously for me, and good for her too, I think. The shutter of her body, the way her ass quivered on my hand, the throb of her clit in my mouth, the gush of her pussy, all of it told me it might have been good for her.

As her body seemed to come back to itself, I took my hand and face from her and touched her to tell her to turn over on her back. She followed the suggestion and settled herself, skin against polished wood, onto the tabletop. I looked at her lying there, looked at her legs open, pussy wet and swollen and open, looked at her looking down to me, smiling, waiting, and I began to crawl up onto the table with her.

She watched me as I crawled onto the table and over her body. I knew pre-cum was leaking from the tip of my cock and leaving a wet trail up her legs and lower body, but I moved upward with a purpose. As I reached her chest I looked up at her and smiled before beginning to lick the valley between her breasts. I watched her watch me as my tongue wet her there, wet her to receive me where no other had been received.

"Are you going to," she started to ask, but stopped.

"Yes," I told her as I moved to straddle her stomach, moving up slowly, letting her watch my body, my wet cock, letting her see how it would come to be.

Her hands came to her breasts to hold them on each side, to create the place in between that my cock would fill. I used my hand to press my cock down into the valley between her breasts as she pushed her tits together to hold me. Her head was up watching my cock slide between her breasts, watching for only a moment before she realized the tip was coming so close to her mouth, so very close, I realized too. Her tongue came out to lick me when my cock drew close. It did lick me, her tongue, taking the drops of clear pre-cum into her mouth as my stroke withdrew away from her mouth, the head disappearing only briefly into the covering of her breasts.

"Can you feel my balls on your skin, too?" I asked her, looking down at her.

"Yeah, so good, so hard but so soft," she said before licking me again as my cock grew close to her lips.

To vary the moment and fulfill a selfish desire, I moved up higher on an upward stroke, letting my cock come even closer, so close as to suggest she take it in her mouth, wanting her to do it, wanting her to take me even if just for a moment. She did take me, in one breath it seemed, she took me in her mouth, the whole of my head. She looked up at me and held my eyes as her mouth held me and gently sucked, her tongue licking in circles inside her mouth.

But I wanted to move back to her breasts and she sensed it as I move my cock from her mouth. Stroking her there, watching her watch me, watching her lick me, watching her experience something for the very first time, something she had wanted, all of it was nearly too good, so good, so very good that I knew I was going to cum.

"You're making me cum," I told her. "Do you want it? Now?"

She nodded after licking me one more time. Her smile left no doubt.

I didn't fight the urge to cum, didn't resist or try to delay, I just let it happen, let it explode. The first burst of cum from my cock reached her chin and ran down her neck slowly. White, thick, hot. The second followed, but didn't travel as far. The third oozed from the tip and left a small white and clear pool on her chest. More came but we both had stopped watching.

Her eyes closed when my cock stopped spasming and releasing. She smiled a satisfied smile, a smile that I'll not soon forget.

"End of story?" she chuckled.

"No," I told her, looking down, "Just the end of the first chapter. This might be a novel."

She laughed and watched me move off her to lie beside her.

"Did you notice the security cameras?" she asked as I settled in beside her.

"No, you're kidding, right?" I told her without moving.

"Not at all," she whispered as she kissed me, "The little red light is still blinking."

And so it was. But that could be another story all together.