That Song

"Winter in Winnipeg," Michael thought to himself, "It's hardly surprising!" Trying to get to Los Angeles, coming from Fredericton, his connecting flight, indeed, all flights out of Winnipeg had been cancelled. So, there he was, standing at the front desk of the Hilton, conveniently located at the end of the airport concourse, checking in, as were several other weary, stranded travelers.

Something about one of the other people at the desk caught is attention: was it the sound of her voice, her mannerism, her profile? But he glanced over at her checking in, then, finishing up himself, turned to look again.

"Sarah? Sarah Childress?" When she turned to look at him, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Michael MacAsky," she said, droll as ever. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Apparently," he laughed, stepping into the space between them, pulling his carry-on along with him, "the same thing as you. Getting stranded in the 'Peg!" Sarah, laughed, brightly, then turned back to the clerk to finish up her registration. Stowing her wallet and grabbing her carry-on, she turned to face Michael, who observed, "It's been a long, long time, eh? What, seven or eight—no, not eight, yet—seven years?"

"Yeah, must be. And, last I heard you were way out east."

"Well, I was, as you say, 'Way out east!'—after UBC, I went Dalhousie and got my MBA, then got on with Falcon manufacturing, in Fredericton."

"So, what're you doing here?"

"I was—I am—heading to a trade-show in LA," Michael explained. "The huge annual convention— plastics manufacturing. I'm with a mid-sized firm making, among other things, kitchenwares and such. Couldn't get a direct-flight."

"And where's home, now?"

"Still out east—Fredericton. How about you? What are you doin' in Winterpeg?"

"I'm just heading home, to Edmonton, from visiting a supplier in Omaha, Nebraska," Sarah replied. "Same deal—no direct-flights."

Both of the travelers had been on a couple of the last flights in. Shortly after they'd landed, all flights out—including their connecting flights—had been cancelled due to heavy snow—at least for the overnight. Fortunately, Sarah and Michael's respective companies would cover lay-over costs at the adjacent hotel.

Having finished checking in, the two old friends walked together toward the elevators. Sarah shook her head. "And here we are, meeting up after all these years, in 'Hub City'."

"Such a small world. Who would have believed it?"

"Yes. What a coincidence! That we should meet here, in an airport in a strange-city—Winnipeg, of all places!

"Doesn't get much stranger than that," Michael agreed. "Though," he suggested, after a moment of companionable silence, "maybe not such a coincidence—eh?" With a wry chuckle and a "Nudge, nudge!" he went on. "Maybe more of a trick of the fates—some sort of omen?"

"Pshaw!" Sarah said dismissively. "You wish!" Their old friendship once more apparent in her retort. Ignoring Michael's insinuations, Sarah went on to explain that she was in 'natural, organic cosmetics'. "A modest online business, run out of my own home."

While going up the elevator together, but pressing for different floors, Michael and Sarah agreed to meet back in the lobby. "I'll just drop my bags. See you in five?" Michael proposed.

"Better make it fifteen. I'd like to freshen up, and I'll need to touch base with home—you know, let 'em know where I am—and that I'm stranded indefinitely." Her eyes twinkled before she added, seriously, "Hopefully, though, for no more than overnight."

Michael was waiting, watching the elevators as Sarah stepped out. "Geez!" he hissed, "She looks better now, even, than at grad!" He gave a low wolf-whistle, to catch her attention as she looked about.

"Stop it!" she reprimanded, flushing slightly with embarrassment, as she strode towards him. Then, casually taking his arm, she said, "I ate on the plane, not too long ago. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah. Me too. D'ya want to get a coffee or a beverage?"

"I could use a beverage," Sarah stated, dryly. Hence, they mutually decided to go to the lounge for a drink— "for old times' sake, you understand." And that's how they found themselves re-connecting in the lounge, sitting next to the roaring fireplace, sipping. Having not seen each other since graduation, nor even kept in touch, they had a lot of reminiscing to do.

Michael and Sarah had met in first year college, when, through mutual friends, they found themselves moving in the same social circle. "Those were heady days, eh? The parties; the freedom."

At first their chat was filled with, "What ever happened to...?" "Do you remember when...?" "Have you ever heard from...?" Sarah had been going steady with Barry Dubrowsky all the way through university, and that fact suddenly clicked when Michael spied her wedding ring. "You and Doobie finally got married, eh?" It was more of a statement than a question, so that Michael was very surprised at Sarah's response.

"No," She stated, matter-of-factly, "Barry's and my plans diverged soon after grad."

"I always thought you were wasted on 'the Big Doob'. Of course, that was because I had the hots for you." Sarah raised an eyebrow in surprise, as Michael went on quickly. "Oh, I wasn't the only one. Not by a long shot." He gave her a rather sad look before concluding, "But you were spoken for the whole time." After a moment of awkward silence, Michael nodded at Sarah's ring. "But...?"

"Married, yes, for five years—happily! Met Darcy on-line. It's actually Sarah Harrison, now." As she told him a little about her husband—how they connected; how they got to know each other, Michael could both hear and see Sarah's strong emotional response. She was, obviously very much in love. He was both very happy for her, and a wee bit disappointed.

Sarah paused for a beat, noting his bare ring finger, then asked, "And you?"

"Oh, yeah. Me?" Michael replied, making light of the question. "Currently single. Got married four years ago, right after grad school. Selena, the ex, was a lot of fun; a real party-girl. I guess we were both party-animals to start. But we grew apart. Truth is, I grew up; she didn't. She started drinking more, staying out late—you know, 'with the girls.'" Michael drew quotes in the air. "Then she started snorting coke. I held on for a few years, watching her spiral. It was unsustainable. She finally left. The divorce was uncontested."

"So, yeah, I'm single again. I have a couple 'friends with benefits,' and play the field from time to time, but I'm deliberately single, for the time being."

Sipping their drinks, they fell silent—each recalling their shared history. "We were quite the 'gang,' though, all through college, eh?"

"Had some really good times, didn't we?"

Together, they began to reminisce, once again. "Are you still in touch with anyone?" "Did you hear about...?" "Found so-and-so on Facebook." "You'll never guess who's...married..., died..., gone abroad..."

"But," Sarah said—had Michael detected a wistful note in her voice?—"I never found you on Facebook."

"I'm not much for social networking," Michael explained, then admitted, "probably because I'm too damned lazy."

They quietly ordered another round, and in the warmth of the blazing fireplace, continued to chat like the old friends they were; then, seemingly out of the blue, Sarah blurted out, "You know, I often thought, back then, that if I'd been single, I'd have taken a run at you." Michael arched his eyebrows in surprise. It was so unexpected, such an unexpectedly sincere compliment, that Michael initially sputtered—at a loss for words.

After a rather pregnant pause, he replied, "Wow! I never realized. The feelings were mutual." He gave a low chuckle. "Imagine that. If I'd only known." He could see a liquid nostalgia glistening in Sarah's eyes, and felt the atmosphere grow warmer between them. They watched one another, trying not to stare, trying not to be too obvious, each in their attempts to read the other.

At that moment, one of those random hushes descended over the whole of the lounge, and in the sudden quiet of room, they heard a familiar old favorite song playing through the background speakers: Say Goodbye by the Dave Matthews Band.

As the milieu of the bar closed in once again, Michael observed, nostalgically, "I saw them do this live."

"So did I. Where?"

"The Columbia Gorge, in Washington."

"You're kidding! When?"

"Must be seven years ago now..."

"Not the Labor Day long weekend? The summer we graduated?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Amazing!" Sarah exclaimed, "I was there, too!"

"Wow!" Michael responded, thinking it was too bad they hadn't crossed paths... among the thousands of other fans. After they both listened, straining to hear the song—'that song'—come to an end, another comfortable quiet gently fell between them, again, as they contemplated the small world. Eventually, Michael sang, in a whisper, "'So here we are tonight, you and me together."

Sarah's smile was as warm as the fire, as she took it up, "'Storm outside, fire is bright.'"

Their shared smile was electric. Then, almost inaudibly, Michael asked, "And do I?"

"Do you what?" she asked, her smile showing that she really already knew.

"See what's on my mind—in your eyes?"

"Ma-a-a-aybe," she grinned drawing the word out teasingly.

In his mind Michael could hear the next line of 'that song': 'You've got me wild, turned around inside.'

Another brief silence settled between them, as they each retreated into their own musings. Inserting himself carefully into that quiet, Michael softly proposed that they leave the lounge and retire to his room. "Gives a bit of privacy to stream the Dave Matthews Band on Spotify. Don't know about you, but I'm feeling more than a little nostalgic. I've got a mini-bar up there. We can share a nightcap if you like." And in the back of their minds—both of them—ran an audio track featuring the DMB: 'And then desire, see, is creeping up heavy inside here, And know you feel the same way I do now.'

Sarah's assent was tacit, yet palpably charged. They floated out of the lounge in a dream-like unreality—or alternate reality. Riding up the elevator they held hands in conspiratorial silence—awkward, excited, eager, confused!

Michael whispered, as they ascended, "'Float away here, with me, for an evening...'"

Looking up to meet his eyes, Sarah completed the recollection: 'or just wait and see.'"

They entered Michael's suite in a hush, afraid of breaking the spell. Michael moved to the mini-bar to fix their drinks, while Sarah admired the city, through the curtain of snow. Handing her her drink, Michael stepped up beside her, ostensibly to gaze out through the glass with her. His arm, gently, tentatively, went around her waist, naturally and casually. Turning, he surreptitiously sniffed, inhaling deeply, smelling her. "Ah, just as I remember. I've always loved your scent!"

Gradually, Sarah turned out from Michael's arm, and they drifted away from the glass wall, and the winter whiteness, to settle side-by-side on the sofa, looking at one another with a puzzled expectancy.

Though any thought of impropriety was left unsaid, both suspected that something was up—that they weren't actually as innocent as they both pretended to be. While they sipped their drinks and listened appreciatively to the random Dave Matthews playlist Michael had streaming through his Bluetooth min-speaker, further lines, phrases, and snippets of 'that song' followed them into the night, drifting unbidden across their minds. It was as if 'that song' at that time, had given them permission—permission to explore their nostalgia, their memories—given them encouragement, even. 'Now let's make this an evening, lovers for a night, lovers for tonight.'

In the back reaches of her mind, Sarah locked her judgements—her sense of propriety, safely away in a dim out-of-the-way room—just for the present.

Not knowing what else to do, Michael leaned in, tentatively, to kiss Sarah; who, chin up, tilted forward to meet his lips. 'Just a rogue kiss, tangled tongues and lips'. Their drinks unceremoniously set aside, they clutched each other tightly, mashing their lips around dueling tongues. Their passion flared blindingly bright.

Kissing feverishly, Michael loosened his hands from the back of Sarah's head and dropped them between their chests. Fumbling with her buttons, he opened her blouse, flipping her bra to expose her yummy tits.

He immediately set to fondling and caressing her boobs, luxuriating in their soft warmth. While Sarah's hands quickly joined his in the crush. Then, without letting up the pressure between their mouths, they began to pull at one another's clothing. Suddenly, Michael rose up, and pulling back slightly, momentarily holding Sarah's gaze, his groping, paused, and he murmured through an endearing smile more of 'that song': "'Stay here with me, love, tonight, just for an evening."

Her fingers still busy unbuttoning his shirt, Sarah voiced what they both understood to be a most important line of the song. "'And, tomorrow, go back to being friends.'"

Michael, equally involved with undressing her—without damaging her clothing—beamed as he continued the quote. "'Tonight let's be lovers!'"

In all their frenzy, they managed to maneuver themselves over to the bed. Bumping against it, Michael laid Sarah back onto the comforter, following her down. Breaking apart, they squirmed up, centering themselves, then paused, panting and grinning.

Licking at the glistening sheen forming on her chest, Michael trailed his kisses down the valley between her breasts. While drawing his tongue lightly over her abdomen, another line from 'that song' wafted across his mind: 'We kiss and sweat. We'll turn this better thing to the best.' Slowly, Michael wriggled down between her thighs, pulling off her skirt, and held still, for a bit, to study the gusset of her bikini undies. Finally. he took a huge, leisurely, inhaled breath. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamt of this!"

He basked in her female redolence, as he peeled off her panties. Lying there, poised at her vee, it occurred to him, "This is unbelievable! I'm finally going to taste Sarah Childress! Fulfilment of an ancient fantasy!" Then, in one smooth motion, he slid in tongue first. "Ah, girl, you taste even better than I'd always imagined."

It was inspired cunnilingus. Michael licked slowly. Starting at the bottom of her furrow, he gathered her leaking dew, savouring it as he went. He could feel the heat radiating from her nether lips, as they puffed and swelled. At the top of his stroke, he flicked and circled her clitoris, eliciting moans of pleasure and desperation from Sarah. "Ooooh! Ohhhhh!" Dropping his chin, Michael began again. He could feel a vibration deep in her sex, and by the time he reached the top, her clit had shed its hood, and stood trembling and engorged. By the third stroke, Sarah's thighs were clamping spasmodically around Michaels head; her fingers, entwined in his hair, didn't know whether to hold him in tighter, or pull him away in relief. "Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!"

But just before she reached her crisis, Sarah dropped her hands to the corners of his jaw and pulled, beckoning him. "I want to see your eyes... while we do this!" she whispered.

Michael shimmied his body up hers, until, holding himself up by his arms, in classic 'cobra position', he fixed her gaze with his. His bobbing erection bounced against her glistening pussy-lips.

Flexing his hips slightly, Michael felt his plum slide right in. But was quickly restrained by the tightness of her vagina. He paused, once again, sharing a smile with Sarah, then, he pushed gently ... and relaxed... and again—bulling and backing, he filled her love-tunnel incrementally, but inevitably.

Surprised, and delighted, Sarah noted, to herself, that Michael was definitely bigger than her husband; longer and thicker—and, for that matter, straighter; bigger, too, than Barry had been—in fact bigger than anybody she'd ever known in her, admittedly less than extensive sexual experience.

With a deep—no pun intended—mutual satisfaction, and one final thrust, Michael entered uncharted waters, touching places that had never before been touched. And, somewhere in Sarah's intimate deeps, Michael tripped a release. She went wild: flailing, screaming, quaking and shaking and jolting, crying and laughing. She squeezed and pulled, and sank her nails into his flesh. Michael could feel the spasms rippling through her vagina, grasping his cock so hard it hurt—but it hurt, he mused, so good!

Sarah's head snapped back and forth, so hard, Michael feared she would dislocate something. He, himself, had stopped thrusting long ago, right after he had cum. And cum with such incredible force and quantity he could hardly recognize the orgasm as having been his.

But, watching Sarah in the throes of her passionate climax, holding on tight, riding her out, he had little time for introspection or self-satisfaction. Michael worried that the violence of her orgasmic seizures might cause her injury. Not knowing what else to do, he, finally, caught her lips with his, and caressing the inside of her mouth with his tongue, began to calm her, gently bringing her back to reality. It was an orgasm, the like of which she had never known; and, she suspected, was unlikely to ever experience again.

Gradually, a soothing afterglow encompassed them as they lay, at last, quiet and still, catching their breath, and letting the world catch up.

Sarah gently roused herself from their shared lethargy. "My turn now!" she muttered, as she turned, and squirmed and lazily dropped to engulf Michael's only slightly softened member with her warm mouth. Still letting her capacitors recharge, Sarah's felatio started slow, almost listless, fastidiously cleaning off their mixed juices. "Mmmmm!" Then, stretching the wide 'O' of her lips, she deliberately forced herself down onto his turgid tool. There was something about that simple, first movement that fired up her arousal, and ignited her desire, once more. Reeling back to catch a breath, before jamming herself over him again, Sarah endeavored to push her mouth further and further along his quivering woodie. And gradually she gained momentum, taking him in inch by inch—bobbing and slobbering, gasping and grunting; but, try as she may, she could not swallow his whole length. Still, sucking and stroking, coughing and gagging, she slowly brought him back to steely, vibrating, full erection.

Fueled by the echoes of her monster orgasm, Sarah became increasingly aggressive—passionate and insatiable.

Looking down at her as she tried to wrangle more response from his pulsing member, another line ran through Michael's awareness: 'We make our passionate pictures.' At that moment, Sarah swung a leg over his middle to ride him cowgirl; as he completed the line: 'You and me twist up secret creatures...'

She dropped hard onto his hips, swallowing his peg whole, slapping her bottom, flesh on flesh against his groin, then popping up to drop again. Sarah, suddenly, felt herself racing towards another epic orgasm A firestorm erupted in her senses, but it was beginning to run low on fuel—threatening to burn itself out. Still the mind-blowing sensations carried them together towards yet another simultaneous climax.

Pumping torrents of spunk into her still grasping cunt, his spend squishing out at her every drop, and puddling in his pubic beard, Michael was amazed at his own virility. Twice in one session was rare for him, and never with the strength he'd just experienced. Despite her valiant attempts to attain the intensity of her earlier climax, however, Sarah was unsuccessful; it just didn't have the energy of that first one.

Completely enervated, they both laid still for a spell, until Sarah lethargically rolled off Michael, to lie next to him. It was strangely still and silent in the short break, except for their still ragged breathing. Then Sarah turned on her side and, studying Michael, caught herself quietly giggling, barely disturbing the thickness of the charged atmosphere. One hand fell to Michael's penis, lying limp and wet against his inner thigh, and she unconsciously began stroking again. 'Wonder of wonders,' he, ever-so-slowly responded—twitching and thickening.