CDG Airport Problems Pt. 01

This is my first piece, so would love feedback on it. This piece is set in a fantasy world where COVID and STDs are not a thing.

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The announcement filters through, pulling me away from my book, "Flight IA to Delhi has been delayed to 15:30. Please..." My frustration drowns out the rest of the static-filled message. I get up, scanning the airport for a restaurant where I can get drink. 7 hours of travel, and a delay call for a scotch.

I zigzag through the crowd of people, taking in the well-dressed presumably Europeans, the comfortable-looking Americans, and then the pods of Indian families. I imagine the families might also be waiting for the same flight home.

I get a table at a "restaurant" facing the gates, so I can people-watch. A dark-skinned woman speaks to me in English shaped by the needs of her primary language French, the rs soft, different from my own bastardised British/American rs. She smiles at me and I smile back as she takes my order. She's beautiful, dark eyes, cropped short curly hair, high cheekbones. I appreciate the curve of her jaw and I appreciate the simple interaction of just placing an order. No jovial false chattiness that marked most of my restaurant experiences in the US. Maybe it's the perk of working in the service industry outside of the US, no need to grovel and smile at people checking you out just to make a livable wage.

I sip the scotch, staring out at the bustling crowds, savoring the smooth taste of liquor, bracing for my return home after a very long 5 years.

"Aisha?"

I startle and turn around, and am shocked to see a face from almost 20 years ago staring back at me.

"I thought it was you. Hey." Light brown skin the shade of milky coffee, bright red-brown eyes, dimples. My ex from my school days. My "bad break up, let's not talk about him" ex from my school days. My stomach turns inward. He's having the opposite effect on the goal of my drink, which was to try chill the fuck out.

"Ahaan! It's been so long!" I blurt out, trying to be a normal 37-year-old instead of a 37-year-old filing away all the gross ick from when she was 18 and made some dumb ass choices.

"It has! I thought I'd recognized you and wanted to say hey." He thankfully seems happy to see me, which settles my nerves a bit.

"Hey," my eyes traveling down his body as discretely as possible, taking in his jeans, his sweater, his still seemingly fit body, and by habit, I notice the surprisingly lack of a wedding ring or tan line. "I'm glad you did." A lie. "It's been so long. Are you on the flight to Delhi too?"

"Yeah, the one that's delayed forever. Are you traveling by yourself?" I notice him doing a scan as well, as much as he could, since I was still seated.

"I am. What about you?"

"Me too. It's a pain. Especially with delays like this."

"Want to sit?" He smiles and nods as I pull my legs away from the empty chair to make room for him.

"You still wear heels? Even at the airport?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

I grin, "I carry a pair of flats wherever I go."

We talk, keeping to the nice topics about our lives. The harder stuff gets 1-2 sentences. His singlehood, divorce, and kids in our home town. My work and his. A short summary that explains my own current singlehood. No need for an explanation about my childlessness - he was one of the first outside of my family to know motherhood was of no interest to me.

I feel curiosity towards him, surprised to notice my desire to lean closer, to laugh, to flirt, to notice his openness to sit with me after all of these years of no contact. And after our crappy breakup - that was intriguing. He flirts back, his eyes are dancing in the fluorescent light, teasing me with a familiarity from long ago. His hands at times brushing mine as we show each other photos from our phone, as we sip each other's beverage of choice for taste.

"Flight IA to Delhi has been cancelled. Please talk to the helpdesk to reschedule and get hotel accommodations..."

I down my drink and so does he, wanting to get to the front of the line as soon as possible. I drop some euros on the table and stand.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Yeah." I stand up and follow him, my heels clicking on tiled floor, creating music with the roll of our suitcases.

Ready for what?

We reach the door to my room, we were both given rooms in the same hotel and same floor. The hallway is empty except for the increasing electricity between us, that started at the airport, continued through a silent cab ride, to now. I feel strange, my desire for him competing with my confusion - I'm not one to look back, to feel such desire for an ex in such an unplanned way. But our chemistry feels so palpable, and I question it, wondering if it's just me, or worse, if he's fucking with me for how I had ended things before.

"I'm glad you stopped by." At the airport, here. I leave that part unsaid.

I feel shy, young again, vulnerable and awkward, nauseatingly similar to my awkwardness that marks the early dance prior to our relationship, before we both said out loud we "liked" each other and wanted to date.

He smiles at me, and suddenly leans in, kissing me with his whole body, pressing me against my hotel door. I feel his lips on mine, the taste of beer a delicious mix with the whisky on my own breath. I pull him close to me, wrapping my arms around his neck, feeling his tongue slowly explore my world. My own desperation and desire take over: for his body, for his forgiveness, for the opportunity of mutual orgasms before my sexless 5 weeks at home.

He suddenly pulls back, "Is this okay?" Flashback to our first kiss, my first kiss. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah. Want to join me in there?" I point to my room, I want to be cool, be different from when we were younger, where he was the older one, the more experienced one.

He nods and then his smile changes from sincere to a smirk. As I try get my hotel key, he runs his hands over my breasts, down my waist, against my hips, before one hand presses against my clit. I moan, so much for my hope of being cooler than him. I push him away gently, turn around and let us in.

He follows me in as I drag my suitcase and prop it up against the mirrored cupboard.

"You're still so hot." He says, surveying me from 5 feet away.

"So are you."

"Strip for me."

I roll my eyes, but give in easily. He was the first person to discover I enjoyed subtle dominance before I even knew what that word was, and he apparently still remembered.

I pull my blouse off, showing off my black bra and my hardened nipples. I let my pants drop to the ground, and step out, still in my heels.

He smiles, taking me in, and then moves to the hotel bar, pouring us both a drink. He offers one to me, and I take it. He leans in for a kiss, and his palm rests on my waist.

"This is new." His fingers run up and down the slight definition of muscle on my stomach.

I smile through our lips. I'd started working out in my mid-20s, long after we broke up.

I step back, breaking off our kiss.

"Your turn" I say, nodding at my clothes as I sip my drink.

He pulls his sweater off, his shirt bunching up as well. I see a softer definition of abs than what I remembered of his 21-year-old body that played sports all his life, but they're still there. He's aged beautifully at 41, his muscles toned the way people in their 30s and 40s are toned, his laugh lines at his eyes, his chest covered in hair just like before, except now sprinkled with grey.

His hands move for his belt, and I step forward, stopping him. I feel the soft warm leather and cold hard metal of the belt. I slowly pull the belt away from his body. I unbutton his pants, they drop to the floor, and I run my thumbs along the front of his crotch.

"You're moving fast." He says, arching an eyebrow, clearly teasing.

"You started it."

He downs his drink, and looks me straight in the eye, which makes me down my own drink too. I want to use my hands in different ways than holding a cold glass. I rub my hands together, trying to warm them, as he starts to kiss my neck, going down my chest. His hands gently unclasp my bra, without once touching my skin. His mouth finds a nipple and he licks, tugging softly with his teeth.

I feel wetness between my labia, hidden in my lacy underwear, my panties catching some of the evidence of my arousal. My hard nipple is caught in his mouth - there's no hiding that sign of the power he has over me. He pushes me backwards onto the bed, and I smile as he straddles me. He cups both my breasts in his cold hands before gently starting to tweak my nipples. I moan again, watching him watch my reaction.

"Can I suck you?" I ask, realizing he's still in his boxers while he's on top of me.

"In a bit." He runs his hands down my body, my skin erupts in goosebumps. He finds my panties and starts to gently run in his fingers over my crotch, teasing my clit through the lace.

"How is this?"

"Good." I start to rock my hips closer to his fingers, setting a faster tone, to let him know how hungry I am for him.

"I forgot you did that." He laughs, pulling my panties off and then smelling them.

"I forgot you did that!"

"I love the smell of pussy."

I laughed, "so do I."

He doesn't seem to catch my comment. By this time, he's spread my legs, exploring the insides of my thighs, and is licking me.

Apparently coming out during oral sex isn't the best time to come out.

His tongue moves gently across my clit, down into my vagina, lubricating me with my own arousal and his spit. Two fingers go in, moving in and out gently while he softly licks and sucks on my clit, alternating the level of pressure. I feel the blood rushing to my pussy, soft tingles deep inside and I grin, knowing my body enough to know. My back arches and I ride my first orgasm. I'm so glad that fucking flight got cancelled.

He looks up at me, his beard moist in an almost funny way. I grab his chin and pull him up, kissing him, savoring the taste of him and me together. We play with our lips, and then he moves up further, his cock right in front of my face.

I run my fingers along the shaft of his cock, feeling the ridges of his foreskin, and slowly start to suck him, taking only the tip of his cock in my mouth. My hands grab his ass, and I feel his hands grab the back of my head. We move slowly together, him feeding me gently at first until he feels my hands pulling him in faster. We up the rhythm, my hunger for his cock growing the more I'm fed.

I feel him start to lose composure, his noises more audible, his hips moving slightly faster and suddenly he stops, pulling out. My mouth, my body feels painfully empty without him pressed up against me.

"Can we...?" he asks. We're in newer territory, our relationship had ended before I was ready for penetrative sex.

"Yeah." I wriggle out from him and roll over, reaching for my purse on the floor and grab a condom. I flashback to our breakup and how utterly messy it was. Ick.

"This can't be a serious thing." I blurt out.

He laughs, "I figured as much. It can be a fun thing though."

The tension drips off my shoulders with his comment, and I hand him the condom. I watch him put it on, someone who seems practiced in doing so.

He moves towards me and starts to kiss me. Before I can think to wonder out loud what position we might want, he says, "I want to see you."

I catch something in his eye, in his tone, a vulnerability that stops me from making too much light of the situation.

"Come on in," I say, lying back on the bed and spreading my legs for him.

We kiss again, while my hands run down his back. I watch him position himself before he slowly moves in.

"How is that?"

"Good" We're both smiling, drinking each other in. We start gentle - I move my hips in rhythm with his, my mind not quite able to process the emotions of all of this.

He places one hand around my neck, using his thumb to lift my chin and I stare into his eyes. This level of intimacy is uncomfortable, but I can't look away.

"You feel good." He murmurs and I nod and try move forward to kiss him. His thumb holds my head in place and he smiles.

"Touch your clit for me like a good girl."

I lick my fingers and then squeeze my hand in between our moving bodies. I start to play with my clit, gently rubbing up and down while he slowly fucks me. The pleasure, the orders, the restraint intertwine to move pleasure and frustration through me. I see his eyes darken as my pleasure takes over.

"That's right. Touch your clit like a good slut."

Slut. A word that landed so wrong to my 18-year-old ears, but one I've come to love. I see him testing, trying to gauge what's okay. I smirk back at him.

"I'm your slut. For now."

His hand on my neck moves quickly to the back of my head. He tugs my hair and I scream as an orgasm courses through me.

The gentleness of earlier built us up to this plane. Now it's just desperate powerful fucking. Something else we're doing for the first time.

He pounds into me, and my arms wrap around him tight. My memory kicks in, some of my other lovers didn't like the nails, but he did. I drag across his back, and he pounds me even harder, my legs clamping around his waist even more to pull him in deeper. As he fucks me, he snakes one hand away from behind my neck, landing on a nipple and pulling hard.

Another orgasm crashes over me, my vagina pulsating, almost clenching his dick, followed by another one. And just when I feel spent, my legs dropping to my side, he bites my neck, an old tradition of hickeys galore. I feel my entire body pulse again, and feel him come inside of me before his full weight crashes onto my body.

We lie there, silent, sweaty, our breathing ragged.

"Wow," I whisper, to myself, to him.

"Wow." He echoes. We lie there together, my brain struggling to activate. I feel him gingerly pull himself out of me, off me and he slowly takes the condom off. "I'm going to clean up and just be back."

I watch him walk away, his body moving from the bright of our room into the darkness of the bathroom. I can't move, I'm still soaking in the sex, the vibration of our bodies.

As my mind slowly comes back on, I wonder if he'd be interested in Round 2 before check out tomorrow.