The Stranger

Carolyn didn't usually meet men in bars. In fact she made it a point not to meet men in bars. She had given that up as she left her twenties behind. But with all flights out of O'Hare delayed due to weather and every bar packed she could hardly object when a well-dressed gentlemen sat on the last stool at the bar next to her. She couldn't help but notice him—trim and handsome with neatly trimmed dark hair flecked with silver and striking blue eyes, a mismatch from his olive hued flesh, but captivating. He was about 5-9, likely in his late-thirties, perhaps Latino in heritage, but more likely Spanish she decided when she heard him order his Scotch. He wore dark slacks and a tweed jacket and conservative necktie, the crease in his slacks sharp as a knife edge. His English was quite clear, but she could hear beneath the English that characteristic Castilian lisp that she did not associate with the Latino countries of the Americas, except perhaps in the upper classes of some countries.

"Looks like we're going to be here for a while," he said to her as he finished the first sip of his whiskey.

"Yes." she responded. The lightning storm to the west was crackling with peel after peel of thunder. "I don't think anything will be taking off until that storm blows through."

"And then we will be stacked up waiting in line for take-off," he responded.

"Could be a long night."

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"San Francisco. And you?"

"Los Angeles. I have a friend to visit there."

"Oh, I see."

"San Francisco. That's home?" he asked.

"It is now. I grew up down the Peninsula, but my office is in the City so I live up there."

"Ah." he said. "Then perhaps you know Palo Alto. I have a friend there also."

Carolyn's mother, Julia, lived in Palo Alto, a professor at Stanford, but she didn't want to play the who do you know game with the guy. She responded. "I went to graduate school there but that was quite a few years ago."

A table opened up in the corner of the bar and he suggested they move to it saying, "This bar is crowded." He was correct. The heavy-set man sitting on the other side of Carolyn had bumped her twice in the last five minutes causing her to spill a bit of her drink each time.

"Sure. I'll get the table. Tell the bar keep to send our tabs over there." She moved quickly across the room to grab the little table before it disappeared.

It took the stranger a few minutes to get the bar keep's attention, but when he finally appeared at the table he had a fresh drink for each of them. "Don't worry about the tab," he said.

"Thank you," she said. It had been several years since she let a stranger buy her a drink. Her days of carousing in the Buena Vista were long past. But the gentleman seemed pleasant enough and looking out at the slow-moving storm to the west it was likely she would be here for a while. "I'm Carolyn," she said introducing herself (deliberately omitting her last name).

He smiled. "I'm Luiz," similarly omitting a last name.

"Do you live in California?" she asked. He had told her of friends in LA and Palo Alto, but not where he lived.

"Oh yes," he responded, "I have lived in California for many years." Carolyn liked the way he pronounced California with a characteristic Spanish roll to it. "I've moved around a bit, but I'm usually someplace near the coast. I like it there."

Changing the topic, he said, "You are very well dressed. What is your work?"

Carolyn smiled. She didn't always dress this well. "I was at book fair here in Chicago the last couple of days. Had to dress for work. I'm more casual in the office."

"You are an author?"

She laughed. "No, no. After I got my MFA from Stanford's writing program I found my skill was more in helping others publish what they wrote than in writing my own. My partner and I own a small niche publishing house."

"And your niche is?"

She paused for a moment. Normally she ducked this question, but what the hell, she thought. She wouldn't ever see this guy again. "We publish erotica." She always enjoyed watching peoples reaction when she did choose to answer the question.

"Ah, I see."

Very smooth, she thought. No reaction at all.

"And there is a good market for those works?" he asked.

She laughed. "Yes. Very good. No one admits they buy it but it's amazing how many people do. It sells easily, especially in electronic format that can be read on a tablet or even a phone without exposing a salacious cover or title to others." Like most people, Carolyn liked to talk about her business once she had found someone she felt comfortable with. For reasons she didn't understand she felt very comfortable chatting with this stranger.

"It's funny though," Carolyn continued. "Even in the e-published versions, you still need a salacious cover. It sells the book even though it is hidden most of the time." She went on at length telling him about the sub niches of erotica ranging from the classic bodice rippers to, adultery, swinging, cuckoldry, exhibitionism and voyeurism, BDSM, and of course, the various LGBTQIA specialties. She even mentioned her partner Sylvia's focus which was custom single edition erotica written at the request of well healed readers who wanted one-off stories that catered to their specific tastes. This material was usually in print rather than digital, often with leather bindings. It was, of course, a very low volume business since each publication was a one copy issue. The margins were excellent and their surprisingly large customer base frequently returned with additional requests. They had a small stable of authors that catered to this taste, normally on an anonymous basis. The challenge, Sylvia liked to say was matching up the author's kink with the buyer's kink. Get that right and the buyer would be back for more and the author would be happy to provide it.

"And there is specific niche you prefer to work with?" he asked.

"Those that make money," Carolyn replied ducking the question.

"Ah yes, of course." He sipped his scotch and then asked, "Do you live with your partner?"

"Oh no, no," Carolyn said with a smile. "She is my business partner. She and her life partner have an apartment in another part of town." Carolyn didn't tell Luiz that she and her business partner were business partners with occasional privileges. After all you can't edit erotica all day without generating needs. But Luiz didn't need to know that. Besides Carolyn did prefer men.

"Ah. I see. Pardon me. That term has become complicated of late."

She expected him to ask if she had a spouse, but he didn't. There were things she chose not to tell him that she later concluded he somehow knew without her saying it. Their conversation went on for another hour and half and one more round of drinks before he had to leave to board his flight. Later Carolyn would marvel at how skilled a conversationalist he seemed to be, drawing her out on subjects she normally wouldn't discuss with anyone while disclosing almost nothing about himself. By the time they separated he knew that Carolyn was 34 years old; had grown up in faculty housing on the Stanford campus where her mother, Julia, was a tenured History professor; had gone to Cal for undergraduate school and Stanford for her MFA; was not married, although she had edged up to marriage a couple of times before her relationships fell apart; and lived alone with no interest in changing that arrangement. And of course if he was paying attention to her presence he noticed that she was five foot eight with long, thick, dark brown hair, green eyes, and a trim figure she maintained with regular running—two marathons a year plus all the requisite training.

As Luiz rose from the table he reached out for her hand, holding it from below as though he was going to kiss it. He merely bowed, ever so slightly while letting his fingers stroke her palm as he pulled his hand away. When he had touched her hand Carolyn felt something—a mild electric shock, perhaps just a tingle. He looked at her with a smile and said, "Vaya Con Dios, Carolyn." Then as he released her hand and walked away she felt a relaxing warmth flow through her entire body. It was all very subtle, but unmistakable and she had to admit, very pleasurable. She shook her head briefly to clear the sensation, but the warmth and relaxation remained with her. What an interesting gentleman, she thought. In reality she had learned almost nothing about him. The other thing Carolyn noticed as Luiz turned away from her was a subtle but persistent aroma—like an aftershave she couldn't place. Was it sage? Perhaps, but it was sweeter than sage. It slipped from her mind as she watched him walk away and disappear into the crowd moving along the concourse.

When Carolyn rose to board her own flight a few minutes later she thought she saw Luiz just ducking into the jet bridge to board the same flight. Hmm, she thought. He said he was going to LA. She shrugged telling herself, "It's probably someone else," and abruptly dismissing the question from her mind. She was in too good a mood to be concerned about Luiz, although for the life of her she couldn't figure out why she was so relaxed. Her plane would likely not arrive in San Francisco until nearly Midnight, normally a delay that would have her grinding her teeth.

As Luiz had predicted the line of planes awaiting their turn for the active runway and takeoff was lengthy, another thing that would normally irritate Carolyn. Patience was not one of her skill sets. But tonight the warmth and relaxation that Luiz' touch had infused seemed to let her ignore what would otherwise have been an annoying situation. As she sat comfortably in her first-class seat next to the window, an empty seat adjoining her, she opened her tablet began to read a manuscript Sylvia had asked her to review before she had it bound and delivered to one of their custom order clients. She didn't have to do a mark-up edit with a red pen. Sylvia had merely asked her to read it and share her opinion with her. Would it work for the specific client requesting it? The client's wife was an old acquaintance of Carolyn's so she had some knowledge of their tastes in kink. The author was new to the narrow stable of authors they used for the one-off segment of their business.

Sure she thought with a chuckle, nothing like a good dirty book to read on a four-hour flight. The manuscript distracted her during the lengthy parade down the taxi way. She read until they began their takeoff roll. Only then did she put it aside. Takeoff normally made her a bit nervous, but for some reason not tonight. The ride was rough for the first half an hour or so until they got clear of the residuals of the thunderstorm that had shut down O'Hare. Once they reached cruising altitude and the flight leveled out she picked up her tablet to resume her review. Before opening the manuscript she asked the flight attendant for a blanket and covered herself. She thought the cabin temperature a bit cool.

The manuscript started a bit slowly, setting the stage and introducing characters, but by the time her flight was well out over the plains and the cabin lights had been dimmed, following a minimalist dinner service, she had gotten to the first of the sex scenes—a woman's description of a seduction by a skillful lover. The writing was good, describing not only the would-be lover's seductive pitch and actions, but also the woman's emotional responses. At first she became very relaxed with his voice, his inquiries, and eventually his soft touch to her hands, arms, shoulders, even her knee. He wasn't pawing her. He was caressing her subtly and unoffensively and yet still, seductively. Carolyn found the details of the author's description of the seduction and the woman's emotional response fascinating.

Later, after he had invited her to his rooms, the details of the first kiss and the rush felt by the woman were realistic and sumptuous. The woman was smoothly drawn into her would-be lover's lustful embrace. But nothing happened quickly. The author spent a full page and a half describing the first kiss and the escalation of the characters' kissing to something lustful and intense. More importantly, thought Carolyn, the passage emphasized the emotions of the female narrator as her would-be-lover's kisses stirred a passion she had not felt in years. Very nice thought Carolyn. She could almost feel it herself, the growing passion of a first encounter.

Within a few pages the lover had opened the woman's blouse and dipped his fingers into her bra cups to skillfully massage her breasts. Oh yes, very nice thought Carolyn. She could feel the sensation of a strange lover cupping her breasts and massaging them while his lips nibbled at her neck. Such skillful writing, she thought as she squirmed a bit in response to the sensations the book was generating in her.

Over the course of a couple of pages the woman had, with the help of her lover, shed her blouse and bra completely allowing him to fondle her breasts and suckle on her nipples., Carolyn was deeply engrossed in the manuscript's detailed description of the sensations he aroused in the woman. She didn't notice it but the warmth and relaxation she had experienced since being touched by Luiz had intensified. She wasn't sleepy but she felt no need to read the rest of the manuscript. She closed the file, set the tablet in the seat back pocket before her, and lay her seat back to let herself enjoy the sensations she was experiencing, still believing they were generated by the writing.

My god, she thought this man is a master. I know my breasts can be sensitive, but if he keeps this up he will have me hanging on the edge of an orgasm. No one, man or woman, has ever done that to me. It was not clear who Carolyn was thinking of: the author; the male character in the novel; or some other male lover who, at least in Carolyn's mind, was stroking her breasts as she flew from O'Hare to San Francisco. But in her relaxed state the ambiguity was causing Carolyn no concern whatsoever.

Carolyn soon felt her lover's fingers dragging softly down her belly. Not in a hurry. Just taking his time. She could tell he was paying rapt attention to her reactions as he worked his way towards her most sensitive body parts, an objective she desired just as her lover did. There was nothing she cared about more than what her lover was going to do with her. At some vague earlier point there had been a transition in Carolyn's mind. The fingers that were stroking her belly, the lips that continued to suckle her breasts; they were no longer creatures of the manuscript or it's author's imagination. They belonged to Carolyn's lover, unknown, but so highly skilled. They were not Carolyn's fingers. She wasn't masturbating beneath the blanket. Her hands were peacefully folded in her lap above the blanket as she enjoyed her lover's seduction.

The fact that she was sitting alone in a first-class seat on a United Airlines flight from Chicago to San Francisco and there was no real physical lover anywhere near her didn't bother Carolyn at all. The warmth and relaxation that had infused her body when Luiz touched her hand back at O'Hare made questions of reality irrelevant. All she cared about were the erotic sensations she was experiencing and her growing need for sexual release. Carolyn reached beneath the blanket and released the zipper on the side of her skirt, inviting her lover to continue his foreplay, an invitation he readily accepted but still, a continuing patient seduction. This was not a lover who was going to rip your clothes off leaving a trail of broken buttons across the floor, exciting as that might be for some people. This was a lover that had mastered subtlety, a slow, patient seduction that had a woman begging for more from the first kiss to the inevitable orgasmic completion. "After all it was going to be a four-hour flight. Why rush." Did her lover say that, or did Carolyn just think it? It didn't matter to her.

She let the question drift away as she felt his fingers push her panties aside and softly cup her sex. He spent minutes softly massaging her mound and the sensitive flesh below it. She could feel her juices beginning to leak from her vagina and so could her lover. Still using the fingers of one hand he pushed her nether lips aside, but not before he spent time massaging each between a thumb and forefinger coated with her juices. He left no sensual opportunity untapped. The sensation of his fingers stroking the slippery, sensitive surface behind and between her lips was achingly erotic. Carolyn wanted to cum, but her lover's fingers were so skillful and his sensitivity to his effect on her so exquisite that she wanted this torture to continue forever. My god she thought. How can he know so much about the effects his actions have on me. I want this torture to last forever but good lord, I can feel the climax coming and it will be so strong, how can I wait? And how can I not wait, enjoying this exquisite torture? The conflicting emotions co-existed easily within Carolyn.

Continuing his exploration he slipped a finger and then two into what was by now a steaming hot cunt. She had thought of it as her vagina earlier, but now it was her cunt. When Carolyn became aroused she lost interest in the sterile clinical descriptions of human erotic anatomy, preferring instead the graphic and vulgar language used by her authors. Her lover was fingering her cunt in a slow sensual way. His fingers were long and firm and seemed to reach everywhere. How is he doing that she wondered? I've never had a lover whose fingers could reach so deep into my cunt. Oh and he knows exactly where to touch me. How can he know so much. We've never been together before. No one has ever finger fucked me like this.

Carolyn was still vaguely aware that she was on an airliner flying to San Francisco. She knew that if, no when, she obtained the sublime relief an orgasm would give her she would have to be silent in her enjoyment, not only of the ultimate event, but of the ongoing tortuous pleasure that was leading to it. She leaned to the side briefly and grabbed the cloth napkin that had come with the dinner service. United won't miss this, she thought. She twisted it up and jammed it between her teeth in hopes that it would muffle any outcry she might make. Then she pulled the blanket up over her head as though she was sleeping. At the same time she spread her legs widely to assist her lover's access. Oh how wanton to be finger fucked in seat 3D of United's Flight 387 from Chicago to San Francisco by a stranger, perhaps a phantom. Never mind that there was no lover present to create these sensations and that she wasn't masturbating. It didn't matter where they were they were coming from so long as they continued. The warmth and relaxation that had begun with the electricity of Luiz' touch at O'Hare permitted her to tolerate psychological, physical, and emotional conflicts and contradictions that would have been untenable normally. Her hands still lay relaxed in her lap above the blanket.

Her lover continued with his sex play for, oh how long was it? Carolyn had no idea. All she knew was that it was exquisite and she wanted it to last forever and yet she wanted the ending orgasm immediately—patently irreconcilable desires. She had kicked off her pumps soon after boarding the flight and now she felt a new approach to his love making. Her feet, even her toes were being massaged and then licked. The exploration by sensitive fingers and an equally sensitive tongue continued up the backs of her calves and then alternating on inside of each of her thighs until his loving tongue reached her sex and begin to replicate the earlier work of his fingers. His tongue invaded her cunt (God he must have a long tongue, she thought), moving on from there to stroke and suckle on her labia and the oh so sensitive flesh between her lips and finally ending at her engorged clit where he worked it for something that was somewhere between an exquisite moment and a tortuous eternity. Her hands were now beneath the blanket and she was gripping it tightly in clenched hands as she teetered on the edge of her climax. Still not masturbating, but so aroused by the actions of her lover that she wanted to scream. When the end of his seduction bloomed into her climax it arrived with a crash, an explosion of cymbals, screaming guitar riffs beyond Hendrix at his wildest, thunder and lightning, all exploding across her brain in wave after wave as her lover nibbled on her clit with his tongue and lips. She groaned and cried out; the sound muffled by the dinner napkin acting as a gag.