Tragic Milestones in Life Revised

The story opens with a father impatiently fretting aboard a delayed airliner in New York's La Guardia Airport, due to stormy weather. He is en route to an incestual rendezvous with his twenty-eight-year-old daughter in celebration of their ten-year relationship. Although worried about not making it to Atlanta, it doesn't stop him from extending his sexual curiosity to other women aboard the aircraft. Nor does it stop his daughter from similar conquests over those ten years. Yes, both father and daughter are morally broken individuals; yet, trying to do the right thing — therein lies this gut-wrenching tragedy; a classic noir tale. It is a complex triangle, centered around David, Rachel's seven-year-old son. He is a pivotal figure in bringing a fragile cast of characters together—each drawn into the father's and daughter's relationship. This story takes place in upscale Atlanta, Georgia, somewhere in the not too distant past. A place in time, where airlines serve meals and drinks, smoking on planes is still permitted, and our protagonist freely travels across America; as an evaluator of hotel accommodations, culinary services, values, and treatment of a guest's wants and needs.

Sensual scenes of a sexual nature involve adults indulging in: fellatio, cunnilingus, anal, some mild force, lesbian scenes, a three-some, and father-daughter incest.

Barbara DeMarco-Barrett's published article, "Writing Noir," says "... in noir, the main characters want better things for themselves, but try as they might, they just keep making wrong choices and things go from bad to worse." She also notes that, "In noir, the main characters are on a path to doom and destruction, motivated by their narcissistic personality quirks."

Noir writings are also characterized by short spartan sentences, terse dialogue, and jolting dark thematic subject matter. Surprise, head spinning twists in plots are a trademark element. Noir storylines had their heydays in the 1940s and 50s.

I submitted Chapter One to Literotica and posted in the Literotica Forum seeking feedback. I'd like to thank those posting replies to my request under the thread 'request for noir feedback' Yowser, Winter_Fare, and RoperTrace who offered constructive and valuable input. It gave me reason to pause this work; eventually taking an ax to Chapter One and Chapter Two which were already being viewed by readers. Subsequently, I have requested the first two chapters be removed and this revision be posted as one continuous storyline. It consolidates all chapters into one story; refined, simmered, and served for your enjoyment.

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Kenji Sato or kenjisato, user id , a volunteer Literotica editor, with a keen eye, provided editorial support for this version. His work has markedly improved my story!

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Please, rate, favor, leave me a comment, letting me know if I have achieved my noir writing goal in this story.

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Lately, flying out of La Guardia, at least for me, always seemed to be snake-bite prone. Again, this afternoon I was stuck on another rattler and it was chewing on my butt with sharp fangs.'I just needed to get to Atlanta. Just get wheels up, for God's sake and make it happen!' I muttered to no one in particular.

Those were my thoughts as I sat stewing in my own angst. I had a tenth-year date to make and I felt like it might not happen if we weren't airborne soon. Normal flight time was two-and-one-half hours and now we just tacked on another forty-five minutes. With traffic, I calculated, now, that I wouldn't arrive until after seven-forty-five, tonight. Dinner and room reservations had been set for six o'clock at the hotel. We had sat for forty-five minutes, delayed on the runway and still it was a judgment call for takeoff amidst an afternoon thunderstorm that had unexpectedly rolled in from the east.

Although, apparently, someone did hear my mutterings. I felt a light hand reach over and tap mine.

"Not to worry, sugar," her southern drawl purred. "This old bird is gonna take us home, just be a bit more patient! Make sure to bring a book along to read next time, honey."

Glancing across the aisle, as her arm pulled back to grasp the spine of a paperback lying in her lap, my gaze rested upon the source of that southern drawl. Those delicate, alabaster fingers clutched a new copy of a book entitled, "Life is Marked in Milestones." She lifted the corner of the book, letting it rest just under her breast, as though to give emphasis to the contour of her shapely form.

'Cute smile, statuesque, and well bosomed,' I thought.

My eyes quickly took in an early-thirties brunette. She ticked off most items on my womanly qualifications list. Certainly, a lady I'd call one 'long drink of water' if she were undressed; eye pleasing for sure! No ring. If I didn't have plans for the evening, I would have given some thought to asking her to dinner. From her remark about home, Atlanta seemed to be her final destination, or at least, she would be close by for the night. Was it any other day, I wouldn't have dismissed the thought ... of dinner ... or perhaps ...?

I bought into her remark, "Good book then, miss?"

The innocuous, ice-breaker question gave me more time to drink in the view across the way, while awaiting her response. With curves and an appealing bosom that properly filled out her snug, low-cut blouse, the view certainly was a long drink of water. Wearing a matching skirt that rode well up her thighs, it was easy to see that she was athletically inclined. Hope she had someone waiting for her this evening. Someone who could bring her enjoyment at the apex of those beautiful legs. Shame, if she went home alone, without someone to crawl between them.

"So far, just about forty-five pages into it, sugar. It's by a guy named Donald J. Mallord. It's about individuals documenting their lives based upon important events they consider to be profound turning points. He calls them milestones. Not a bestseller, but still, it's interesting reading. Seems like something everyone should do as they get older, you know?"

I nodded as a gesture of politeness. It was not necessarily a nodding in agreement gesture.

It gave me still another moment of visual pleasure. Life is far too short not to absorb as much of a woman's beauty as you can, without seeming to be leering. Great eye-candy, after all, was not abundant. Not to take advantage of the opportunity to pursue it, should not have been classified as being among the first mortal sins.

'Religious moralists, what right did they think they had to regulate pleasure; mine or anyone else's!'

Dodging thunderstorms at takeoff, the flight out from La Guardia had been hellacious. Turbulence had things rattling off the trays and the flight attendants spent more time trying to pacify anxious passengers than serving drinks. Women with small children got most of their attention, it seemed. Rightly so, I guess. They made the most noise. 'Squeaky wheel gets the grease,' my father used to say.

'Get the drinks out for the rest of us, ladies, and you'll have less nervousness to attend to!' This time, however, I kept the muttering to myself with just a hint of a smile.

I had found that thought amusing as I caught sight of Linda. She was swaying her way toward me amidst the rattling. In one hand was my usual version of a Cuba Libre. That's Barcardi Lijero and coke. Pressing it into my hand, she grasped my shoulder for balance with the other hand. It brought her thigh firmly against me, much longer than it needed to be, but not long enough to draw attention. Her warmth felt nice. However, I knew it had felt better when she lay bare and between my thighs, spread out in a comfortable hotel room we had shared. I held up a hundred, which she eagerly took as her eyes sparkled.

"You know, I don't have change for this, right?"

I grinned, while lifting the plastic glass in a celebratory salute to her beauty, and answered, "No change needed. Dinner is on me."

I was feeling generous; knowing that I was on my way to spend the evening with another, more gorgeous woman than any other I had met in my lifetime.

Linda smiled, "Nice to have you aboard again, Mr. Radisson."

Then she was off to shepherd her crew mates in placating the whining, the irritated, and those just focused on something to help take the jitters off, caused by the buffeting turbulence.

"Let me guess," came that same soft-spoken voice across the aisle, "... frequent flyer?"

She took my light smile for a yes and then sighed, "I sure could use one of those, too, right about now, sugar."

"It's a Cuba Libre - rum and coke. I prefer Barcardi Lijero, less earthy," I remarked as I offered it across the aisle. Her smile brightened as she accepted it, sipped it, and thanked me as she took a generous swallow.

I leaned back in my seat as the aircraft began a steeper climb to find less turbulence. It took about five minutes of continuous jolting before we broke through and leveled off. At that point, the intercom chimed in with the captain apologizing for the rough takeoff. It would be restful the remainder of the flight, he noted. We were expected to arrive in Atlanta right after sundown. Within the calm, the cries diminished. The beverage carts finally began to made headway down the aisles. Linda sped by, stopped, and looked for my glass. Spotting it across the aisle, she smiled and gave me a knowing wink. I'd given away a plastic airplane cup with a one-hundred-dollars' worth of alcohol to a total stranger, without a pang or expectation in return. Linda found her way back to me quickly, with a refresher, well ahead of the cart. I was grateful for that.

There are good service people in the world—just not enough; it seems like in the old days.

I had two stops this week—two more annual hospitality reviews to conduct: Atlanta and then Dallas, before returning to the city that never sleeps. Each year, thoughts of retiring start rattling around in my head. These annuals seem to grow closer and closer together. I didn't really have a reason to retire, though. Just kept the concept percolating so that I had a future goal in mind.

For this particular review, I always flew in the same day, the same month. It became a ritual thing ten years ago — to the day. You see, my daughter and my wife had a falling out over a man on this day, while I was in Atlanta.

My wife was livid when she discovered our daughter was sleeping around. More livid, when she found out with whom. It cleaved their souls apart; it was a relationship that couldn't be repaired between mother and daughter. Rachel never returned nor spoke with my wife again. It broke my heart. I couldn't believe she would disavow her own child in that manner. I found myself drifting away, after that, as well; the short of it is—we separated soon after. It left my wife alone, sadly alone and haunted for her lack of understanding. She stewed with righteous indignation over the row for years until it sickened her. This last year she was barely recognizable. I'm certain it was the bitterness to which she finally succumbed. I came to her, out of courtesy, for moral support in her last hours. Even so, she never forgave my daughter, or myself for that matter, in her last gasps. The doctors couldn't pinpoint a direct cause. Natural succumbing due to age, they determined.

She just gave up on living. Punishment for one of her mortal sins, I suppose.

Ten years ago, on this very day, my wife disowned our child. I happened to be in Atlanta at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel conducting another hospitality check when I learned about my wife's discovery. She called my room, belligerent, ranting, and trying to rain down Holy hell.

I was upset at her religious diatribe and I hung up on her.

Later, that evening, I entertained someone who captured my heart. It was an immediate attraction. She had all the wonderful physical attributes one could want. And some things my wife didn't: kindness, understanding, and a large dose of compassion. So yes, I was still married while I lusted after this new love. It was ironic how my heart found another on that very day Rachel was disowned by her mother. Perhaps that's why my wife and I parted ways so quickly afterward.

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The hotel had sent a limo for me; one of my perks as an evaluator. Lorenzo recognized me at a distance in the airport's crowd and took my bags. It was nice to see a familiar face amongst so many milling about. Everyone seemed to be looking for a recognizable face - I found mine immediately. I silently wished that my fellow travelers found theirs as well.

'No one should be left to wander the world alone.' That thought frequently seem to rattle around in my head.

The southern belle on the plane had it right, 'It does pay to be a frequent flyer.'

Lorenzo took care of my luggage while I hurried for a very late dinner. I almost offered up a prayer that she would still be waiting for me. But that seemed to be sinful, reproachful even. Two hours late, that would be the impossible wait time it would seem, even if it was for a once-a-year lover who flew in from out of state to spend the night in your arms. One night, and she would have to return to her husband and a now seven-year-old son. One night, that was our commitment for the past nine years. Tonight, if she was there, would mark the tenth anniversary of finding my soulmate. An anniversary that would be a milestone, if there were such a thing in my life. An anniversary that coincided with my wife's disownment of our daughter and the budding of a new romantic involvement in my life as well.

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In my haste, I almost toppled a diminutive hostess as I scanned over the heads of other guests. I was hoping to catch sight of my date in the waiting area. Not there. Perhaps it was far too long a wait and she had left. Hoping against hope, I checked with the desk to see if my dinner reservations were still honored.

"Yes, sir. We received a call from your 'plus one' that your flight was delayed but that you would be arriving, Mr. Radisson—just late. She is seated, sir. Arrived about thirty minutes ago."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I should have realized that she would have checked the flight arrival times before she left home. Did I also mention she was intelligent?

"Sorry, bad weather," I remarked as I slipped into the chair alongside her. As she looked up, our eyes met. Another year had gone by; yet, it was the same forever radiant smile—as though time had magically frozen and held her this way for my enjoyment.

There are moments in one's life that you walk past a drop-dead gorgeous woman and you stop. Time is suspended for the moment. You find yourself, just unabashedly staring at her. I drank in all the spectacular wonder of her charming emerald eyes. A barely discernible dimple that creases her face whenever it breaks into a bright smile, caused me to grin. That seemingly frozen youthfulness encasing her as though she were still ten years younger, stirred my cock. This moment was identical to one we have been enjoying on our special night for the past ten wonderful years.

Small talk ensued over dinner - about her husband, Johnathon, and his work. Their son David's growing curiosity. And then, it inevitably led to my wife's demise. I really didn't want it to go there, but it was the elephant sitting in the chair next to us. Rachel brought it up. I suppose it had to be, since the funeral was close to this special day.

"Was it ..." she started to ask.

"She wasn't in pain," I cut her question short, with an abrupt answer. "The hate she bore emaciated her. I wasn't even sure it was her, until she began the same old harangue. You would have thought after ten years, she would have reconciled to the fact that we had moved on. She languished for two days, and quietly slipped away at the end," I responded. Her eyes drifted downward seeming to bore a hole through the table. I waited quietly for her to absorb the news. She looked a bit sad, moisture on the brim of her eyes added to the pensiveness of the moment. She had ten years to adjust, though, why choose this time for ... regrets.

"Did she ever ..." came the next question, after a few more contemplative moments.

"Forgive you, or me?" I huffed, cutting her question short, hoping to end this useless direction.

"Yes, I thought she might have finally changed and wanted to go out ... having forgiven us," she quietly clarified.

"No. That wasn't even expressed. Just another riposte, a stab in the heart, for our past transgressions," I replied, sipping the last of my wine.

We sat in silence for a few moments. The somberness of the brief conversation felt like a new burden placed upon our shoulders. It hung like a sense of guilt around us. It was her final, vengeful act of not forgiving nor accepting the inevitable dissolution of an old love and the formation of a new one.

Even in death, my bitter, vile wife reached out to try to hang an albatross around our necks. It was as though the scene from Coleridge's 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' came to life as we dined. When the Mariner kills the albatross, like the other sailors, I could see this discussion as a sign of bad luck and a curse leading into trouble.

"I'd like to ... change topics, Rachel. The weight of these last few moments has been too heavy. This is supposed to be a night for just you and me, here in the present. Right now. Not the past. We can't change that, sugar," I tried shifting the weight of my wife's albatross to some distant land; where albatrosses were still harbingers of good sailing. I hoped to lighten the somber mood I felt descending upon Rachel and me.

She smiled at my remark; a chuckle escaped her lips, as she toyed with her wine glass.

"Sugar?" she giggled inquisitively, "Where did you pick that up, Yankee? Have you been messing around with another southern belle?" she covered her smirky inquiry with another sip of wine, while peering over the rim of her glass, looking for an answer.

Her giggled question lightened the tone a bit. Something in her laughter shattered the somber darkness that hung over our heads.

"I guess it was having my ear bent by a young lady on the plane," I confessed mirthfully. "She used it so frequently, in the two-and-a-half-hour flight down here, that it's permanently stuck in my vocabulary!"

I watched her smile, turning a bit terse, as she set her wine glass upon the table. There was something in the change of her demeanor that I picked up on. Perhaps, it was something in the way I answered. It's difficult to understand why that happens. But it does. Who really knows why women act this way, you know?

"Was it long enough, for you to invite her, for the evening, as well?" she asked coolly.

I was a bit nonplussed by the tone carried in her question. In my haste to greet my love and the raw sobering discussion regarding my ex-wife, I now realized I had forgotten to bring that subject up. Perhaps, that lapse was the spark for her mood change.

"Well, it is our tenth anniversary. I thought you might enjoy a special treat for the evening," I answered candidly. "But, I can ..."

"No. That wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be right—to invite and then rescind an invitation to a stranger—sugar." Rachel carefully measured her response. It was served with a bit of frost in her voice. "Besides, you're right about needing to lighten the moment. We've added to our evenings together before. You certainly do have a knack for selecting well. Let's just go with it tonight, honey." She exaggerated her own southern belle accent, in light mockery.