Stages - Blossom, Plum, Prune

GG's fingers explored slowly, went as far as she dared, almost to his elbow, and stopped. Looking hard at him she said "Well, Assistant Professor of Marine Ecology James, you certainly did get me going!" A long pause. "I'm nearly three times your age, you know!"

They slowly dropped their hands, separated. One could almost hear the "pop" of the broken connection.

James raised his glass to her in salute, and said "I know. So what? Can't we like one another and be attracted to one another and enjoy one another's' company... and not let some societally-mandated silliness about age differential be a problem?"

She smiled at him, nodded, and they completed the toast.

"I started watching women a long time ago," said James.

GG wondered what a "long time" might mean to him, but said nothing.

"Back when I was living outside Paris as a kid. Dad was a Fulbright exchange professor. I was eleven, almost twelve."

So - his "a long time ago" equaled about sixteen years... at which she sighed, mentally.

"We hired a twenty-year-old girl as live-in housemaid, the sister of one of Dad's graduate students. She took a shine to me, and taught me French. All sorts of French. Language, food, wine, kissing, sex." He paused. "Hence my taste for prunes, perhaps?"

GG responded with incredulity: "ELEVEN? Good god, James. I know I'm from a different generation, but that's pretty extreme... I was still a virgin when I got married at 31..." She dissolved into embarrassment at making that revelation, but James didn't comment. She looked hard at him, sighed, checked her watch, then leaned back and said "More wine, please? We have another hour before anything can happen with our flight!"

When the wine arrived, she stared pensively into it. James held his silence. Finally, GG sighed heavily and looked up at him, eyes bright and almost teary, and said "You're twenty-seven, right?" He nodded. She looked down at her lap and whispered "Odd coincidence. World is full of them, isn't it? It's twenty-seven years since I..."

James looked at her, and had the grace to blush just as she returned the glance. His discomfiture made her mind easier, somehow. She smiled at him and said "James, I'd like to be honest with you, since we've broached this topic. I was widowed at forty, and my husband was not, I suspect, a very good lover. I went celibate for a while after that, partly grieving, partly through distrust of both myself and the entire male world. Then I had a short string of boyfriends. Some became lovers. None were particularly adept, either at building a relationship or at... well, at other things. So I withdrew, finished up as an old-maid scientist, and retired to my own home and my yoga and reading." She stopped, watching him.

James shook his head and patted her conspiratorially on the knee. The touch sent tingles through her, but she didn't let it show. He said "I believe we always do whatever is best for ourselves. Always. We cannot do otherwise. So, those twenty-seven years must have been serving some inner purpose in your life."

He grinned broadly, breaking the seriousness that had settled on them. "Hell, GG, maybe the twenty-seven might mean that you stopped to wait for me to catch up with you! Maybe we were meant for one another? In some cultures, we'd probably be required to marry because of that!"

She giggled: "We'd not even qualify for May-September, would we? More like March-November!"

The conversation drifted into personal, but less fraught, directions. GG's family was full of very long-lived women: her older sister was just fine, and four years her senior. Momma had died abruptly, while still in apparent good health and living independently in JoBurg, at age 101. Aunts who survived the wars had lived well into their nineties. They examined James' family history, too. But mostly it was his stories about oceanographic expeditions into blue-water pelagic Antarctica, which fascinated GG.

Over an hour passed, rapidly and pleasantly. They kept checking the monitor, but no useful new information appeared: in fact, the delay went from two up to three hours. Finally, they decided to go to dinner. Enroute, they dropped in at the ticket counter. The clerk who had helped them check in earlier was still there, and there was no line, so GG stepped up and asked whether there was any news, and was told "No."

The clerk recognized them: "Aren't you the couple that asked about arranging seats together?" GG nodded. The clerk said, somewhat conspiratorially, "Well, are you still interested?" GG looked at James, and they both nodded.

Said the clerk: "We have an odd situation tonight. The plane you are on is both full and, actually, seriously overbooked, so we have a bit of an overflow. But we also have an extra, empty wide-body that has to be flown the same route, to reposition it for tomorrow's revenue flights. I think it just came out of its biennial overhaul. It will take off about ten minutes after the flight you're on, and probably won't have more than thirty passengers for four hundred seats. You could have a row, or two rows, all to yourselves."

She anticipated their questions, and said "We can't just split the passenger load: the first jet is already prepped for four hundred passengers... meals and all that. We can prep the second for thirty people, no problem, but partially stripping the first plane and then setting up number two for a 50-50 split is way too much work. Interested?

James answered: "You bet!" GG took his arm and squeezed it hard, just said "How absolutely loverly!"

The clerk quickly re-did their documents, assigned them seats in the two quietest rows in the aircraft, and sent for their luggage. They could board in ninety minutes, it would be an uninterrupted all-night flight with breakfast at the end, and they had time for dinner in the airport.

Dinner behind them, they loitered at the gate: their original flight was almost done loading, and no sign had yet appeared on the boards for their actual flight, the hidden mystery-flight. But the clerk who had helped them was there behind the counter, and made occasional "calm!" gestures to the small group still waiting. The scheduled flight filled up, and the door closed.

Then the agent hurried them to the next gate, and checked them down the jetway and into an eerily-empty plane. With its miniscule passenger load, the cabin was positively cavernous and almost echoing. James knew the plane's seating layout, and led them to their seats far in the rear. It was 2-5-2 seating. James flipped up the string of five arm-rests, producing a single long cushioned shelf. He scooted in, and GG followed, settling down beside him. There weren't nearly enough passengers to have one per row. In fact, they had a whole block of seats, several consecutive rows, all to themselves. The occasional scalp poking above the sea of empty head-rests made for an odd view.

The purser announced that the cabin crew would be shutting down the lighting as soon as they'd taken off. No services at all until breakfast some eight or nine hours hence. They expected that most passengers would want to do as the crew themselves planned to do, and take a row per person for sleeping. There were plenty of pillows and blankets, just be sure to put a seatbelt on in some way that the attendants could see it.

When the seatbelt sign was turned off after take-off, GG excused herself and went to one of the toilets. Behind the closed door, she studied herself in the mirror, and turned over and over the partially-formed plan she had developed. Her pits were nearly dripping with a combination of nervousness and anticipation. It would be an enormous ego-risk, wouldn't it? Well, she was seriously overdue for at least trying something like this! But maybe it was all just a horrendous big stupidity, the first sign of senility? She considered that briefly, rejected it.

She returned to her reflection: eyes bright, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. She was high, all right, but not on external drugs. She took a very deep, measured breath, shrugged herself out of her lace bra, then pulled off her panties as well, and stuffed both into a corner of her bag. She shook herself slightly, feeling abruptly free, unbelievably excited, fully alive, wanton. First time in decades. It was wonderful! Scary, though, she had to admit. What an ego-bust if... NO! She wasn't going to deter herself, not now. She walked slowly back to her seat, cool air caressing her crotch, breasts wobbling comfortably under the thin blouse, nipples almost painfully erect.

Heart pounding, certain her need and plan could be read straight off her face by any competent human, she slid over next to James. He flipped up the arm-rest between them and offered GG his side to snuggle against. She accepted. It was very comfortable, and felt quite natural. More than that, it felt very much RIGHT.

She listened to his slow, solid heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of his chest. Nice. His arm cuddled her. That was nice, and right. The cabin lights went out: not to blackness, but very dim indeed.

She sighed, then scooted sideways and lay down on her side on the seat beside him, looked up at him and asked "Would you mind if I lie here and put my head in your lap?"

He said nothing, just nodded, and spread a blanket over her. Nearly concealed in her little tent, her heart was going like a triphammer: she was almost two separate entities now, one the animal in James' lap, the other an independent outside observer hanging in the air above the seats, making comments about old, nearly-antique women regressing into their teen-age fantasies. The animal told the observer to shut up and watch.

She kicked off her shoes, squirmed into as comfortable a position as she could. Then she rolled over onto her other side, so her face addressed his belly. His crotch brittled as her head settled gently down onto his lap. Her cheek was solidly atop his cock, and his cock was screamingly erect.

He wondered, would she notice? Could she possibly NOT notice? And if she did so then what?

She noticed.

Her hand slid up to pillow her head. Fingertips pressed against the ridge of rod inside his shorts. He squirmed slightly but made no protest, and that pleased her. Then she stretched briefly upwards, whispered to him "James... I'm seventy nine. I've learned, somewhere on that road, that if I want to get things, I have to ask for them. Would you mind... I... well, it's been twenty-seven..." She took his hand and pulled it gently down to cup her breast, through the blanket. "Please?" she whispered up to him. The fabric was more enhancement than barrier to his touches. She thought to herself, 'Thank God airline blankets are thin!'

Her ego (or was it really her libido?) was thundering: Please, please, please! She waited, hanging on the cusp of her unexpected, incredible resurgent desire and need, until James whispered back "GG, I'd love to touch you. You don't need to ask for that as if it were a favor I might grant... all you have to do is invite me! I want to. Very much indeed...hell, I've wanted to touch you since about five minutes after we met. Maybe even from before we met, when I was watching you walk across the airport lobby to the line. You don't need to ask, lady, you just need to give me permission."

"Ohmigod!" she thought, as warm syrup flowed through her lower belly. Ohmigod indeed. She relaxed back down onto his lap, pulled the blanket up over her head. Beneath the blanket, his fingertips cupped and caressed her small, soft breasts, her now-very-happy breasts, through the blouse. She was incredibly sensitive, he found that out in five seconds. Was there a bra under the black fabric? He didn't think so. His fingers trailed across a nipple, it was much bigger, much harder, than he was used to. In response, her fingers clutched his cock wonderfully tight. He slipped his hand down her side, across her hip, then back upwards beneath the hem of the blouse. She was naked underneath: when had she removed the bra? He slid his fingertips and palm along the curve of her back, then cupped the uppermost breast, savored its texture. It had lost some of its fight against gravity, but not a whit of its sensitivity, and was still firm underneath all those accumulated years.

He found the combination of weight and size and texture interesting and extremely arousing, resembling but firmer than the boobs on his very first girlfriend at her age of nineteen. He was almost embarrassed at the memory of his shock at finding so little solidity in that girl's breasts—the encounter had been long before he matured into understanding that texture and size have nothing to do with sexy—which always has nearly 100% to do with nerve function and response, not elasticity!

He was amazed, as was GG, at how the whole mass of her breast solidified in honor of his touches, practically a tit-erection. And her NIPPLES! Long, tapered, slightly roughened. It was an honor to be allowed to touch such nipples. He wondered, briefly, what they had experienced on their march through time to his hands. He wished he could mouth them.

Then it was time to pay attention to the other side, after all, we humans are bilaterally symmetrical creatures. His fingertips found the other nipple, startled him with the warm hardness of a metal ring right through it. Where the hell had she gotten THIS? 'Ask later, just enjoy!' he told himself. 'It's there for a reason!' He tweaked it, and she sighed, turned her head, bit his cock through his shorts.

He was incredulous. And also utterly aroused. She responded with eager body pressures to his playing with the ring, so he rotated it a full 360, using the leverage of the ring to spiral the whole soft breast into a barber-pole pattern. That was what it was for, he decided, for she squirmed, and he felt his zipper move. Suddenly, incredibly, his cock was free of his shorts and there was something wet against the big bottom-side vein.

His hand abandoned her breasts, slipped down her side, over her hip, thigh and calf, down to where the skirt covered her feet. Dipped under the fabric into the close warmth it contained. Played briefly with her feet. She liked that, it was something completely new, they were sensitive. Exquisitely so. She was happy she'd shaved her legs this afternoon before leaving home, all the way up - even though the hair was sparse and baby-fine now, she was glad it was gone. Her mouth was busy, too, investigating him, making electricity.

He looked about the nearly-dark cabin: nothing happening anywhere in sight, nobody moving. His fingers played among her toes, over her arches. She squirmed, and now she was making tiny, rhythmic bicycling motions with her thighs. Squeezings. He knew what that meant, and slid his hand upwards. No slip, just bare calves, deliciously smooth, taut with her tension. Then the backs of her thighs. He studied the texture of her muscles, quite solid beneath her delicate skin. He'd touched lots of seventeen-year-olds who didn't have her muscle tone... and he'd also seen plenty who were much, much inferior!

She squirmed harder, shifted. Suddenly she had the whole underside of his cock-head between her teeth. He cupped a buttock, let his fingertips slide downwards. No panties! Surely she had had on panties back there in the airport, hadn't she? He was enormously pleased as his fingers accepted unfettered access and began to explore. A few pubic hairs, no great furry nest. He liked that, murmured it to her. Then drooling, dripping wetness. Not what he had expected, not at all. He'd been slightly worried about lubrication: GG wasn't a teenager. Instead of a problem, she sported such wetness that he was startled by it, but not so startled that he didn't know what to do.

She raised a leg slightly, inviting, and he accepted. His fingertips slithered, dipped, and finally, finally after all her un-touched, unused years, James found her hidden portal and slipped ever so gently inside. Before she could study it, sort out exactly what he was doing with her body, the finger curled, pressed forward, and hit exactly the right place, the place she'd only a few times managed to find for herself.

After that, no thought was possible.

She came. She nearly screamed, would have if all the social conventions of her life hadn't over-ridden her reactions. Instead, she shifted her head and sucked the whole helmet of James' cock into her mouth, knowing it would be difficult for her to make any unwanted sounds that way, fondled and bit on it in time with her own intense pulsations. Beneath her cheek, she slipped her fingers up through the leg of his loose shorts: HOORAY for "comfort-fit"! Her fingertips found his balls, cupped them carefully, squeezed gently.

He was far more ready than either she thought or he realized himself. As she writhed gently on his fingers, she pressed his cockhead solidly against her palate and massaged it hard with her tongue. Between her tongue and fingers, almost instantly, he came for her, just as she wanted and hoped, and feared, too. The fear was real, she had never liked this part of lovemaking, it had always been too nearly "...demanded as matter of right", never reciprocated, never eased into. But now, James' cock jumped in her mouth-trap like a little animal, his balls pulsed against her fingertips, his spurting warmth filled the spaces between tongue and gums, cheek and teeth. It was the first time she had ever sought this, first time ever to enjoy it instead of dread it, it seemed instinctively correct, and necessary: it conserved symmetry, situational parity. More importantly, it gave him the same pleasure she was receiving herself.

What she really wanted, she knew, was either to be sitting atop this man, or to be lying beneath him as they pounded their crotches together in an attempt to weld themselves into one entity, however briefly. Absent either of those, this mouth and fingers business could satisfy, for the moment. She took his sperm as a gift, nursed on him until his free hand tapped out its message on her forehead: "overload, overload". She understood: in parallel, they slowed, stopped, relaxed.

Slowly and carefully, she pulled the cover off her head and looked up, whispered "Oh my god! Thank you SO much. I don't know where all that came from, but... I hope you didn't mind. Twenty-seven years is..."

James shushed her with a quiet "You are SUPERB! Enough said! I just wish we could actually sleep together... I would really, truly love to have that kind of time with you. Damn but we could be incredible lovers, couldn't we?"

GG couldn't remember when someone had said something so nice to her, and agreed.

Soon thereafter, they also agreed that having escaped detection so far, in the name of propriety it was time to re-assemble themselves. GG kept her hand atop his cock, occasionally checking to be certain that this was all real. Her other reality check was James' hand, cupping her buttocks, two fingers still deep inside her, making happy both bottom and pussy alike. It was glorious. Eventually, they slept, GG more soundly than she had in decades. James spent those hours feeling protective and supremely satisfied. Both wondered, without asking the other, what the hell was going on here? The answer, each finally decided internally, was obvious.

In Amsterdam's Schiphol airport, they checked on their connection. They had several hours, as originally scheduled. Slightly bemused and dazed by the night's activities, they wandered about a bit, arm in arm, amusing some passersby but generally being ignored. Airport "travelers'-anonymity" was a great ally. They considered breakfast and shopping.

Then they came around a corner and faced a long row of huge boxes, boxes like mid-sized campers, with regular doors and numbers like apartments. James laughed at GG's puzzlement, and said "They're mini-apartments. Invented by the Japanese. You can rent them by the hour, they have beds and desks. I didn't know they were available here..."