Blizzard Daddy

We were sitting in an area more dimly lighted than most. He put an arm around me and drew me into his side. First his hands and then mine became intimate with the other.

We came out of a kiss, and Taylor murmured. "It's Christmas morning now. There's something I haven't told you yet."

"What's that?" I asked.

"One of the perks for pilots when they're stranded like this—the company rented me a hotel room. There's a Hilton that can be accessed directly from Terminal 2. You don't have to sleep in a departure lounge tonight. You can be in a hotel room and not even have to go through security check again to get back to the departure gates. I can get us into the baggage area where all of the baggage from flights needing to be rebooked is being held. We can get your luggage and you can sleep in my room tonight. I can get the bag back on the right plane tomorrow."

"That sounds like a plan," I said.

"The room's a small one—just a double. Just a double bed," he said.

"That still sounds like a plan," I said.

We went into another kiss. His hand went to my crotch and mine went to his.

There was no misunderstanding between us.

* * * *

Sunlight was streaming in through the window of the Hilton Hotel room, which was a good sign that it wasn't snowing anymore. But the window was on the "quiet" side of the hotel, not facing the runways, so we couldn't tell if the storm was really over and the tarmac was being cleared. I was on my side, facing the window. Rich—I was now calling Richard Taylor a more intimate name, because, God knows, we'd been intimate again and again—was embracing me from behind with an arm under me. The hand of the other arm was gripping my knee, holding my leg back over his thigh to give him deeper access. He was fucking me.

It seemed he always was fucking me, which was fine with me. I only had to worry if we'd run out of condoms—but we didn't. And that was a point in his favor—actually two points. I never had to remind him to use a condom and he declared that he didn't sleep around.

It was late in the morning of December 26th. There didn't seem to be much reason to get out of bed, so we hadn't. For two days, we alternated between fucking in the hotel bed, venturing out to eat and roam the terminals to observe how those less fortunate than we were in accommodation were faring as well as whether the blizzard conditions outside were improving, and then back to the hotel room to fuck some more. We went to a different VIP lounge on Christmas night and joined in a party there.

Rich was a consummate cocksman. He was well endowed, muscular, vigorous, and virile, and he knew how to maintain the arousal and interest of a submissive. He fucked me almost constantly for two days and introduced me to melting positions I had no idea before even existed.

I was, in many ways, a pity that I'd met and gone under his stepson, Cam, before I'd met him. He was much the better and more considerate lover.

His cellphone went off and, with a grunt, he pulled out of me, rolled over, and sat up on the side of the bed to take the call.

"They are beginning to clear planes for takeoff," he said when he clicked off. "I have a flight to pilot later this afternoon. You should be getting a call too, I suspect, about your flight to Newport News."

"That soon, do you think?" I asked. But he was right. My cellphone was buzzing too.

"I got you on a priority call list," he said, as I rolled toward the window and grabbed for my phone.

If you were going to get stranded by a blizzard in a hotel terminal, I thought, you couldn't do better than be with a senior airline pilot. I mentioned that to him a couple of times while we were walking the terminals and he just smiled and said he was my Blizzard Daddy. I couldn't deny that.

"I've got a call for a later afternoon flight too," I said.

"So, we have time," Rich said, reaching out for me, going onto his back, and saddling me on his pelvis.

"Oh, shit, oh, fuck!" I exclaimed as he set me on his erection and I started sliding down his pole. "You can't get enough, can you?" I whimpered.

"No, no, I can't get enough of you," he answered, as he gripped my waist between his hands, I leaned back, grasping his knees, and I used my own bent knees straddling his hips and the help of his strong hands to rise and fall on his cock.

* * * *

When I woke up again, Rich was coming out of the bathroom. He had his pilot's uniform on.

"The snow's been swept from the runways. The airport is open. The planes are flying again."

"Good," I said. He discerned the reluctance and slight regret in my voice.

"I don't regret any of this—regardless of what you do with Cam from here. If you do, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I took advantage."

"You didn't take advantage," I said. "And I have no regret—other than that I didn't meet you before I met Cam. But don't worry about him. We were on the out anyway—him as much as me, I think."

"So, you will be moving house when you get back to L.A.?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"If you need a place—even temporarily—you know you can—"

"Thanks," I said, "I will." And I would.

"The room's taken care of," he said. "Just leave the key card on the dresser. I had your flight ticket pulled, printed, and delivered by the front desk. It's there on the dresser. Your baggage is matched up with your flight. I've got to go now. It's been . . . I'm glad that—"

"Me too," I said and then he was gone. When I rolled out of the bed, I walked over to the dresser. He had gotten me a first-class seat on the plane from Chicago to Newport News, the airport serving Williamsburg.

The term "Blizzard Daddy" came to mind and I smiled. I hadn't minded having a daddy to take care of me for a few days. And it was like he, a senior commercial pilot, was a king in an airport. He'd been quite the daddy to me.

When I went to the departure gate, I found myself looking around for men in flight uniforms from Rich's airline, which was the same one I'd come into Chicago on and was going out on again. I didn't see him, but I did make eye contact with several men—and women too—who were struck by my Abercrombie & Fitch look. I was used to that. I still, though, felt a tug of disappointment each time that they weren't Rich.

After the plane had reached cruising altitude, a flight attendant came to me with tray holding a glass with ice and a one-shot bottle of Glenlivet Captain Scotch.

"Compliments of Captain Taylor," she said. This time I caught the name.

I laughed. He'd arranged to pilot the flight taking me to Newport News. There was a note with the liquor.

"Don't know where you're staying in Williamsburg," it said, "But I've booked for two at the Williamsburg Inn. I don't fly out again until January 2nd. I've booked for New Year's Eve at the inn's dining room in case you're interested." He'd signed it "Blizzard Daddy."

The flight attendant gave me a knowing smile, but I didn't give a shit. I was very interested in the proposal. I was being taken care of for New Year's Eve—and beyond, I hoped.