Fleeting love lost and then found again a decade later. A brief, ill advised affair that couldn't possible have been more than it was---couldn't in a million years be the basis for anything that might endure. Romance as the top priority with enough sex to keep things interesting.
As Lisa pulled her ocean blue Travelpro Crew6™ down the jet way, her thoughts drifted back a decade. She was a magna cum laude graduate of one of the country's most prestigious private women's colleges, Ivy League in stature if not in fact. She had an MBA from an actual Ivy League university. She chuckled to herself as she considered her current career path. She was a flight attendant. After six years she was even a relatively senior flight attendant or at least senior enough to be in charge of this particular transcontinental flight.
The airline had repeatedly asked---even pressured---her to make the move to management in view of her education and prior Fortune 500 experience. Her father had been a successful business executive. As a young girl she had assumed she would follow in his footsteps...her family had encouraged her to do so...guided her in that direction...it was her destiny. Three years out of graduate school she had been on the management fast track with a highly respected corporation. As a twenty-six year old region manager, everyone assumed she'd make vice president before she was thirty.
Just prior to her twenty-seventh birthday the most important man who had ever been in her life left her unexpectedly. Her father succumbed to a massive stroke a few days after his fiftieth birthday. The loss had devastated her; daddy had been her guiding light. Without him there, her apparent confidence and stability had spiraled out of control.
She had quit her promising corporate career within a few weeks of his death. She had moved to the sun belt, drifted from job to job and found her new best friend: Gin. She had endured a string of bad men and the dead end relationships which such men always guaranteed. She had tried the real estate business and even spent a year selling high-end foreign automobiles. After one particularly bad man with a penchant for sexual sadism she had finally come to the realization that sex and alcohol might end her life. She had checked herself into rehab, joined AA, sworn off men and booze and put her life back on track.
She had applied to the airlines at a time when the notoriously cyclical industry was beginning an upturn following a series of major bankruptcies. They were hiring again as the first generation of aircrews aged and moved on to greener pastures. She knew it wouldn't last. Her education told her that the typical airline business model was flawed and that in fact, taken in its entirety, the passenger airline industry had never made a profit.
Still, she enjoyed her job. She didn't take her work home. She could perform her duties in her sleep. She enjoyed the travel and had no family to miss her. As exhausted as she would be after five days on the job, her schedule also provided four days of absolute down time between runs. The pay wasn't great but it was certainly enough to provide for her needs.
She had saved enough money over the years to buy an old farmhouse and a few acres barely thirty minutes from the airport which served as her home base. She spent her down time fixing up the antique home, puttering in her yard and gardens, reading and even writing or at least attempting to do so. She had few friends, certainly no close friends and absolutely no male friends---or at least no straight ones.
The thirty-six year old lanky blonde with the well formed and remarkably long legs still turned heads and attracted male attention...unwanted as it might be. The word had gotten around among the male members of the flight crews...don't bother. Her thoughts drifted back to the last man who had treated her kindly...respected her...excited her but certainly not
loved
her.
It had been a stupid affair, wrong on every level. He had been her boss; he had been married. He'd had young children. The affair had only lasted a few weeks. Both of them had subsequently been promoted and relocated. Afterwards they had spoken on the phone a few times but she had chosen to end even that level of contact. Shortly thereafter her father had died. Not long after that she had quit the company and "left no forwarding address."
She had seduced him; he had never even made a pass at her. She had admired and respected him immensely. He had mentored her as no one else ever had. He had never come on to her or made inappropriate comments. She clearly remembered the day she decided she had to fuck him.
They had driven together to visit a customer a couple of hours away from the office. He had asked if she minded driving so that he could go over a presentation he would be making later in the day. As she had pulled her tight but conservative wool skirt up to more adroitly accommodate the clutch on her recently acquired two-seater, she caught his eyes in her peripheral vision stealing occasional glances at the bare expanse of soft, creamy thigh above her stockings.
Why had she worn stockings instead of pantyhose that day? There had been no subliminal intent: she had simply discovered that she had a run in her last pair of pantyhose and the only thing she could find was a pair of thigh highs that her most recent boyfriend had bought her.
She watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye...watched him reposition his "package"...watched him attempt to hide his growing arousal with his work folder. She was giving her boss a boner and it made her smile...it made her moist...hot...wet. As they had parted at the end of the work day she had given him a tad more than the typical business hug and allowed her full lips to linger longer than was appropriate near his left ear. He had struggled awkwardly not to allow his groin to make contact with her. She had pushed her hot mons against him to his consternation...felt his manhood in all of it's erect glory...forced him to feel her heat.
That night in her nondescript urban apartment she had run down the rechargeable battery on her Brookstone™ vibrator with vivid images in her head of the handsome man six years her senior possessing her...mauling her athletic young body with his strong hands...fucking her in every way she could imagine...invading her body at will. She had made her move a few weeks later at a national meeting.
She had sensed that he had avoided her that evening or at least avoided being alone with her. After the dinner and speeches and before the drunken party, he had disappeared. She had called his room on the auspices of discussing a personnel issue which had come up. Since all the attendees had roommates, meeting---or fucking----him in his or her room was out of the question.
She had coaxed him back downstairs from his room. They had met on a vacant mezzanine. She had imbibed enough to get her courage up and dull her inhibitions but not enough to appear inebriated. They had chatted about work issues. She had been wearing her best skirt, a long, clinging silk number. She had removed her panty hose and stuffed them in her small purse while waiting for him to come downstairs.
She had found reasons to touch him...had allowed her skirt to ride up to expose a healthy expanse of her perfect, soft young thighs. She had edged her way closer to him and finally with their faces scant inches apart, kissed him. He had not resisted...he had responded...his kiss had thrilled her...excited her as no man's had...his arms were around her...her hand dropped to his lap...she touched him...he was rock hard. A vacuum cleaner started up at the other end of the mezzanine, briefly cooling their ardor.
He had wordlessly taken her hand and led her to a balcony overlooking the ocean, closing the door behind them and placing a chair in front of the door which would at least delay an intruder.
They quickly resumed where they had left off inside, wordlessly exploring each other with their hands as their respective lust overcame them. His strong hands quickly found her firm young butt, kneading and massaging her ass, then sliding under her skirt...then pulling her white cotton little girl panties aside...fingers exploring her cleft, finding her pussy. He had then unceremoniously pulled them down over her trim hips. She'd aided his effort to remove her undergarment...he knelt down and pulled them over her feet...she had already kicked off her "please fuck me" pumps. She seemed to recall that he had stuffed her panties in his trouser pocket; she knew she never saw that particular favorite pair of panties again.
