The flight lottery. Christina had not paid extra to pick her seat and had ended up with a middle. Her own fault. She looked at the book in her hands, already bored with it. Passengers made their way toward her row. Guy, black Harley Davidson tee. Please, no. He went past. Yes, thank you, fate. Businessman in a suit. Acceptable. He went past. Oh well. Girl, blue hair, sullen look. No thanks. She stopped. Pointed to the window seat. Christina sighed.
When the girl was seated, she put in ear buds and leaned against the cabin wall and closed her eyes. This would do, Christina thought. She supposed there was only so much luck she could expect. On the flight from Omaha to Denver the window seat had gone unoccupied. She had moved over into it, leaving the middle seat between herself and an older woman -- who, honestly, was pleasant enough -- open.
Next up was a man maybe ten or so years older than she, early forties. Taller than her own five foot ten inches. Casual yet stylish. A permanent smile. Please, yes. He looked at her, put his carry-on in the overhead bin, and took the aisle seat. Yes!
"I'm Lance," he said with a smile. Christina put her book away.
Lance was from Denver, en route to San Francisco on business. He asked where Christina was going.
"Marin County. Friday is our anniversary. Four years."
"Congratulations," Lance said warmly. "Anything exciting planned?"
Marshall had gone out a week earlier. He had more vacation time available, and his friend Peter, who lived in Sausalito, had a boat and they were going to spend some time on the ocean fishing. They'd rented a cottage down by the water and would have a week to themselves. Though Marshall had been hinting that he might not have gotten enough of being out on the water.
"Not much," she told Lance. "Just relaxing. Strolling around interesting places. Eating out. You know, couple stuff."
"I know what couples do," he said easily, with that ever-present smile. Christina looked at him but she couldn't make out his precise meaning. Probably she was seeing what wasn't there, she concluded. Then he held up his left hand. Well. Not that it mattered. They pleasantly chatted as the aircraft departed. After climb-out, Christine excused herself.
"I have to go to the ladies room," she said apologetically as Lance rose so she could get to the aisle. Why did I say that?, she asked herself while walking toward the back of the plane. 'ladies room'? Because I like him, she answered herself, and it sounds better than
restroom
. It was silly. But the fact was that she didn't have to use the lavatory for anything more than its mirror. Mostly, she just wanted to assure herself of how she appeared. Minor adjustments were all that were required. But why? On a plane? Heading for a spousal getaway? What could happen? Would she even want it to? Christina shook her head, cleared her thoughts. She was having fun.
Their paths had crossed at the right time. She was glad she'd just gotten her hair trimmed and her nails done. The black jeans she wore were flattering of her slender figure. She could at least charm the married man in the seat next to hers, amusing and stimulating herself for the next hour or so.
Christina flushed the toilet for appearances, then made her way back to her seat. Blue hair looked to be asleep. Good. Momentarily, she and Lance were back and deep in a pleasant conversation. He spoke of his interests -- outdoors, especially biking and hiking. She reciprocated with her own, which included gardening and running. They dwelled for a time on the commonalities of hitting the trail and jogging. Lance spoke of his wife, Elaine, and Christina told him about Marshall. She liked hearing about the attractive man's wife. It was a bit perverse, but she enjoyed the comparison between the woman she'd never met and herself. He showed her photos. The woman was more cute than pretty (score one for Christina). She had nice, large breasts (point, Elaine, she thought). But she was shorter (Christina!) and curvier (Elaine...). Christina lingered on the photo for a moment. She was sure that she was better at the carnal arts than Lance's wife. Game, set, match.
They momentarily got just a little lighter, and she knew they were beginning the descent into San Francisco. A disappointment. It could have lasted hours more, and she'd have been content.
On final approach, they were buckled and waiting. Christina's arm was on the rest, when she felt Lance's touch. He had put his hand on hers. A line of electricity ran up her arms. Then down her body. His touch was easy, light. It seemed as though he lingered where his finger contacted her wedding ring. She quivered involuntarily. Lance looked at her with a smile that made Christina melt.
They parted with pleasantries just outside the jetway, then got separated in the throng. Christina smiled and sighed.
That night, Marshall got fucked like he hadn't gotten fucked in months. At one point, Christina had to bite down on her lip to avoid crying out the name of the man she'd met on the plane.
Monday was sublime. They went into the city, walked about. Dined pleasantly. Christina bought some books. Tuesday they hiked Mount Tamalpais. She'd have preferred a run, but that was all right. Then Marshall decided that he was in the mood for some more fishing in the ocean, so Wednesday would see Peter and himself heading out through the Gate for a long day at Bodega Bay. He had inquired politely enough, and Christina had acquiesced without quibbling. Still, she was annoyed. So her husband went to bed early and was up at four and out by five to meet Peter at the marina. She slept late, then had a light breakfast in the lobby before pondering what to do.
The weather on the television said that the day would be gorgeous on the coast. Perfect for Point Reyes, the National Seashore, which was usually chilly but on this day would be warmed by an inland breeze. Why not? she thought. And so Christina put on a pair of sandals and packed her running shoes just in case. Shorts and a tee. She grabbed a book. On the way out of town, she stopped at a supermarket and bought some fruit. On a whim, she grabbed a bottle of grenache.
The ride over the hills was on a delightfully curvy, scenic narrow road. Christina killed a few minutes at the visitor center, then drove out to Point Limantour. Over hills again, but lower this time. She parked, then walked the five minutes out to the beach. It was over a hundred feet wide, the flat past the dunes. Sand for miles in either direction.
Christina kicked off her sandals and dug in her toes. Warm sand over the tops of her feet, cool sand beneath. It was very nice. She was not alone, and surveyed the others there. Couples. A family. Kids playing in the gentle surf, moms under umbrellas, dads tossing a frisbee or playing with a dog. There was a piece of driftwood, most of a tree really, down a ways. She walked to it. Worn smooth. Christina sat down.
For a while, maybe half an hour, she just watched. The dark blue water under the light blue sky. The people, all about. Pelicans flying just above the waves. Finally, she took out her book and read. Not a bad day, really. Christina mostly forgot about Marshall, out there somewhere to the north, fishing.
"Well, well, well," came the voice, nearby. She glanced up. Lance. His smile.
She grinned, marked her book and set it aside, and stood.
"Fancy meeting you here," he said.
Her heart fluttered. Out of nowhere, possibilities. At that moment, Christina was suddenly aware of her arousal. Her nipples had stiffened, but she did not think they were visible through the sports bra and top she wore. She did not dare look. She was also moistening. Getting ready, she realized. Her body was preparing to receive Lance. Crazy. It was just a happenstance coincidence. It's not like Christina was planning on something more. But her body was. She smiled.
