The Fantasy Last Chapter

The Fantasy

Richard Hart tells a story of an older man and a younger woman who have a passionate fantasy affair. It is a "fantasy" adventure of passion and romance which is in three parts: The Meeting, The Rendezvous, and The Island.

Part III: The Island

The Flight

Jocelyn had arrived looking very much the professional. She favored the tailored business pantsuit in a very flattering black with just the proper hint of accessories. For a casual observer she might have been on her way to a meeting in any corporate office in Atlanta.

However, the careful observer would have seen the way our hands were clasped as we walked down the concourse. There was a mixture between a grip that left both our hands white from the pressure and the constant movement of our fingers which seemed insatiable with the hunger of touching each other.

There was a nervous chatter of small talk as we walked. We both wanted to ask a million questions and tell each other our secret thoughts, but this was neither the time nor place for such a conversation.

Jocelyn spied the woman's restroom and looked with a grim... "Gotta stop here!""

As she moved to separate I reached to hug her, not really wanting to be separated now that we were together. She whispered, "Wait here?"

"Sure! Can I tend your luggage lady?" I asked pointing to the small roller bag she had carried off the plane.

"Oh no . . . Important things! Don't wonder off." And she disappeared around the corner of the restroom entrance.

I looked around and decided that since the traffic was relatively slow, I would just wait where I was. Surely it wouldn't take but a moment. But the moments continued and I became self-conscious of standing staring toward the entrance of the restroom. I wondered if people might think I was a pervert just standing in front of the women's restroom. I tried just walking in a casual circle without leaving the immediate area.

I glanced at my watch. We were in getting close to boarding our flight and by my estimate we should just be able to get to the gate in time to walk on.

Wondering what in the world had happened to Jocelyn, I turned to look at the restroom entrance and I almost didn't realize that she was just a few steps away from me. I blinked twice to clear my mind and confirm my eyes hadn't failed me.

The polished business pantsuit had been replaced with a very flowery summer dress which, while it was fitted to flatter her figure, was loose and floated on her. As she walked toward me, there was no mistaking that the constraints of her bra had been removed and her breasts swayed and bobbed with her steps.

I swallowed hard and said, "What happened to you?""

"I got comfortable!"

I don't even think I asked how she had managed the transformation, knowing that the roller bag obviously had been brought with the necessary preparations.

She slid the bag forward with the handle toward me and said, "Now you carry my bag, sir!"

We walked down the concourse, but no longer hand in hand. My free arm was around her back and my hand under her arm, confirming what my eyes had told me. There were no constraints of a bra and I relished in the fullness of her emerging breast as I held her while we waked.

I leaned over and whispered to her, "You're lucky there's people around."

"Oh why, sir?"

"Because you're driving me crazy with your boobs bouncing as we walk."

"And what makes you think I'm surprised at that?"

She was grinning at me with her teasing smile, daring me to make more of it than I could.

We walked to the departure gate to check to check the schedule and saw that our flight was on time. As we stood looking, I let my hand side down to the swell of her hip and deliciously slide downward in an intimate touch. I was caught off guard and moved my hand forward from the back of her hip where I had thought to cup her cheek. I moved again with purpose.

"You're not wearing panties?" I whispered quietly in her ear.

She turned with her mouth almost in my ear and just as quietly answered, "No!"

I swallowed hard. It was going to be a long flight and I was already fighting the profound stirrings of an erection.

We found a seat and waiting the ten minutes for our flight. I started to lean over to ask what her plans were, but she cut me off with her quick eyes and a finger over her lips, "Shhhhh.... not now!"

The call came and we stood. "Passengers for Flight 687 to Saint Martin's may begin boarding."

We had talked about getting away for months and the meeting at the airport Hilton left us both wanting to just have a weekend without pressure to be together. When we began planning the convenient schedule of a "business conference" and checked, we found that the Caribbean was as cheap as a weekend at a nice hotel. Besides, Saint Martin's, or Sint Maarten, was a European island split between the French and the Dutch and unlike the American Virgin Islands, it had a nude beach that sounded deliciously naughty.

We found our seats on the plane and delightfully the third seat on our side of the row was empty. We lifted the seat handles and buckled in and as the flight attendant passed by on her pre-flight check, Jocelyn asked for a blanket and pillow afraid that it might be cool and expressed an interest in taking a nap.

I scowled at her. There was going to be no time for a nap. I had far too many questions in my mind that begged for answers. The whine of the engines and the takeoff precluded communicating more than what we could as we held hands and both looked at each other and smiled.

Once we had made it past the two minute window of takeoff when I begin to relax figuring that the odds of just falling out of the sky are minimal, I wanted to talk.

"You're driving me crazy, I guess you know." I whispered in her ear and then just because I could, I nuzzled her neck and kissed her behind her ear.

"Good . . . I guess my strategy is working then" she said as she turned toward me.

"Do you run around airports wearing no underwear often?"

Giggling, she said, "No. But then, you are my first for a lot of things. I almost lost my nerve in the restroom. Do you know how it feels to be totally naked in an airport restroom stall?"

I roared and she punched me, "Be quiet, people will wonder."

"Were you really naked?"

"Duahhhh" she remarked sarcastically. It's hard to take off your bra, pantyhose and panties without being!"

"I'm sorry, but if you could read my mind you'd know the image that is creating for me."

"Good, that's why I did it. I want you to be excited and looking at me with lust in your eyes!" she beamed.

"Now what's with the blanket and pillow? You know I'm not about to let you sleep the whole trip?"

"Oh no? Just watch me"

She then proceeded to find her tiny airline pillow and lay her seat back. She shook the light blanket out and pulled it up and grinned.

"Want to share it with me?"

The Blanket

I decided that whatever her plans included that I was not to be left out. I leaned my seat back to match hers and she pulled the blanket over the intervening space and my hand which had been in hers closer between us.

As she turned, she shifted her hips and turned my hand. She then brought the back of my hand close into her lower tummy and my mind began to wonder just what she was up to.

She pulled my hand down toward the vee of her legs and then slowly back up and I realized that there was just enough friction to cause her dress to ride up with the action.

I realized that two could play this game and as she brought my hand downward again, I turned my hand, breaking free of her grasp on my fingers. Her hand found my wrist and my fingers found the bare skin of her legs below her hiked skirt.

Knowing that she wore no panties, the touch of her leg was exquisite. If she didn't feel the electricity, then I surely did for us both. I lightly rubbed my finger tips against her inner leg and decided that this was going to be a long flight. This might make an interesting interlude.

I could tell there was no resistance from her. She alternately pretended to be asleep and then through almost closed eyes I could see her smiling. Yet, there was no perceptible encouragement either. She didn't shift to accommodate my fingers between her legs.

Since she had set the stage, it was up to me to play out the action of this, wondering if it were to be a seduction, drama, or comedy.

Slowly, and I hope agonizingly for her, I lifted my fingers on her skin drawing her skirt upwards. After an eternity, I found the vee where her both legs intersected her lower belly but with the way she was posed there was lots of skin but no entrance to the deeper vee of her cleft. I knew I was dragging my fingers lightly over her freshly shaved pubic bone. She made no motion.

The first drink cart started up the isle with attendants stirring people with their requests. Jocelyn stirred and then looked at me.

"Thirsty?"

I grinned and whispered, "Only for you!"

She laughed and pulled her seat up partially and dropped the tray from the seat in front.

She didn't move the blanket, though it fell from her shoulders into her lap. And she never moved my hand from its touching of her lower belly. As she let down the tray three things happened in unison. The tray came down, my hand was pressed downward now between her legs as she turned to sit forward and her legs opened.

As she sat very primly waiting for her drink order, my hand was hidden under the tray and blanket and she had moved enough to offer me access to the center of her being.

Lightly I turned my hand to cup her lips and found that instead of being tucked back, they were open and moist. I knew my touches hadn't gone for naught.

As she asked for her drink, I let my finger lay over the full length of her cleft and as I let the tip of my finger probe her outer defenses, she coughed to cover the sudden catch in her voice.

For anyone watching us, they saw two people sipping their drinks and making small talk. For those who might have been close enough, they might have heard her voice struggling to remain calm with the breathy hoarseness that might have been blamed on the flight.

What no one saw was the feeling of my fingers as they moved, opening her and drawing out her wetness.

The tip of my middle finger began to explore her cleft. Toward the back, bottom, of her cleft there was no mistaking the dampness that gave evidence to the deep pool of her womanhood. Wanting to intentionally go slowly, I was careful to let my movements be slight and with careful intent.

I touched her wetness. With the lubrication that flowed from her I let my finger sink slowing into her, like quicksand engulfing its victim. I stopped at the first knuckle and drew back and with it came greater moistness. In a circular motion I explored the texture of her swelling lips and the velvet which lay between them. With each touch, her flesh opened and seemed not to constrict. She was like soft clay and each touch left its continuing form on her.

Slowly I sank my finger into her to the middle knuckle feeling the heat and wetness of her inner being. I tried not to stare at her which I was exploring her lest anyone should discover the hidden secret which we were sharing. But as I glanced, I noticed that her eyes were closed and she was holding herself in a certain stiffness. To add to her distress at the situation, as I withdrew from her, I dragged my finger from her depths upward through her cleft. Her moisture was more than enough to deal with the friction and I found that beneath the over sheltering outer lips she was already an open channel. As I curled my finger to reach the crest of her cleft I found her already erect. Without intending to, as my finger curled, the movement caused me to "flick" the protrusion of her excitement and from deep in her throat there came an audible "eke" with an embarrassed cough to cover it.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. It was a strange mixture of hostility and lust. She knew I was having my revenge on her for watching her without being able to speak or touch. She reached down with her hand, below the tray and under the blanket and grasped me by the wrist.

I thought she was going to yank my hand from her to relieve the agony of her suffering. But she pulled my hand closer to herself and without visibly moving the upper part of her body, she moved to open herself even more to me. She also moved her hips against me, begging for more.

I watched for a moment, thinking that the movement of her hips would be betrayed by her upper body. But she had simply laid back in her seat, looked at me with a smile and closed her eyes.

As much as I wanted to draw the agony out, I found my fingers had a mind of their own. My middle finger had found her depth again but as I moved to the middle knuckle again, she moved her hips and suddenly I was buried in her to the depths that our positions would allow.

I became lost in her. Swirling my finger around to feel the delicious texture that met my touch at every movement. Knowing that every movement was met by a deep twitching of her muscles in her pelvis.

It became a ritual. Long slow deep strokes into her and then a drawing out and upwards to "flick" the center of her excitement.

Periodically I would linger on her stiffness, caressing it and teasing it. Even when I plunged into her depths, I was careful to make sure my palm remain in contact with her. The movement of her hips grinding a sense of satisfaction from the contact.

Her breathing became more shallow and I knew it was having a profound effect on her. It was a challenge to see how much pleasure I could inflict on her while wondering what would happen if her orgasm were to break out vocally. Visions of Meg Ryan from the movie "When Harry met Sally" flashed in my mind and I laughed.

She looked at me, but there was no laughter. She was deep into her sexual need and there was a demanding gaze in her eyes.

I was driven to find ways to increase my attention, to feed the demand to make her whole again.

She was so soft and open and wet that I moved to couple my ring finger with my middle finger to open her more with each plunging thrust. Instead of finding a barrier in her tightness, my fingers were immediately lost in her depths as though she were already ahead of me, waiting on me to catch up.

Some my index finger joined to assault and at last I found the tension and the stretching that I had sought. Her leg moved hard against mine and I lowered my knee. She immediately moved her leg on top of mine to allow her to spread herself open. She slumped down in her seat slightly and even though I knew her posture was uncomfortable, I knew her attention was lower than her back. It was focused at the juncture of her legs and ecstasy.

The moisture from her being had pooled at the lower point of her opening and with the change of her posture the point where her cleft moved into the separation of her cheeks had disappeared and her bottom was being flooded.

I moved my finger down this time to massage the wetness into her tight opening and the effect was magical.

Her hand with had never left contact with my wrist when he had moved earlier released my wrist and wit a smooth movement she flattened her hand and moved it downward under my wrist until I knew her fingertips were entering her cleft.

I could feel the gentle movement of her fingers on her erection. It was not familiar to my touches. There was the gentlest of movement almost in a circular movement with the slightest up and down movement.

As I swirled the wetness of her fluids into her back entrance, I let my wrist lay over her hands to feel the excitement of what she was doing. I could feel that her two fingers had separated her hardness from her cleft and that her outer lips were caught in the separation of her index and little fingers and her middle and ring finger were laid in the channel either side of her swollen erection. Protruding from the center of that was the unmistakable smoothness of the center of her erotic excitement.

Had I had the opportunity to loosen my erection from the awkward confines on my slacks, I think I would have exploded with that. I presume the effect was shared, for as I massaged her, I felt her stiffen and the unmistakable construction of her muscle under my finger began to a spasm.

I looked at her, wondering what the visual effect of her obvious orgasm was going to be in her face and posture. Usually she is very expressive both physically and vocally at the moment of her climax. But what I saw was a very rigid posture almost in rigor and a brief fluttering of her eye lips.

She again grasped my wrist and pulled me from between her legs and I could feel her clench her legs together. There were no feelings of having been bared from her inner center, but a sense of her not wanting something to escape her. I was almost like the clenching of a little girl who is holding herself to keep from going to the bathroom.

A deep breath and a moving upward in her seat and then a settling over on my shoulder. Her eyes never opened but the rigidness of her body melted into a buttery feeling.

With her head on my shoulder, I whispered, "You OK?"

"Glorious! Now sush... Don't talk. Let me just soak in this for a moment."

Not caring who might be watching in the plane, I moved my free hand to touch her exposed cheek and trail it down to her mouth. I touched to pouting fullness of her lips and leaned over to kiss her every so gently. Not so much of a kiss, I realized as a poignant touching of our lips in what was at that moment the most incredibly intimate act we had shared.

We sat in that bliss long enough that the cramping of the seats became uncomfortable and my erection turned to a pointed need to relieve my bladder.

The Mile-High Club

I nudged Jocelyn and whispered, "I've got to go to the restroom."

"Really? Me too but I hated to bother you."

I hated to be curt with her, but since I had "satisfied" her needs I thought she could surely concede to mine.

"Honey, I'm not standing in line."

We were seated on the fourth row from the rear of the plane and a quick glance told us that there were two rear restrooms facing each other at the rear. No one else had been stirring.

"Don't worry," she said, "there's room for both of us."

If my physical needs weren't so demanding, I might have made a play on her words. But at that moment I was interested in her tray being put upright and the blanket being shuffled to the empty space beside us and getting to the restroom.

Being a gentleman, I let her choose and took the other space. Once in, all you can do is to stand or just turn around. I felt the relief of the pressure removed and had zipped myself and was washing my hands when there was a tapping at the door.

"Just a moment!"

I thought some hapless soul couldn't or wouldn't read the "occupied" sign on the door. The tapping came again.

Exasperated, I reached for the door with the paper towel in my hands thinking someone else must have been as needful as I had been. I flipped the latch and opened the door and Jocelyn pushed me in. The space was so confined and she was pulling the door closed behind her so that I was forced to lean back balanced precariously between standing and sitting on the commode.

There was a glee in her eyes as she said, "Ever heard of the mile high club?"

Before I could express the awkwardness of the situation, she had begun to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. As gravity took control of my slacks, she pulled my shorts down with them and the only logical thing to do was to sit down on the commode.

She pulled her dress up to her waist and moved forward so that kissing the soft lower belly and the prominence above her bare cleft seemed the only natural thing to do.