Stages - Blossom, Plum, Prune

He raised up on an elbow, looked slyly at her, then at the clock. He leaned down and kissed her, long and slow and lushly, then smiled and said "Got plenty of time left, and regardless of our inclination we can't just fuck absolutely nonstop... So... want to do an experiment? Let me shave you? I suspect you'll like it, it's extremely sensual, both the process and the effect. I have my kit in the briefcase over there. And we do have this little sink."

She blushed, giggled, and muttered "Why not?" Then it was "But the thought is kind of scary. Sharp steel next to my clit and all that. I presume you're experienced? I wouldn't want to have a tyro practicing on me right in the middle of something so exquisite as these few hours."

"Years of practice, Madam, a true professional if I do say so myself..." She chose not to explore that conversational line for the moment – neither of their prior histories seemed to be germane to themselves in the here and now as a new couple, however temporary that might turn out to be.

She lay back at his direction, spread herself wide. Never, ever in her life had she exposed herself to a man this way, but amazingly, the embarrassment potential was totally defused by his loving commentary on the beauties of her pussy, not to mention by his delicate, sure touch. Her gray bush didn't remain for long: in a couple of minutes he was using a warm cloth to wipe away the excess foam. When he was done, and she was completely rinsed, he did a prolonged inspection of his handiwork using lips and tongue.

Eventually they both pronounced the results satisfactory.

They rolled over to examine themselves in the mirror: she clung to him, suddenly shy. His cock was at full stand again: how wonderful! Finally, she whispered up at him "It's an odd combination, isn't it? A little old lady with a crotch that looks a bit like a pre-pubescent girl's. Both ends of the time spectrum, in one body! I look like an eighty-year-old little girl - is that what you think is sexy, the little-girlness of the shave?" Before he could answer she put a finger to his lips and said "I don't care, no need to answer – that was a silly question. I like the extra nakedness – and since you did it for me, that makes it even more special... a very special treat. And, James, I must admit it worked every bit as well as you thought it would. Now..." She squirmed onto her back, spread her legs wide, pulled him to her again, positioned his everhard cock properly. "Now, Sir... pretty please, MORE!?"

He obliged her: he couldn't have been more delighted or more turned on. He lay back, then pulled her up atop his cock once again, and they joined as if they had fifty years of practice with one another. Long, slow, initially gentle, then suddenly strong and powerful and fast, her body amazing her brain with its willingness and ability to take such wonderful 'near-abuse'. Lovely, loving pseudo-abuse!

The nudity of her crotch provided new sensations, and her little bump itself, caught between their pubes, practically screamed its own personal pleasure. She came, long and hard, and finally wound up pulling him to her by the ears, protesting a need for catching her breath. It came in long gasping whoops. They slowed, calmed. His hands were everywhere, gentle, insistent, stroking. Then, finally and to her enormous satisfaction, he seemed to need to let himself go entirely: she welcomed it openly as he sped up and intensified, pounded into her as if they were both sixteen, until they were shiny with sweat and he was bright red.

When at last he came it was a deep, slow, throbbing earthquake far up inside her belly, and she could feel every wiggle and twitch and shiver. The animal noises he emitted surprised, then pleased her, strong, low, primal, obviously uncontrollable – a result of HER, how nice! When he finished, rolled her up in his arms and caught his breath, she could feel his great heart pounding, gradually slowing.

Eventually he raised his head and kissed her again, then said "You, madam, are absolutely SUPERB in every way! God almighty, how hard you made me come that time! For a little while, I wasn't sure I was going to recover! If not, then what a way to go!"

She got up, eventually, and settled on the little toilet. From deep inside her, through both openings, warm fluids dribbled and oozed. She savored the sensations, missing from her life for so stupidly long. She hurried, eager to return to their snuggling. They lay drowsing for a short while, wrapped in one another's arms, only to be awakened by the gentle chime announcing their final twenty minutes. Time to re-assemble, get back to the outer world. Phooey! Damn. He kissed her once more, then spent a long couple of minutes retracing the curves of her body with his fingertips and lips. He was hard again, and she once again extraordinarily juicy. Oh well.

They dressed, checked themselves and one another in the mirror. One gentle squeeze each, one on a boob, the other on hardon-gone-softon, and they opened the door. The airport hubbub flooded them. With her on his arm as if she'd been there all her (or his!) life, they walked over to the counter and nonchalantly turned in the key. Their rent-a-box girl was still on duty, eyed them, blushed prettily, said nothing except "Thank you!" as they turned and walked together towards the distant gate to check in, surrounded by their own particularly happy haze. GG remembered the very first time she had ever made love, how she had been absolutely certain that the fact was branded in scarlet letters on her forehead for all the world to see: she felt the same way now. Couldn't all these multitudinous swarming strangers SEE that she'd just been thoroughly made love to, solidly FUCKED, including BUTT-fucked (!!), not to mention eaten repeatedly, by this gorgeous man one third her own age? She was moderately astounded – almost vaguely disappointed in fact! - that nobody in this vast and swirling throng seemed to know or care. Phooey on them, anyhow.

She snuggled against James as they strolled: he adjusted his pace to hers so that they walked almost as if they were dancing. Together, they glided steadily towards the ticketing and seat-assignment counter: the biologist in her wondered idly what would happen if a K-9 Corps dog were to trot across their obvious pheromone and sex-smells trail? WOOF!

About halfway, she felt a different twist in her belly, a loosening. Two more steps, and she got the message, from her far-distant past, but perfectly clear, no decoding needed. She stopped, looked up at James and asked him, "My dear, could I possibly persuade you to escort me to the very nearest ladies' room you can possibly find?"

He nodded, said "Certainly, madam, but why, pray tell?"

As he scanned about seeking to establish the course required, she stepped gently onto his foot with all her weight and whispered, "Because, dear, the last installments of your little presents are now running down my leg, and though it's a wonderful feeling, if I don't clean up, and SOON, your proteinaceous ooze will glue me to everything I touch. Which, I assure you, is a state of affairs devoutly to be avoided!" She returned from her errand in less than five minutes, muttering "Thank god for toilet tissue and running water. You must have been really LOADED, dear man. I can't remember ever having such a gush afterwards, a veritable inverted geyser! No complaints, you understand!"

He told her it was all her own fault for exciting him so mightily: she simpered, blushed, recovered. She let him carry half her weight as they approached the gate, since doing so meant her left boob was caught nicely in the crook of his near arm, and her hip never lost contact with his. Their leg muscles moving against one another were quite sensuous. Lovely!

As they approached the counter, James finally noticed the sign above the desk. Their continuation flight was labeled "cancelled-see agent". He said a nearly silent "Damn!" and together, still arm in arm, they walked up to the counter. There were no other customers at the moment: the pink-cheeked standard-issue Dutch girl behind the counter smiled at them and asked, in slightly British Dutch mandatory-English-as-a-second-language, "Passengers for the cancelled Jo-burg flight, Sir, Madam?" They nodded together, handed her their tickets.

She read the tickets, then eyed GG and James just as had the rent-a-box girl, looked straight at GG, blushed slightly at the eye contact.

'Greta', her name-tag announced. Greta extended the company's formal apologia and excuses (the usual, "equipment problems") and said "I can offer two options only. The first is to send you to our competitor, who also flies to Johannesburg. They would of course honor our ticket, and they do have a flight in about two hours. Unfortunately, I could not guarantee you a seat, as we have no access to their reservation system. Like us, however, they are probably full or nearly so, the flights are popular and heavily used, and so you would have to wait all that time for a standby seat, if they should have any at all. Frankly, I doubt they will. Also, many of your fellow passengers are already in their lines ahead of you, unfortunately. And, Sir, Madam, they are a very long walk from here, across the entire terminal complex."

James "hummed" at that, contemplating a response. Before he could reply, GG said calmly and quietly, "And, Miss Gerta, what might the second option be?"

Gerta brightened: she had been through a grinder with the rest of the passengers, so the fact that this couple hadn't become instantly irate gave them mega-Brownie-points. "We're terribly sorry about the inconvenience, this happens only rarely. I can authorize hotel accommodations in a very nice hotel right here in the airport, at our expense of course. Meals, too, in the hotel restaurant, which is three-stars. And an upgrade to first-class seating on the same flight tomorrow. We truly do not want to lose your business."

GG looked at James, then said to Gerta, "Let us confer for a moment, Miss." Gerta busied herself with some duty, GG whispered "Well? A godsend if you can do it. Can you? Will you? Can you possibly?"

He couldn't have agreed more strongly with the eagerness in GG's voice. After all, not only did the loss of a day not matter to him in the least, but there really wasn't any option, if the competitor's flight was going to be full. Case decided, favor of themselves. They agreed, grinning at one another.

GG "Ahem"ed, and Gerta looked up. She could see instantly what the answer was, and smiled brightly. GG said "The hotel will be fine."

Gerta said "A good choice, Madam. It is a very nice hotel, the entrance is just around the corner, over there." She pointed. "I can give you two good single rooms on the fifth floor. Non-smoking, I presume?" She brought up two packets with hotel names on them.

James took the initiative and said, quite diplomatically, "Excuse me, Miss Gerta. You and your company are being very helpful, so we should not take advantage of you. We really don't need two separate rooms, you know."

Gerta looked back and forth between GG and James, blushed brightly, couldn't figure out how to cover for her obvious intuition about them.

He smiled at her embarrassment and continued: "No need to cost your company extra money, since a single room will do. But perhaps you could upgrade it slightly in exchange for that?"

Gerta sputtered for a moment, said "A good idea, Sir, and quite nice of you to suggest it. Let me see..." She busied herself again, computer keys clicking, then looked up. "I have, Sir, Madam, a large suite on floor nine. With a better view, more space. And a Jacuzzi tub in the bath. Would that do?"

James and GG looked at one another, and said simultaneously "Certainly!"

Gerta busied herself yet again with their tickets, retrieved the original hotel packets and replaced them with a single one, said "I shall keep the tickets and reissue them for tomorrow, upgraded. Meanwhile, I will have your luggage brought to the room. Thank you for being so nice, that's quite rare tonight!"

GG stepped up to take the packet, laid her hand atop Gerta's and said in a low tone just loud enough for James to hear, too, "My dear Gerta, what brand-new pair of lovers wouldn't be NICE to someone who gives them a chance to spend an extra twenty-four hours together? And for free!"

Gerta darted her glance towards James, and flushed brilliantly red: Dutch skin simply doesn't hide a blush very well. GG patted Gerta's hand and continued "And, Miss Gerta, the Jacuzzi is going to be a godsend!"

Gerta tried recovering with the smallest of small talk: "Oh, so?"

GG almost smirked at the poor flustered girl, and said "You see, my young man over there, well, he's attractive and strong and energetic as the very devil... all very desirable qualities. But of flexibility he knows nothing. Whereas, Gerta, I am a yoga instructor, and have been so for years. Do you have any idea how many basic positions there are in yoga? Many, many, many! And some of them are very interesting indeed. Well, I fully intend to try him out in all of them, and, my dear, I personally, and absolutely, guarantee that he is going to need that Jacuzzi before long!"

With that, GG picked up the folder, read aloud from it "Room 905!", said to Gerta "Thank you, and your company so MUCH for having a broken airplane tonight!" and swept James grandly along beside her towards the elevators.

Gerta goggled at them openly as they left, then finally grinned broadly, shook her head, and said to herself in Dutch "My God in heaven. May I be so lucky at her age! May I even just ARRIVE at her age!"

They did need the Jacuzzi, it turned out. Both of them.

The final leg of their flight was daytime, a well loaded but not full jumbo. They had seats together, an outboard twosome, and for a long time after takeoff GG snuggled into James' side, oblivious of the occasional surprised or amused glance they got from passengers enroute to the toilets. The only person who really paid them heed was a small steward, handsome, vivacious, blond, and very obviously gay. He intuited their relationship instantly, and took them under his wing, nearly smothering them with little attentions.

Some two hours into the flight, the old term "carpe diem" had been thrumming through her mind. She thought for a few minutes, daydreaming, considering. Then she stretched, sat up, and brushed her hand against James' crotch. He was rock-hard, and that pleased her inordinately.

"I have the god-damnedest case of TFJAF."

James looked puzzled.

She smiled, put her mouth to his ear and whispered, "I've been dreaming of another adventure! Get up and follow me, please? Be nonchalant!"

She slipped from the seat, started down the aisle to the rear. Intrigued, he flipped up the armrest and followed her, tugging his tee-shirt tail out to hide the bulge in his traveling shorts. They arrived back at the bank of six toilet cubicles. Two were showing "vacant". The attendants were all elsewhere for the moment.

GG muttered "NOW!" and opened a vacant toilet, stepped inside, and pulled the completely startled James in behind her, reached around him almost frantically to lock the door. She was certain nobody had seen them.

She whispered fiercely "TFJAF means "Time to Fuck James Again Frenzy!" Now get busy and fuck me!"

They were pressed together in a space smaller than the average phone booth, but they managed. He spun her about, set her on her knees atop the toilet, raised her skirt. Her bottom was at the perfect height: she leaned her cheek against the plastic-coated back wall, feeling the airframe thrum and vibrate, reached back with both hands to spread herself wide, waited, scarcely breathing. In moments he was inside her, pounding hard, fingers dancing madly over her clit. In moments more, he was spraying her insides with sperm as her belly convulsed happily around him.

Despite an ongoing fit of barely-suppressed giggles, they managed to clean up and put things away. How long had they been in there anyway? Probably four minutes, six maximum. Who cared, anyhow?

Now the problem was exiting. They had no idea who might be outside. They could do nothing except open the door and step out as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. Fingers crossed, they did it. Luck was with them. No passengers were waiting to embarrass them. Just their favorite attendant, who looked momentarily startled, then grinned an enormous, friendly grin, gave then an admiring "thumbs up" which made them both flush brightly.

Silently, they slipped back into their seats. Then, a few seconds later, they were overtaken by another fit of serious giggles, almost irrepressible. Just as they were recovering, the attendant arrived beside them. They hadn't ordered anything, but in his hand he had a small serving tray.

He smiled happily at them, a knowing smile but not at all smirking, and said "Compliments of the house!", flipped their tray-tables down, and set a small bottle of champagne on each. Then two real silicon dioxide glasses. And then two small white envelopes. He nodded, turned, and left.

James picked up his envelope, opened it, extracted a business-sized card. On it was printed "Welcome to the Mile High Club" "Official Member"... and the date, flight number, altitude, speed, and latitude/longitude had all been entered into labeled blank spaces.

GG's was identical. She sputtered hard and said "Funny there's no place for a NAME here! And the cards are PRINTED for god's sake. I wonder if the airline issues them to the crew, or if it was that fellow's personal idea? And here I thought we were doing something ORIGINAL and unique. Oh well... I guess at least for us it was, wasn't it?"

By the time they landed, they had agreed upon a plan. In six weeks, they would both be home. James would attend GG's Monday yoga class from six to seven-thirty, to begin work on his runner's inflexibility. Then after class, they would go to her place where James would practice his incipient gourmet cookery on them. And on into the night afterwards, they would seek to relieve what GG chose to call his "OTHER stiffness".

That would involve working in a wide variety of interesting positions.

Yoga, of course.

Of course.

And an occasional TFJAF.

For dessert.