She'd Left No Forwarding Address

Fleeting love lost and then found again a decade later. A brief, ill advised affair that couldn't possible have been more than it was---couldn't in a million years be the basis for anything that might endure. Romance as the top priority with enough sex to keep things interesting.

As Lisa pulled her ocean blue Travelpro Crew6™ down the jet way, her thoughts drifted back a decade. She was a magna cum laude graduate of one of the country's most prestigious private women's colleges, Ivy League in stature if not in fact. She had an MBA from an actual Ivy League university. She chuckled to herself as she considered her current career path. She was a flight attendant. After six years she was even a relatively senior flight attendant or at least senior enough to be in charge of this particular transcontinental flight.

The airline had repeatedly asked---even pressured---her to make the move to management in view of her education and prior Fortune 500 experience. Her father had been a successful business executive. As a young girl she had assumed she would follow in his footsteps...her family had encouraged her to do so...guided her in that direction...it was her destiny. Three years out of graduate school she had been on the management fast track with a highly respected corporation. As a twenty-six year old region manager, everyone assumed she'd make vice president before she was thirty.

Just prior to her twenty-seventh birthday the most important man who had ever been in her life left her unexpectedly. Her father succumbed to a massive stroke a few days after his fiftieth birthday. The loss had devastated her; daddy had been her guiding light. Without him there, her apparent confidence and stability had spiraled out of control.

She had quit her promising corporate career within a few weeks of his death. She had moved to the sun belt, drifted from job to job and found her new best friend: Gin. She had endured a string of bad men and the dead end relationships which such men always guaranteed. She had tried the real estate business and even spent a year selling high-end foreign automobiles. After one particularly bad man with a penchant for sexual sadism she had finally come to the realization that sex and alcohol might end her life. She had checked herself into rehab, joined AA, sworn off men and booze and put her life back on track.

She had applied to the airlines at a time when the notoriously cyclical industry was beginning an upturn following a series of major bankruptcies. They were hiring again as the first generation of aircrews aged and moved on to greener pastures. She knew it wouldn't last. Her education told her that the typical airline business model was flawed and that in fact, taken in its entirety, the passenger airline industry had never made a profit.

Still, she enjoyed her job. She didn't take her work home. She could perform her duties in her sleep. She enjoyed the travel and had no family to miss her. As exhausted as she would be after five days on the job, her schedule also provided four days of absolute down time between runs. The pay wasn't great but it was certainly enough to provide for her needs.

She had saved enough money over the years to buy an old farmhouse and a few acres barely thirty minutes from the airport which served as her home base. She spent her down time fixing up the antique home, puttering in her yard and gardens, reading and even writing or at least attempting to do so. She had few friends, certainly no close friends and absolutely no male friends---or at least no straight ones.

The thirty-six year old lanky blonde with the well formed and remarkably long legs still turned heads and attracted male attention...unwanted as it might be. The word had gotten around among the male members of the flight crews...don't bother. Her thoughts drifted back to the last man who had treated her kindly...respected her...excited her but certainly notloved her.

It had been a stupid affair, wrong on every level. He had been her boss; he had been married. He'd had young children. The affair had only lasted a few weeks. Both of them had subsequently been promoted and relocated. Afterwards they had spoken on the phone a few times but she had chosen to end even that level of contact. Shortly thereafter her father had died. Not long after that she had quit the company and "left no forwarding address."

She had seduced him; he had never even made a pass at her. She had admired and respected him immensely. He had mentored her as no one else ever had. He had never come on to her or made inappropriate comments. She clearly remembered the day she decided she had to fuck him.

They had driven together to visit a customer a couple of hours away from the office. He had asked if she minded driving so that he could go over a presentation he would be making later in the day. As she had pulled her tight but conservative wool skirt up to more adroitly accommodate the clutch on her recently acquired two-seater, she caught his eyes in her peripheral vision stealing occasional glances at the bare expanse of soft, creamy thigh above her stockings.

Why had she worn stockings instead of pantyhose that day? There had been no subliminal intent: she had simply discovered that she had a run in her last pair of pantyhose and the only thing she could find was a pair of thigh highs that her most recent boyfriend had bought her.

She watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye...watched him reposition his "package"...watched him attempt to hide his growing arousal with his work folder. She was giving her boss a boner and it made her smile...it made her moist...hot...wet. As they had parted at the end of the work day she had given him a tad more than the typical business hug and allowed her full lips to linger longer than was appropriate near his left ear. He had struggled awkwardly not to allow his groin to make contact with her. She had pushed her hot mons against him to his consternation...felt his manhood in all of it's erect glory...forced him to feel her heat.

That night in her nondescript urban apartment she had run down the rechargeable battery on her Brookstone™ vibrator with vivid images in her head of the handsome man six years her senior possessing her...mauling her athletic young body with his strong hands...fucking her in every way she could imagine...invading her body at will. She had made her move a few weeks later at a national meeting.

She had sensed that he had avoided her that evening or at least avoided being alone with her. After the dinner and speeches and before the drunken party, he had disappeared. She had called his room on the auspices of discussing a personnel issue which had come up. Since all the attendees had roommates, meeting---or fucking----him in his or her room was out of the question.

She had coaxed him back downstairs from his room. They had met on a vacant mezzanine. She had imbibed enough to get her courage up and dull her inhibitions but not enough to appear inebriated. They had chatted about work issues. She had been wearing her best skirt, a long, clinging silk number. She had removed her panty hose and stuffed them in her small purse while waiting for him to come downstairs.

She had found reasons to touch him...had allowed her skirt to ride up to expose a healthy expanse of her perfect, soft young thighs. She had edged her way closer to him and finally with their faces scant inches apart, kissed him. He had not resisted...he had responded...his kiss had thrilled her...excited her as no man's had...his arms were around her...her hand dropped to his lap...she touched him...he was rock hard. A vacuum cleaner started up at the other end of the mezzanine, briefly cooling their ardor.

He had wordlessly taken her hand and led her to a balcony overlooking the ocean, closing the door behind them and placing a chair in front of the door which would at least delay an intruder.

They quickly resumed where they had left off inside, wordlessly exploring each other with their hands as their respective lust overcame them. His strong hands quickly found her firm young butt, kneading and massaging her ass, then sliding under her skirt...then pulling her white cotton little girl panties aside...fingers exploring her cleft, finding her pussy. He had then unceremoniously pulled them down over her trim hips. She'd aided his effort to remove her undergarment...he knelt down and pulled them over her feet...she had already kicked off her "please fuck me" pumps. She seemed to recall that he had stuffed her panties in his trouser pocket; she knew she never saw that particular favorite pair of panties again.

She had fumbled with the nylon belt on his shorts...he had assisted her efforts...his zipper was quickly down and his shorts fell to his feet. He kicked them aside. She remembered grinning when she found his cock sans underwear. Had he been in a hurry to dress or had he thought about a moment like this---anticipated fucking her or at the very least getting his cock sucked?

She had broken their embrace, knelt down on the Astroturf™ and prepared to do what she did so well and enjoyed so much. She had whispered hoarsely:don't move...don't try to fuck my mouth...don't fuck up a perfectly good blowjob. He had gotten the message.

She was pretty sure that she sucked cock as well or better than any woman on the planet. She didn't do it out of a sense of obligation...because a man expected it...she did it because she enjoyed it as much or more than any other intimate activity. She adored every aspect of the process...the smooth hard slippery organ sliding inside her oral cavity...the increased, rasping, almost labored breathing of the man in question as any attempt on his part to resist or demonstrate his "staying power" became utter futility. The best part...the sense of being absolutely in control...the soft moans of anticipation...

Please don't tell me when you're going to cum. The perceptible stiffening...engorgement of what had turned out to be a very nice cock...not too big...not too small...just right. And then the ultimate reward she craved and had not enjoyed so long since...his sweet, salty, viscous essence, bathing her mouth...caressing her throat...warming her tight little tummy...satisfying her so completely.

That was nice! she had whispered. He had slid down to her level...kissed her deeply...recovered his own essence from her hot mouth...his fingers had found her soft blond pussy...gentle fingers...probing fingers...quite adept fingers. She had gasped...involuntarily her hips had moved...fucking his fingers. His fingers stalled...her eyes opened. To her delight he had then picked her up effortlessly and placed her fine rump on the edge of a low table. His fingers were back there...and then his mouth and his oh, so talented tongue!

His fingers were inside her...his mouth perfectly caressing her button...a moistened finger strayed back to her tightest hole, ringing it gently...it was an excruciatingly pleasant feeling. She drifted...reveling in the warm caress between her legs...allowing the so badly needed orgasm to creep up on her...overwhelm her...own her. She cried out...whimpered...cooed...moaned appreciatively...came...and came...and came again. He kissed her...she enjoyed the flavor of her own cunt in his mouth...felt so deliciously nasty...it couldn't get any better...but it did.

He pulled her to her feet; she allowed him to position her as he desired. She had been the aggressor but he now was in total control of her body. He turned her around...his completely recovered organ wedged between the tight cleft of her ass, its bulbous head teasing the entrance to her slippery little slot. His hands roamed over her small, hard tits and smooth, taut belly.

He maneuvered her toward the railing...the waves lapped against the beach a scant few yards away. In the light of the full moon, anyone passing below them on the beach would see them, probably recognize her and have no doubt what was afoot. She was well past caring.

She bent her upper body over the railing and thrust her pert young buttocks back toward him...presenting her fresh young cunt to him...her hips undulating slowly in anticipation of the nice stiff cock which would soon be inside her. He surprised her by kneeling down and lavishing her cunt and ass with his mouth...she shivered when his tongue explored her tightly coiled muscle...not there...not this time...maybe another time...but this time in my pussy...fuck my pussy. He read her mind, impaling her quickly with his fully restored fuck tool.

She was sure she had not cum that first time he had fucked her but it was unimportant. It had been the most exciting, exhilarating and satisfying fuck of her young life. He had taken her hard, slamming into her with unrestrained abandon, taking her as a young buck might service a yearling heifer in the forest as his hands roamed over her body. Caressing her modest breasts, his warm breath sent waves of pleasure along her neck and back. He had lasted much longer than she had expected although he had shown no signs of attempting to control his orgasm.

As all the signs told her that he would soon cum, he had grasped her hips in his strong hands, stood up and back and simply drilled her, driving his rock hard organ up inside her willing canal. It had been as if she was little more than a hot, wet, orifice...just a cunt...a cunt that attempted to grasp his organ...hold it inside her...prove its own training and expertise.

Her efforts to demonstrate the results of her most recent exercise regimen seemed to excite him even more. She doubted that his mousey, frumpy wife bothered with such exercises intended to not only improve sexual performance but also sexual pleasure. She assumed he had never fucked a woman before who took fucking---and fucking well---as seriously as Lisa did.

When he came inside her she could not avoid a broad grin.The best you've ever had, old man...or probably ever will. Thinking back it was also the best she had ever had...or probably ever would have again.

They had retrieved their clothing, kissed, embraced and walked back to the bank of elevators wordlessly. He had held her hand tightly. In the elevator he had pulled her close and lavished her face with soft kisses. He had held her lovingly at the door to her room. It had been the last night of the meeting. They barely saw each other the next morning. They had not been scheduled to return home on the same flight that following day.

The following Monday she had stopped by to see him at his office; they had more or less skirted the subject. She sensed that perhaps he felt guilty about his infidelity. He had almost been apologetic. She had rationalized that she wasn't hurting anyone, that it was a one time event, spurred on by booze and the need for release after the intense pressure of a national meeting.

They fucked perhaps a half a dozen times over the next few weeks but it was never quite the same. Perhaps it was the lack of spontaneity, the fact that they had to carefully plan and schedule their trysts. She sensed that he was uncomfortable, that having an affair was not something with which this man had much if any experience. Certainly the sex had been more than adequate; he was a talented lover but something was missing...the lust...the excitement...the forbidden aspect of their first fuck.

They remained friends. He continued to mentor her as no one else had before or since. Publicly they dealt with each other as they had before. She was certain no one had a clue. Their last time together had been different. His wife had taken the children and flown to her parents leaving him to tend to the responsibilities of selling their home and dealing with the moving process.

He had called her the night before the movers would load their belongings. Against her better judgment, she had driven the forty-five minutes to his house. Boxes were stacked everywhere. He had cooked dinner, or more accurately grilled some steaks and assembled a very passable salad. They had shared an exceptionally nice bottle of wine. She had almost decided not to go; she'd actually had a date, although looking back it had not had any potential.

It had been so relaxed. They weren't in a boss/subordinate relationship anymore. Their banter was playful. Each allowed the curtain to slip and reveal the inner human being. She had not planned to spend the night---had told him so on arrival. Somehow they ended up in bed together a little after midnight, his bed...her bed,their marital bed. While lacking the pure thrill and lust of their first coupling it was far and away different, more tender and better than their other times together. It was as if they both let go...let each other inside...made love. In fact she was certain he had slipped and said it; she had not done so but had certainly thought it.Damn! The good ones are always taken!

***

Lisa had worked with this particular cabin crew in the past and knew them to be reasonably competent. She was not familiar with the names of the Captain and First Officer. Evidently this particular flight deck crew, normally scheduled on a trans-oceanic flight, had been a last minute substitution for the crew she had anticipated due to bad weather in the Midwest which had delayed the expected crew's arrival in Atlanta. She was certain they were senior and highly competent; only the best flight deck crews got the trans-oceanic routes.

As she entered the forward cabin of the jumbo jet she turned her head and noted the two pilots going through their pre-takeoff checklists. She stowed her belongings and touched base with each of the cabin crew members. She knew that the larger cabin was in the good hands of a very experienced flight attendant who had once had her position in a now defunct airline.

The woman in question was easily a decade her senior; she had evidently left the work force to raise a family and only returned to flying recently. Lisa moved forward again to check in with the Captain and First Officer, standing behind them patiently as they completed their final checklists. Checking the small card with the crew list names she prepared to address the senior flight officer as an obvious lull in the preflight check occurred.

"Captain Jones? I'm..."

The blond head with the first distinguished tinges of gray turned toward her, followed by his body as he released his seat to turn.

Not remotely possible...it couldn't be...she had to be mistaken!

"Lisa? Lisa Evans?" The look on his face said he found it as impossible to comprehend as she did.

"Jim? Jim Jones? What in the world...?"

His full six plus feet of obviously well maintain frame came out of the seat effortlessly. As he ducked his head in the cramped flight deck, he took both of her hands in his. They quickly checked each other out in the dim light.

"Well, I'll be..." he murmured, then turned to his first officer. "Bob, if you've got things under control, I'm going to step back into the first cabin."

"You got it, chief."

"Wow! After ten years you are the last person on earth I ever thought I'd find...see...again. You look great! Wow! This is amazing!" He seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"Jim! What are you doing here? Are you sure you're really the captain and this isn't one of those Holiday Inn™ commercials?"

"We never really did talk about our past lives, did we? I started flying back in college, worked my way through grad school flying props for a regional commuter, did a stint in the Air Force flying four engine transports and the reserves flying tankers. After the second airline I went to work for in four years went bust, I decided to hang up commercial aviation and try my hand in the corporate world. A lot of guys made the same decision. Then, as the WWII guys started to retire, the airlines started hiring again about six years ago. With my prior experience ---civilian and military---not to mention a severe shortage of pilots with significant turbofan time and the demise of the old seniority system, I made Captain in record time. Hell, this is exactly the same plane I fly in the Air Guard."