In Transit

We fly into Denver airport five hours late, and I take my time disembarking the plane -- relaxed in the knowledge that I have missed my connecting flight by hours, and that there is unlikely to be any more till the morning. I thank the staff, and earn myself a weary smile, as I amble my way onto the airbridge, following the stream of grungy passengers into the terminal.

All of us are late.

None of us are going anywhere.

Everybody knows it.

There is a certain relaxation in it, as one hundred of so people line up in the terminal, the queue arching around the head of the travelator and back again, tired people stretching their limbs and speaking quietly to one another.

I end up at the back of the queue, along with a couple old biddies and another backpacker -- dark skin, deep brown eyes. She gives me a smile, and I smile back, and then we both dump our packs and ourselves on the floor, backs to the glass of the travelator, and proceeded to pull books out our bags, and pass the time.

Distantly I am aware of the airport, the high roof, the wide glass windows, the two old biddies standing over us, chuckling to one another, and nudging every so often -- skin warn soft with age, hair thin and loose, floating like clouds above them. Ahead of us is a group of high-school students- a sports team by the looks of it, and then a young family, and further ahead a married couple, all sandy eyed and waiting.

I shuffle along as the line pulls forward, and my new travel accomplice shuffles after, still reading: "Mary Poppins Opens the Door".

By the time I eventually reach the help desk it was almost midnight. I fell tired, but still flush with the energy of travel, so I smile as best I can at the bedraggled airport assistant. "Busy evening?"

She smiles back, a hint of sparkle in those worn eyes.

"You might say that."

Pretty. I wonder if-

For a moment I think she might read my mind -- not sure whether to flush red or smile wider, but instead she continues in the calm professional manner of all airport staff:

"We've got one room left in the airport hotel, king sized bed, ahhh... are you two together?"

The flight assistant look, back and forward between me, and where I realize my de facto travel companion is standing.

"Yeah!" my companion stated "We'll take it!"

What?

I look at her, her fierce glittering smile, nose stud, front and back packs, a true amazon -

You do realize she isn't offering to sleep with you. Or rather, she is, but only in the most literal sense.

You can probably change that.

She probably wants you too.

The thrill of the chase flickers in my chest, my ribcage an aviary, the game of seduction, both players ready and willing...

I can feel myself leaning closer to her, my feet yearning to take that single step, close enough to wrap an arm around her.

Her eyes grin, daring me to call her a liar, daring me to disagree.

This girl is beautiful. All you have to do is play along, all you have to do is -

Out of the corner of my eye I spot the old ladies trailing behind us, trundling over to the assistance desk, luggage used for balance.

Don't-

"I-"

Her expression turns black.

Just don't do it.

"I don't think we can, sweety." I gesture at the pair behind us.

"Ah." She steps away from the help desk, deflated, annoyed. "Yeah, fine."

I turn back to the assistant "Is there anywhere we can get food around here? If you can't give us a spot at the hotel, could you at least give us that?"

She shoves a stack of meal vouchers my way, and then turns to her final customers, forgetting about us even in the moment of breaking eye contact.

As I turn, I catch one of the old ladies smiling at me, nodding pleasantly.

How much did you see? How well do you know how much I just gave up for you?

*************

I catch up with the girl fifty meters later. She'd stalked off, obviously annoyed, obviously unimpressed.

"Hey! Hey! They gave us meal vouchers!"

The moment I catch up she rounds on me, punching me in the shoulder "You asshole."

"Ow!"

"You have any idea how long its been since I've slept in a king sized bed?"

She snatchs the meal vouchers from my hand and rifles through them. "Cheap skates. This is barely thirty bucks." The vouchers get shoved back, and she continues walking.

"Well do you want them or not?"

"Of course I do!" she snaps "That's why we're looking for food now." She indicates the terminal up ahead, what looks like a foodcourt.

"we"

"we", not "I".

I follow, eyes catching at the powerful swish swish of her billowing hippie pants as she strides along. One pack front, one back, forceful and oblivious to anything the might get in her way.

"I could hardly leave those two old ladies stuck in the airport overnight -- they'd break a hip!"

"I know that," she replies "Which is why I'm so annoyed at you, which is why..." She stops, turns to me, adjusting my shoulder straps, eyes distant, abstracted. "Look -- what you did back there was sweet. It was really sweet, and it was the right thing to do, and it was actually kind of cute." she turns and continued walking "It was also bloody stupid!"

"Why?"

"Because that girl behind the desk could see that they're decrepit too! You don't think the airport would leave two old ladies stumbling around overnight? They'd have come up with something." We arrived at the food court, glanced around. Everything was closed.

"Two young backpackers on the other hand? Two young'uns like us with strong backs and a plenty of equipment... ohh sure, they'll be perfectly happy to leave us to rot in a place like this."

She gestures.

Marooned.

The space is wide, open, ornate almost. The way a cathedral or a palace might have been long ago.

These days this grandeur is saved mainly for malls and corporate offices, occasionally public buildings such as libraries or town halls.

Or, in this case, the airport.

Did I really do something so stupid?

Did I give up a king sized bed with this girl for the sake of two old ladies who were going to get served anyway?

"I'm sorry."

"No your not."

"What?"

"Oh come on- we both know that all that crap I just said is made up -- a total guess. It might be true, but it might not, and even I only figured it out afterward, so there was no way for you to know it at the time."

"I-"

I paused for a moment trying to wrap my head around the swift back and forward of her logic, meanwhile she frets around, trying to see if any of the places in the foodcourt were still open. "This way," she drags me over towards the newsstand. "Hey! You! You know if there's anywhere left in this airport where me and the boy can get some food?"

The woman at the newsstand directed us downstairs, to the train- the train? -

"- There's another food court over in Terminal A, I think they're open later than here."

"Thanks!"

Again she is striding off, leaving me jogging to keep up.

" 'The Boy'?" I tease, upon catching up with her.

"Yeah- you're 'they boy' until I think of something better to call you."

"My name's Joseph"

"And mines Nadine, thanks for asking."

I stop following, watch as she stalks away.

She stops at the top of the staircase, glances around, looks back at me. "You coming?"

Something in her pose is hesitant, off-balance almost.

"I... If you need some space then I can give you your share of the vouchers, we can go our separate ways. Its... its fine."

It isn't. I hate the idea. But...

"They gave us three tenners- no way to split it even."

"You can take two, I don't mind."

She walks back, right up close, till she was almost bumping into me with her frontpack.

"I really shouldn't be alone right now."

I blink.

Above us hang the neon lights, the sculptures, signs pointing out directions, even further above are our reflections, two strangers, far from home, out of place, disjoint, removed.

"And..." She continues, flicking out a tongue to moisten her lips, looking away. "You seem like an okay guy. Giving the room to old ladies rather than jumping on some chance to get laid, listening and stuff... I think having you here might make things easier."

It doesn't make sense.

You seem so powerful, so proud.

The fragility doesn't sit right in my mind, doesn't fit.

Unconsciously I reach out my hand and take hers.

She lifts our hands together, clasped fingers around mine, as if brothers in arms.

I can't help but be aware of the soft skin of her forearm against mine.

"Okay?" Our eyes meet.

"Okay," I nod.

Her business conducted, Nadine turns and strols off down the stairs. "Course- just because I being vulnerable and needy and crap doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on your or anything,"

"Perish the thought."

"Actually, if anything, I'll probably treat you even worse now, since I'm pretty sure I can get away with pretty much anything."

"Do you now?"

A glance over her shoulder, as she bats her eyes. "Pretty much."

She really is very pretty.

It take me a full second to realize that I've stopped moving. She laughs at me, gives me a shove.

There is more of a bounce in her step now, less of a stride, as we descended the marble well towards what is apparently a train station.

At the bottom is a statue of a spaceman, and (as might be expected) a platform with a pair of tracks leading off into the darkness.

"Fancy airport," I comment.

"I's kinda weird," Nadine replies "I's not like we're landed anywhere important or anything."

The train arrives as we talk. We boarded, don't bother to sit, and watch as the walls of the tunnel skate on by. Every minute or so we gust past a collection of illuminated sculptures on the wall: windsocks and pinwheels, whirling about in the slipstream of the train -- children's toys, like something from a dream.

Terminal A has a twisty train track hanging from the roof for some reason, like something you'd expect if Escher designed roller coasters, and then pinned them to the roof like some kind of bizarre butterfly collection. Completely weird in other words.

I am beginning to get the feeling that whoever designed this airport had something very very wrong with them.

The layout is good though, and me and Nadine bob our way up the marble staircase to the foodcourt, swaying back and forward under the weight of our backpacks. I can't help but notice that hers are larger, and that anyone seeing us would assume we were a couple and wonder why I was slacking off so badly.

At the top of the staircase there were a dozen or so restaurants (all closed), a McDonald's (open) and a coffee shop (closing up). We managed to grab two slices of bacon and egg pie each, and a hot chocolate, before they closed, then grabbed a seat in the middle of the empty foodcourt, eating in silence.

The foodcourt is weird without anyone in it. Not quiet abandoned -- there were still a couple kids loitering behind the counter of the Mcdonald's, cleaning staff marching or meandering about -- yet still... the lack of customers, the fact that everyone else in the vicinity was staff was... disquieting.

'Dine wolfs down her pie as if she hasn't eaten in a week and doesn't expect to for a week longer. I eat with a knife and fork, enjoying the meal, relaxing into the evening and catching my eyes exploring Nadine a little more, now that she has unturtled herself - various backpacks on the floor.

Her hair is short, wavy, the colour of expensive wooden furniture. She is gangly- flat chested, dappled with freckles, and surprisingly muscular, especially in the arms, which probably explains the force behind the punch from earlier.

I receive a savage kick beneath the table.

"You looking at me?"

I look up and hold her wildered gaze- eyes brown flecked with green. We stare each other down while I finished my mouthful, and for a moment I am reminded of the street dogs of Baghdad -- stray, hungry, proud. I can feel her, inquisitive, daring me to look away, looking for an excuse to lash out at me again.

"Yeah, I'm looking." I admit, after clearing my throat. "Trying to figure out who I'm hanging out with."

She nods, kicks me again, lightly, and goes back to eating, apparently satisfied.

"Okay," She says through a mouth of pastry. "Wha'd'ya see?"

"You're strong. I wondered for a bit if you went to the gym, but you don't seem like the kind of person who does that."

"Too poor?"

"To... pragmatic. Like you wouldn't bother have muscle if it wasn't good for something."

She nods. "Farm labor," she explains "Landscaping. Lots of out-door work. Easiest to pick up when you're on the road."

"Makes sense. Been traveling a while?"

She turns away, suddenly studying the vast empty space of building.

"Yeah. A while."

She falls silent, and I leave her to her thoughts, finishing the rest of my pie and watching as she withdraws a camera from her backpack and starts snapping pics of the I-beams and reflections in the marble floor. She takes pictures at weird angles, and scrolls through them afterwards, deleting ruthlessly. Even after I finish eating I don't disturb her, watching as she snaps picture after picture, frowning, fidgeting, looking for something, not a single human in any shot she takes.

The last of the janitorial staff in the area comes up and asks after our plates, and after that we stand, lug on our packs, and head off.

I don't know where we're going.

Her fingers find mine, entwine, lock, hot little hands, rough from working the land, our forearms brushing together, packs swaying left and right, in time so as to balance one another.

I give her hand a squeeze.

She squeezes back and I can't help but imagine her forehead against my lips, my arms around her shoulder, warmth, holding one another tight, the sweet smell of it, the image like a jolt. She squeezes again, and I squeeze back, and somehow we find our way to the top of the stairs.

The game continues as we descend the well, and about half way down I realize that her eyes are closed, a smile pursed between her lips, her breathing slow, step step stepping down the stairs at my side, letting me guide her.

Our hands have slowed to the beat of a heart, and even as I notice, I can feel my breath and heart in time.

The temptation to close my own eyes seems overwhelming, and every so often for a few steps I do.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and stand upon the platform, and wait. I don't speak, instead admire the architecture, thinking about the woman at my side, her secretive smile, her strength, the slightest trail of ink scrolling up her neck, along her throat.

A flush of air, the train arrives, I lead her in. Soft mellow light. Directionless, ambient. I remove her pack, and then mine, and then her other pack, all with her standing, blind and balancing herself against me, against the acceleration of the train.

With the packs down, I turn and face her, see her smile ratcheting up a notch, before I step forward, take her in my arms, and meet her lips.

Our kiss is soft, a barest brushing of lips, a sharing of breath, the deceleration of the train as we approach the next deserted station pressing us against one another. I find myself uncomfortably aware of my own breathing. We kiss again and again, a million little pecks, a continuous susurration between our lips as if sharing secrets.

A stray arm wraps around her shoulder, runs a palm against the back of her neck, combs fingers through dark feathery hair. She pulls back, rubs her head against my hand, rolls her shoulders, smiles. "It's been a long time."

"Since your last kiss?"

"Since I could last close my eyes."

We sit, melt against the seats, she unzips her hoody, revealing a red singlet, tight even against the slightest of curves. I kiss her neck, hungry now, and roll her backwards, scooping my arms beneath the hoody on the way.

She shrugs out of it, climbs onto me, pulling me down against her, and the angle of it forces my lips lower, past her shoulder, to the soft dark skin above her breast, and then...

"Keep going,"

By the time I reach the soft rise of her breast she's arch back, presenting herself, arms caught at her side by the sleeve of the hoody, singlet and bra already dislodged from bare shoulders, easily brushed aside.

I lick.

Her chest is almost entirely flat, but for two dark circles.

Our eyes meet as I lap at her nipple; deep brown pools of panic and desire. She nods.

Her singlet presses up against my chin, protesting my presence, and I lick again, eliciting a shudder.

Her breathing has slowed, her entire chest and spinal column soaking into the action, as if meditating, as if trying to center herself.

I lick again, and then run circles around her. My spare hand damps fingers in her mouth, and then uses them to stimulate her other side. I need to touch all of her.

I study the gentle curve of her throat, the goosebumping skin of her chest, the weight of my chest relaxing more and more into the gap between her legs, forcing them apart. Impossible to focus, mind adrift, wafting on wide waves of desire.

"yes." She runs fingers through me hair, scratching at me, her breathing held level by force of will as I suckle on her. "Yes..."

My other arm twists beneath her leg, and then up into the gap in between, slipping under her pants, and then touching. She moans. I need to fuck her, need to please her, feel my finger scrabble desperately, trying to find a away inside, and then they do- her back arches, and I keep rubbing at her, and for a long while we stay like this. Twisted togeather. Entwined. Locked. Desperate to complete one another, unwilling to pull away enough to let that happen.

I stroke her, stroke the tight slippery flesh of her insides, and occasionally move my lips to the other side, giving both her gentle breasts my attention.

We could have done this inside.

We could have done this in a king size bed.

The image of it startles me, the image of fucking her amongst blankets and pillows- soft yellow light, her smile, the rich creamy curtains, her gasps against the window, I crush her tighter, hear her moaning, gasping-

her fist yanks me up, yanks me back to reality, back to the train, the here, the now, away from her chest, with wild eyes staring at me, confused and pained.

"Enough. Enough games, just fuck me."

I nod, pull my fingers out from her, feeling her shudder.

Someone could walk in at any moment.

Somehow that makes it even hotter than the hotel room.

I stand, scuff out of shoes, shrug off my pants. As I go for my shirt, she manages to somehow melt out of the chair, puddling onto the floor below. She clings onto my legs, and then, plaintively, takes my cock into her mouth.

I relax.

I relax and continue taking off the shirt as her tongue circles round my tip. She bobbs against me, hands stroking at my legs even as my cock expands into her throat. She seems completely focused, completely calm. Innocent, in a way I didn't expect and don't understand.

I push, ever so slightly, and watch as her eyes flutter. Her grip on my legs tightens, and then changes to knives. She pumps, not just her head, but her entire body against me, and I do my best not to think about it, not to think how I own her.

By the time she pulls back my breathing is regular and my eyes are closed. I let myself drop, first to my knees, and then twisting, on top of her, my hands braced across her wrists. Neither of us bothers with eye contact now, we're both two busy studying each others bodies. Her hair's a mess, her nipples erect, I can feel the tension in her arms, pressing up against me. Her chest and neck are a constellation of freckles, dappled with goosebumps in between, bright with sweat. She wriggles. I want her. She lines herself up and I press down. I slip into her slick folds, pushing all the way to the back with a thump. She goes limp, and I do it again, this time not so far, taking my time to pull out slowly between each stroke. Her cunt tightens around me each time I pull out, and she watches, horrified and captivated, as I nail her against the floor.