Chance Encounter
Jetlag, the dryness of the air in the cabin after twelve hours flying from Tokyo, and the boredom of the long overnight flight had taken their toll and he was looking forward to a good long hot shower and some proper food as soon as he cleared customs.
Not that the food in the first-class section wasn't acceptable, in truth it was quite palatable, and the wine list impeccable, but he never ate or drank a lot of alcohol on long flights, preferring to sip his glass of water regularly refilled from the large bottles of Evian provided by the ever-attentive cabin staff.
One little tightly uniformed redhead had attracted his attention. The independence and self-assuredness of Australian women excited him, and Japan had been a sensual drought - he found the women there mostly unattractive and servile, although always eager to please him.The incessant meetings, the laborious consultative process and endless rounds of socialising in late-night bars with the salarymen had irritated him and the long, delayed flight had left him jaded and rather too tired to face the drive home.
As the dawn cracked and smeared its orange glow across the horizon at 39,000 feet, and the sun rose and invaded the port windows in the forward section of the aircraft, he felt the engines ease back into an idle, the aircraft's computer maintained altitude by reducing speed, then tipped the nose gently into the descent profile, over the Great Dividing Range and on down into Melbourne.
"Do you need an immigration card, Mr. Black?" The petite redhead was at his side.
"No thanks, I have an electronic passport," he replied.
"Is there anything else I can get you before we land, sir?" she cooed softly, smiling.
"No thanks".
"If you need me, just press the call button, I'll just be in the galley preparing for landing."
He wasn't sure but he thought she might be hinting at something more than the usual first-class-cabin services, he thought. He turned and looked at her as she strutted back behind the heavy curtain separating first from business and somewhere behind that, in the wilderness, the frightful cramp of economy class.
Her roundly-smooth, pert bottom strained against the seams of her airline-issue skirt, not a panty-line to be seen. Nice. He settled back into the chair. Thank goodness his days of flying cattle class were long behind him.
Assuming the top position of power in the business had come naturally to him. He was used to getting his way in all things except his home life, where he often felt cheated, as if he were living someone else's life instead.
The kids were fine, he adored them and was proud of their academic and career achievements, but his wife never shared his keen interest in matters of sensuality, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd even been allowed to kiss her on the mouth, let alone brush his hand gently over her sex.
She was incredibly attractive, and men would turn and look at her as she passed, but she had no libido whatever -- not for him, anyway, and as far as he knew she was interested in nobody else.
Any time he tried to kiss her she would turn her head slightly, as if greeting a friend, not a lover or life-partner. And at night, in bed, any time he attempted to caress her neck, back or side, she would roll over and tell him she was tired, and it was time to sleep.
Clearly, there were issues. And whenever he gently raised the matter, there would be shouting, after which she would dissolve in floods of tears.
It was all too much trouble, which was why he's had the torrid affair ten years before. Just seeking some comfort, some skin-on-skin intimacy, and some release from the burning desire that would often rage in his loins.
He thought again about the redhead. She exuded sexuality, her pert little breasts bobbed gently inside her uniform shirt, almost boyishly. The flatness of her bosom meant she wasn't really taking risks by having one more shirt button undone than was usual.
But when she had leaned over him to pick up the china and cutlery from the adjacent tray table where he had moved it to make room after the meal, he caught her faint floral scent, and a tiny, fleeting glimpse of the fine silk camisole she wore instead of a brassiere, and felt that familiar stirring below the pit of his stomach that he hadn't felt in a while. It ached as his abdominal muscles tensed and he gently stretched them out, like a waking lion.
After the landing, as the aircraft taxied to the gate she brought him his suit jacket.
He handed her a business card, saying "You've been most attentive, if there's anything I can ever do for you, please feel free to call my office".
She blushed, as redheads often do, and thanked him profusely.
Immigration was a breeze because he was first to the e-Gate, and with only carry-on baggage he was soon waved through the customs x-ray area and out into the arrivals public concourse, where the heat and noise of the expectant throng, jockeying for a glimpse of their long-lost friend or family members, assaulted his senses.
He really didn't feel like the long drive home, nor did he feel like returning to his wife, and the thought of the redhead had given him the idea of taking the rest of the day off. Instead of the bus for the long-term car park, he walked across the road to the Airport Parkroyal Hotel.
"Do you have a day room available?" he asked the reception clerk, a dusky Asian, probably from India.
"Yes sir, just for today?" she asked.
"Yes, please. I've been flying all night and I need some proper sleep," he replied.
"Oh, people come here for the day for all sorts of reasons, sir,'' she responded, flashing a bright white smile.
"Room 1207, sir, do have a good rest. Checkout by 7 PM otherwise the full rate applies. Do you need a hand with your luggage?"
"No, I'm fine. The lift?"
She indicated a bank of stainless steel doors behind him.
The room was like most other hotel rooms around the world, but larger than the Japanese hotel rooms he'd been in all week. Everything was sparkling clean and smelled slightly of lemon, bleach, and disinfectant.
He turned the air conditioning down, stripped off and stepped into the shower. His muscles ached, and he was thirsty again from the zero humidity in the aircraft. Drying himself, he opened the bar fridge and helped himself to a cold bottle of spring water. Local only, no Evian here, he mused.
He drew the curtains, texted his wife to say the flight was delayed and he'd be a day late, and climbed into the bed. The crisp, cold heavy cotton sheets crackled as he made himself comfortable, and sleep enveloped him quickly like a dark, grey, silent blanket.
Three hours later he awoke with a throbbing headache, a matching erection and an urgent need to urinate. All the water he'd drunk to rehydrate during the flight had filled his bladder to bursting, and he leapt from the bed into the bathroom, pushed down on his erection until it dissipated, and let down a stream of urine that would have made any racehorse proud.
He must have been standing there for well over a minute before the stream finally abated. He shook off the final drops from his cock, flushed the toilet, turned around and surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror. He was distinguished-looking, and fit, while not athletic, but he was quite muscular and toned for his age. His hair was greying at the temples, otherwise still thick and mostly dark.
The headache diminishing, he showered again quickly, finishing with thirty seconds of full-on cold water to rejuvenate his skin and close the pores, toweled briskly, and pulled on a comfortable pair of casual pants and a striped linen shirt before leaving the room to forage amongst the hotel's public areas for some lunch.
* * *
Downstairs at the front doors, a sleek silver sedan pulled up. The doorman, whose livelihood depended on the level of his attention to the owners of such expensive European vehicles, peered into the tinted windows and saw the lone occupant. He sprang to the driver's door and opened it just as the engine stopped.
Blisteringly hot air wafted from under the vehicle, and as the female driver swung her shapely legs from the wheel-well out onto the concrete driveway, the smell of petrol and the red-hot stainless steel exhaust system mixed with the fresh, cold air spilling from the air-conditioned interior.
She swiveled to collect a hat, handbag and pale silk gloves from the passenger seat, and as she did so, the doorman was treated to an expanse of lacy stocking-top and the tiniest hint of a creamy inner thigh above. He averted his eyes -- in his culture, it was unacceptable to look upon a woman so, unless she was married to you, and that was never going to happen.
"Would you look after this for me?" She asked politely. "I'm just popping in for lunch. Back in an hour."
Her hand deftly slipped a carefully folded twenty into his, which he slipped, with equal deftness, into his uniform pocket.
