Ian Hill hated flying. Everything from the excessive waiting to the cramped seats and the dry air. Yet here he was on board a plane heading halfway around the globe. His hands should have been sweaty by now, and typically he would be repeating all the safety procedures in his mind. But not this time. Instead, Ian was distracted. He couldn't help but stare at the legs in front of him, forgetting all about his resentment for flying. The only reminder was the insistent beat of his heart, but this was not due to the plane taxing to the runway. No, it had started when the flight attendant had crossed her legs as she sat down. Now she was tightening her seat belt and preparing for takeoff. Her movements drew his attention to her chest. Ian had first noticed her during boarding, but he had gotten in the wrong line to get a good look at her. Then he had managed to hold up his own line as he tried to peek through the queue of passengers to his right. He was only rewarded with a brief glimpse of her brown eyes and her polite smile.
A little downcast, he sat down in his seat. But the disappointment quickly turned to delight when the flight attendant had started the safety demonstration right in front of his row. The attendant, or miss Garon as her name tag read, was young and tall, with dark brown hair pulled back in a bun. Her copper-colored skin had been blessed by numerous hours in the sun. She looked to be in her late twenties and definitely Italian. The tight black uniform dress hugged her body graciously; she was slim, elegant but with a few curves in all the right places. The dress stopped just above her knees when she stood up, but it had ridden a fair bit up her thighs when she sat and crossed her legs. The shoes were black as well, the design a simple attempt at comfortable high heels, and they had not caught Ian's attention like the dress. Until now. One shoe was dangling from the tip for her foot, and he found himself watching just a little too eagerly. Reminding himself not to stare quite so blatantly, he slowly raised his eyes, looking for something else to occupy his mind. He sneaked a last peek at her face and froze. She was staring right back at him! She smiled politely but held his gaze, leaving no doubt that she had caught him. Ian felt his cheeks blush and stomach tingle. He gave a forced and embarrassed smile and quickly looked away to avoid further embarrassment.
Ian always got off on the wrong foot with women. When he met someone he liked, he always managed to make a fool of himself, just like now. Feeling down, he looked around the plane; on his left was another passenger, an older male, who tried to look important, arranging and rearranging everything in front of him. Earlier, Ian had seen him swallow a pill. Now he was putting on what looked like an expensive pair of headphones and a pair of Gorgio Armani sleeping covers. On Ian's right was the window. Outside, the Logan International Airport's terminal building was disappearing from Ian's view as the plane reached the runway.
While the Airbus 330-200 began accelerating for takeoff, Ian continued to peer out the window. It would be a long time before he was back in Boston again. His reflection in the window showed his round glasses and untidy black hair. He tried a few times to comb it to the side, but not with much success. Ian had just turned 28 and was now on his way to Rome for a six months stay. The goal was to continue his work with Amara Romano. Professor Amara Romano, he reminded himself. She had recently been offered a position as a professor back in Italy, but the many hours they had spent together had wiped away any formality. This trip was the final part of his ph.d. studies, but he had already done more than enough to finish his dissertation. So to Ian, it seemed mostly like the prize for a job well done.
The work they had done together was, in his own view, excellent. Their articles had been very well received too. In general, he was proud of his work but quite unsure of what the future held for him. There were not many options for experts in ancient and lost languages, not even if you included a near-perfect understanding of Latin. He dreaded ending up in a museum, aging along with artifacts on display, slowly fading away until he was a part of the permanent exhibition there. He shuddered just thinking about it, then pushed the thoughts away. He should focus on the months immediately ahead of him. Visiting Amara would be good, or well more than good - it would be great. He loved working with her, even if it seemed like Amara had gotten most of the publicity so far. If Ian was honest to himself, he liked Amara more than just as a colleague. But then again, he might be great with old languages, but he was never really good with words of his own. Especially when women were involved.
The man next to Ian had fallen asleep for the night flight. The effect of the sleeping pill had kicked in fast. Ian turned to look forward, and again he paused at the attendant's amazing legs. Her shoe was still dangling dangerously from the tip of the right foot, and it had a strange tantalizing effect on him. Taking a deep breath, he started to feel a growing need to adjusts his pants before things became uncomfortable. He did so quickly and covered the bulge forming in his pants with his hands. Then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. The sleeping man next to him wouldn't notice even if he had taken his pants off, and his row of seats was a little further forward than the middle section of the plane, so the passengers there couldn't see him. In front of him was just the separation to the next part of the cabin. Satisfied, Ian leaned back and moved his hands to his sides, chuckling lightly at how obvious his erection was in his comfy pants. Closing his eyes, about to try and nap before they served dinner, a dreadful realization came upon him, and he slowly turned towards the flight attendant again. His heart beat faster, his hands got sweaty. Her foot has stopped, and he slowly looked at her face, and his heart sank. She was staring right back at him, grinning broadly. She had, of course, seen everything.
Scrambling to cover himself, the woman couldn't help but laugh. After this, she kept looking back at Ian, licking and pursing her lips and crossing and uncrossing her legs, toying with his attention. Ian was helpless. Despite his best efforts and growing embarrassment, he kept looking at her. Registering her every move. His erection was back, yearning for him to touch it. When the attendant took off her shoes and placed them below her seat, his cock twitched. She twisted her toes and rubbed her feet, sore from the heels. Ian felt the beginning of a wet spot forming at the tip of his cock.
"Do you like the seat? Are you all comfortable there?" she asked with almost no accent.
"M-Me?" Ian stammered and pointed to himself. She nodded back at him. "I'm good... thanks," Ian answered, and suddenly the cabin felt very hot.
"I mean all the extra legroom, that is the best row. You can really stretch your legs here, right?" As she spoke, her legs stretched towards Ian, and she curled her toes seductively in front of him. Her toenails painted red were visible through the delicate fabric of her stockings.
"... yes, you can." Ian's answer not much more than a hoarse whisper.
"I can see that you are very alright. And the name is Julia. Enjoy your flight, mister?" She paused and waited for Ian to reply with his name. He was starting to sweat, small droplets forming on his forehead. He wiped them away before answering.
"Hill. I'm Ian Hill."
Just then, he was saved by the bell, or rather by the sound of the seat belt sign. When it turned off, Julia put her shoes back on and stood up. She flashed him a knowing smile before starting her duties, and Ian was left flustered and a little ashamed of how he seemingly had left all self-control behind in Boston. Outside the window, the light clouds over Boston passed by. He had barely registered their takeoff! Even if he had embarrassed himself, Ian had to admit that Julia's shapely legs were the best remedy for fear of flying he had ever tried.
Only a few minutes later, the narrow wagons were ready and being pushed down the aisle. First came a wagon with drinks, operated by a middle-aged male attendant, and second a wagon with dinner pushed by Julia. Ian ordered a glass of white wine, which was not that bad. Holding it in his left hand after tasting it, he needed a place to put it. The table was to his right, and he struggled to unfold it with just one hand when Julia stopped next to him.
"Chicken or beef, sir?" The inquiry interrupted Ian.
"Oh! Chicken, please," Ian said, losing the battle with the foldable table, and it slid back down.
"Are you alright, Mr. Hill? You look a little flustered," her voice full of compassion, but her eyes twinkled mischievously.
