Author's note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thanks to all the votes, feedback (good or bad), comments, and favorites. I have decided to submit the sections of this tale one-by-one. The time between chapters will vary. There is no 'sexual intercourse' in this story, yet. Hope you enjoy:
Mental Patience, Part 2: Metaphors
Or Accidents Happen, Part 1
Chance is a strange thing; any gambler can tell you that. There are occasions where it reaches beyond all probability and luck. For instance: Winning the lottery, or catching the biggest fish in the lake with merely a stick and some shoelace. Proof positive would be the bombshell giving Elijah her phone number, because she, in all reality, should not be doing so, especially since it was his third attempt at trying to get it right.
Elijah blamed the noise of the gigantic cargo plane two-hundred-or-so yards away for his failing, not his nervousness. The mechanical beast was exactly where it was supposed to be, slowly doing maneuvers and patterns for the cheering crowd. In fact, if it was not for that plane, Elijah would not have attempted to pull the bikini top and jeans clad sexpot's phone number.
He and his grandfather, Pop, an Air Force man, had been at the air base most of the day. There are two types of air shows: Beer filled mullet fests, and the military kind. The mullets want to see excitement, or death, or near death; the people at the military air base show show up to marvel at what man can build. (ha)
The pair of fellows had stepped off the tarmac and into the shade far back from the crowd milled to the closest possible distance to the runway, shortly before the stunner began to walk their direction.
Summer was dealing it's last Ace; the day was scorching, cloudless, and the sun was high; but the brick overhang they had found was shaded: The only shade, leanable surfaces, and cooler feel, while still in a view of the field. It was amazing, and against all probability, that no one else was there.
He had seen the woman earlier, her upper body on display as she accompanied a married couple with some children in strollers, or standing behind himself and Pop during some of the smaller planes. He had seen her as they looked about at the various displays and antique aircraft. The two had passed, as Elijah tried not to stare, at least five times. Now she was alone, and her walk was a natural trap. Elijah was thanking whomever invented sunglasses for hiding his bulging eyes while she dominated his vision.
Her skin was a deep tanned olive and glistening as she leaned into the only corner of the 'L' shaped opening cut into the corner of the building. Soon after she arrived at the back of the relief; standing behind Elijah, possibly ten feet away; she was stretching forward with her hands on her shins in front of her calves. When she stretched - as Elijah saw from the front with eyes begging for a peek - her hair cascaded towards the ground and the strings of a matching bikini bottom framed in the round top of a solid heart shaped backside.
He changed his thanks to the inventor of low-rider jeans.
She caught the man looking her way with her own eyes hidden by conditioned hair; she was watching him with her own sunglasses at the end of her nose, thanks to gravity.
Busted unknowingly, but not one to stare and gawk if possible, he turned his view back to the launching plane, joining Pop's gaze which had been on the field all along. He felt her move closer, even though he was not looking; just from his glance, though, her features and being were seared into his brain; he was most stunned, that other than the sunglasses, her only other accessory was a cell phone half out of her right pocket.
The sexy woman stopped just short of the angled sunlight, peeking a triangle into the shaded area, though changed with sunglasses loosely on the end of her nose along with the button at the top of her jeans undone and folded over, though still zipped; they were riding lower, and her brightly colored bikini was now poking past the edge; it was a string bikini, lime green. This woman was fit, and she moved like a dancer, her passive energy radiating to challenge the sun.
Somehow, by chance or not, the lack of light where she had stopped made her glow slightly more on one side, and the angle from his perspective was directly in peripherals. One of her knees - the right one - stuck out and forward since the sneaker'd foot was on the wall, one of her thumbs - the left one - was hooked in her phoneless pocket, and the other hand slowly moved across her cleavage in a casual nature - using the tips of her fingers - while she watched the workhorse float to simulate a runway drop with her head turned.
Elijah was not always the idiot he appeared to be. As chance would have it, he did realize that the gorgeous and enticingly clad exotic looking woman with the brown/black hair wanted to speak to him, but as chance would have it, he was here for his grandfather. This how they bonded across generations, with their similar interest in aviation and history; they had planned this trip, quite far from their half of the state, over three months ago.
For the life of his self, Elijah could not think of a way to ask this woman out and not feel rude to his patriarch. As chance would have it, irrelevance ensued.
"You know what they call that plane?" The voice, musical and regional, had come from the hotness after the plane began a turn in the distance for another run. The sound of speech alone oozed sensuality, and both Elijah and Pop turned to look at the woman - Pop leaning forward past his larger grandson at his side - and then to each other; they were the only three people within a hundred paces.
Pop threw a small nod to his grandson. It was a silent 'go for it because she's not talking to my old ass' look. Soon after, Pop was turning back to the airfield, waiting for the plane to return from it's looping direction change.
"Uh.. Hi there. What's your name?" Elijah was trying not to gawk; his performance was sub-par, even with the sunglasses.
"Jezebel. Everyone calls me Jess." She did not move beyond her lips and the hand still skimming her cleavage, only continuing to lean, smiling slightly, knee still in the air. Her amusement was aimed at his lack of speech, and her need to initiate the conversation.
This man, whom she had seen at least three times, was the only attractive guy, on the entire airbase - all day - that did not leer at her features. He simply smiled at her and continued walking with the older gentleman, the pair strangely seeming like Mutt and Jeff from the back.
"Really?" Elijah was surprised intellectually despite the fact that she looked like a nude model without oversized attributes. She was slim, yet ample, with slow flaring hips and B's to die for.
"Really...?" She was asking his name even though it was with forked tongue, as chance would have it, he understood this game. He also had the edge to use.
"Oh, right, Elijah, people usually call me Eli..."
"Really?"
"Really." He let the feel of the words hang in the air. "So, what happened to your friends?"
"They left me. Had to take their kids home. I was about to leave myself, but I thought I'd watch Mary, that's her name," Jezebel nodded once towards the plane with her tongue on her top teeth and glossy lip. This was her favorite game.
"Oh.." he left the words to hang in the air, then abruptly continued. "So, Jess," he talked ever so slightly with his hands, using only his fingers for a moment, "why do they call that plane Mary?" Elijah really wanted to know why the nickname existed, especially now that she was going to speak again.
