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“I’ve never been in an airplane before,” I muttered, stalling.
“I understand that,” he said, steepling his fingers. “But you are doing a fine job of your first time.”
Standing four feet from a complicated instrument panel that the pilot was no longer facing, I
watched dark clouds whip by the nose of the plane through the high narrow windows.
“Are we … safe in here?”
“Very safe,” he said. “Safer than driving. Safer than almost any other activity you can do at
hundreds of miles an hour, high in the air.”
“What if there’s turbulence?” I asked, just as we hit a little bump. I yelped. My arms flew up to
grasp the ceiling.
He took it as a cue to gesture me over to him.
Here we go! I slowly, carefully, closed the gap between us, and over his shoulder got a better view
of the world before me. It was dusk, but light poked through the clouds, illuminating little towns and
villages nestled in the foot of a mountain range. They looked like a strand of jewels dropped from a
great height. It was beautiful, but still I felt gut-punched and queasy. Levers and buttons continued to
move in a ghostly way all around us.
“Turbulence is just air pockets. The plane will ride through it. And I’m right here if anything goes
awry.”
I stood above him now, his head level with my breasts.
“Do you accept the Step?”
Handsome face, kind eyes, great smell, manly hands, but the clincher truly was his beautifully
tailored shirt. Terribly shallow, I know.
“Yes, I accept.”
“Then may I help you off with your knickers?”
I almost laughed out loud at the old-fashioned British word for panties. I was wearing a pencil
skirt and pumps, and a button-up pink angora sweater. The low ponytail completed my ’50shousewife-on-an-errand
look. It couldn’t be helped; planning my outfits always calmed me, and today
I needed to be calm.
“Tell me more about how safe I am,” I begged, as his warm hands gently undid the back of my skirt,
letting it drop to the floor.
“Well, Dauphine,” he said, inching my panties, or “knickers,” down, “takeoff is the hardest part. So
much can go wrong. But we’re well past that now.”
Standing before him, I closed my eyes. I could feel his fingers unbuttoning my sweater, easing it off
my shoulders. Ohh.
“Now the middle part of flight,” he said, leaning forward to nuzzle my soft line of pubic hair,
kissing it. “That’s the easiest … sweetest part of the ride. But still, you never want to get complacent.
Sometimes it’s deceptively easy. You still need to be careful, to watch for subtle signals.”
I stood over him, my legs trembling. He reached back to undo my pink satin bra, slid it forward and
dropped it. Standing there naked, for a second I forgot the plane was flying on its own! It was black
through the window. I wasn’t sure if we were flying over mountains or water, but I closed my eyes. If
I couldn’t see it, it didn’t matter. I placed my hands on the ceiling again, pressing my body forward
into him. He was so at ease, so in command as he gently urged my legs farther apart, reaching up to
pinch and circle my nipples, like I was an instrument panel he knew exactly how to operate.
“How does the autopilot know what it’s doing?” I asked, so deeply aroused by his thumbs now
expertly parting my cleft, I thought my knees would give.