Heathrow Airport, Terminal 3.
What a hellhole. There is no more depressing airport than Heathrow in winter; low ceilings, inadequate lighting, crowds of weary travelers speaking a hundred languages. With my boarding pass in hand I stood at the gate, trying to rise above it all while I waited to board the flight to San Francisco. The Gate Agent took my pass and slid it into the slot of the scanner..... Beep! "Oh Shit," I thought, "what now?" This was shortly after 9-11 and there were a lot of new procedures to learn. I stared at the agent as he furrowed his brow and peered at a small screen.
"Congratulations Sir," he said, "you're traveling in Upper Class this flight."
Let the joy be unconfined! There is a God. This was my first upgrade from Virgin. Thank You, Richard Branson.
I slung my carry-on over my shoulder and rushed down the jetway fearing they would change their minds about the upgrade. The ramp shuddered and shook under the cadence of 500 pairs of feet. I triumphantly presented my boarding pass at the aircraft door and was directed to the steps leading to the privileged inner sanctum. Upstairs, no less! Much quieter upstairs.
With my bag banging my heels I clambered up the stairway, past the Cabin Attendant with her Miss America smile frozen on her face, and slowly made my way toward the Upper Class seating area just behind the cockpit. I found an empty overhead bin, shoved in my bag, and settled into the fully reclining, filthy-capitalist approved, red leather seat. Not bad at all. I could get used to this. The seat to my right, the window seat, was still vacant and there was little time left for boarding. For a moment I thought I might have the whole row to myself for the flight, but it was then I heard a commotion in the cabin behind. A young woman carrying more packages, than she had hands for, staggered through the curtained entryway.
"Is this 65 H?" she inquired.
I answered in the affirmative and she began opening all the overhead bins, looking for sufficient space to store the pack-mule load of packages she'd bought from the Duty Free Store AFTER she cleared security. I could hear her cursing softly under her breath as one bin after another was found to be full.
"You have some storage bins here under the window", I offered helpfully, just wanting her to sit down and be quiet. I could tell she'd had a few toddies and I was beginning to dread ten hours with this woman. With her remaining load of merchandise she slid across in front of me and I caught a slight whiff of a very subtle perfume. She DID smell nice. She crammed her remaining stash into the storage bins and slid into her seat, dutifully buckling her belt. She put her arms on the armrests and surveyed the scene.
She was Latina, I'd guess, twenties..... late twenties, cute, short dark-brown hair, nice eyes.... and those eyebrows, plucked into an expression of perpetual surprise. She smiled at me and turned her attention to her in-flight entertainment magazine and busied herself trying all the bells and whistles of her seat. As we taxied toward the runway, she turned to me, extended her hand and introduced herself as Maria. I gave her my name and she settled back, with eyes closed, hands demurely folded in her lap.
Her pre-flight toddies had the desired effect and she half dozed until we arrived at 40,000 feet and the drink service commenced. I asked for champagne, and so did she. She struggled with the remote for her seatback TV screen, but seemed engrossed in whatever she could get to work. I opened my book and decided to just tune her out. She was obviously a little drunk and I just couldn't be bothered to open up a conversation. But, damn, she smelled nice and she had nice hands, too. She asked to slide out to use the toilet and she semi-gracefully climbed over my legs as she headed for the aisle. She turned to face me as she stepped out and I noticed that she was wearing a sweater that showed her breasts to their best advantage. And nice ones they were, too. She was an attractive woman, and I began to dread the flight a little less.
After a couple of hours in the air, one meal service, and prodigious amounts of champagne, Maria and I had established a rapport. It turned out that she had just been discharged from the Air Force, but had enlisted in the reserves. Right away we had a common interest because I served four years in the USAF. Also, God knows how, we discovered that we both had, and love, dogs.
By now we were buddies, and I found her frank, her sometimes coarse manner, stimulating. Plus the fact that, to keep the volume down, she had to lean very close to me to speak...... and there was that scent again. She was a party animal, no doubt, and she excused herself to visit the downstairs bar. I used the quiet time to grab my blanket and wrap myself in the arms of Morpheus.
I was wakened by a racket coming from the rear of the cabin. I could hear the cabin attendant speaking sternly and Maria wittering on loudly. As the curtain parted, Maria was escorted to her seat by the Flight Attendant.
"Please take your seat, madam", she said sternly, as my seat mate stumbled across my legs, coming close to falling into my lap.
"They cut me off at the bar," she said plaintively.
"I can see why" I retorted.... she was absolutely smashed. She couldn't find her seatbelt so I had her sit forward as I searched behind her. I put my hand on her lower back and pushed her forward a little as I groped for the belt ends. It had been a long time since I had even touched female flesh and a thrill ran through me. I left my hand there as long as politely possible and than helped her buckle up. The alcohol finally sapped her strength and she slid into a boozy sleep. I covered her with a blanket and carefully removed her glasses.
As she slept, she turned to face me, and once reached out, as though to embrace a lover, but too soon she curled up with her hands on her chest and pulled up the blanket.
A couple of hours later she stirred and then sat up, as though she was unsure of where she was. As she saw me, she smiled and asked me to get her a glass of wine, seeing as she had been banned for the rest of the flight. I did as she requested and we dove, once again, into deep, increasingly personal, alcohol-fuelled conversation.
I found out things that I was sure I, as a virtual stranger, shouldn't know, but she was uninhibited... and the sex talk began to have an effect on me. As she confided to me that she had just broken up with her English fiancé, but would really only miss his thick cock, I began to detect, what was to me, a certain "come hither" note in her voice. Of course, we were strangers, I told myself, "Don't get stupid." Then she leaned close, and in a conspiratorial tone, informed me that she liked to watch men pee, that it turned her on and that she was puzzled by the English habit of putting washbasins and faucets in bedrooms.... "for what?"
"I wish I could piss like a man, she announced, and then I could piss in the basin and not use the cold bathroom."
I spent the flight alternately lusting and laughing, the time certainly flew and as we touched down in the San Francisco sunshine. I realized that she and I would part, perhaps never to meet again. I produced a business card and told her to e-mail me if the urge took her and as we deplaned and approached the luggage carousel we said an awkward goodbye, half hugging and exchanging light pecks on the cheek. A short walk to the car and real life was there to great me.
Months passed, and I had almost put Ms Latina out of my mind. As I checked my e-mail one morning.... there was a note from Maria with a quick update on her activities since we'd parted. She was in College in Stockton, getting her Pharmacology degree, and was free for a few days. Seizing the opportunity, I invited her to The Wine Country for a glass of wine and some good conversation. To my surprise, she accepted. I was stunned that she accepted my invitation being that she's much younger than me, much. I was thrilled at the thought of seeing her again although in my mind I questioned her motives.
Chapter 2
The late-spring sun bathes the California Wine Country in its golden light as the dogs let me know that someone is driving up our private road to the house. A silver VW Passat crunches to a halt in the gravel. The door swings open and trouble steps out. She is taller than I remember, and has a pair of cargo pants slung low on her hips. A low cut blouse, with a lot of bare midriff clings to her torso and the scoop neckline displays a lot of luscious cleavage. She is glorious.
She walks confidently up to me, her dazzling smile lights up her face.
"Nice to see you again" she says and gives me a warm hug.
"Come in, please" I answer. She steps through the door into the living room. Both my dogs greet her as a long-lost friend, so I know she must be OK.
I pour her a glass of Pinot Grigio and we toast our meeting and friendship. I usher her to the couch and she looks around the room. "Nice place", she announces..... "but a little small". "Size isn't everything", I counter, and she gives me a look I was to see many times after that.
After a tour of the house, we pack a small cooler with supplies. With Pinot Grigio, we hike up the hill behind the house. From there we can see Calistoga in the distance, and Mt. St. Helena beyond. A bluish haze hangs over the Valley and the wine begins to loosen my tongue. We sit on a log and talk of many things, fools and Kings (Apologies to Charles Aznavour) and I begin to feel that this woman is not just here for the pleasure of my conversation. A chill begins to creep into the air as the sun sinks and the wine is gone. We make our way gingerly down the hill, the dogs leading the way, apparently the ground isn't as firm as I remember, I seem to be having trouble finding my footing, as does she.
Upon reaching the house she excuses herself to use the bathroom, casting a wicked glance over her shoulder as she closes the door. Ever the good host, I repair to the kitchen and crack open yet another bottle of wine. I hear the door to the bathroom open and a moment later she appears. Gratefully accepting the glass of wine she turns to the window, leans on the counter and stares out at Mt George. "Nice view", she remarks idly, "not bad from where I'm sitting, either", I say with a smile as I watch her blouse slide up her back, exposing her smooth, honey coloured skin. I hear her chuckle quietly.
