An hour or so into the flight and things were going well in row 34. We continued to make pleasant conversation during lunch, idle chat about work and life in general in our respective parts of the world. We drank red wine with our meal and rounded off the event with coffee and cognac. No doubt the alcohol played a significant part in making us both feel relaxed and at ease with each other's company. Once the stewardesses had completed their clean-up act down the aisles, the atmosphere in the aircraft became calm once more as the cabin lights were dimmed and our fellow passengers settled down to the in-flight entertainment, read their books or fell asleep. There had been a pause in our chatting for around five minutes and the drone of the plane's engines sounded prominently in my head. She was busy staring out of the window, seemingly deep in thought.
"What can you see," I asked, trying to ignite the conversation once again.
"Bright lights of what looks like a large ship in the sea," she replied. "It even looks quite large from up here".
From my aisle seat I strained to look across and out of the window.
"I need the toilet," she continued. "Take my seat while I'm gone and you'll be able to see it."
I unbuckled my seat belt and moved out into the aisle to let her pass.
As she exited our row, she whispered softly, "Be sure to keep it warm for me while I'm gone."
My face broke into a bright smile as I watched her head off towards the rear of the aircraft. As I moved back into row 34 and took up her seat by the window, a strange tingling sensation came over me. Upon sitting down I was immediately conscious of how warm the seat felt. And it was her warmth. Was this natural to feel so aroused by a stranger like this, I wondered? I noticed the book she had been reading tucked into the back of the seat in front of me. I took it out. John Grisham's latest novel. Again my heart raced as I held the book in my hands, flicking through the pages as if it were strictly taboo. I held it to my face, attempting to smell her presence within it. The book, however, was evidently very new and to my dismay it smelled of nothing other than a fresh, crisp paperback. I stifled a laugh as I realised just how silly I was being.
She returned at this point and as I motioned to my feet she shook her head. "It's OK," she said. "You stay there." And to my surprise she sat down in the seat next to me and made herself comfortable. "Did you see the boat?" she asked.
"Uh, yes I did. Very big, wasn't it?" I replied, lying through my teeth. She then noticed the book in my hand.
"Do you like John Grisham?"
"Yes I do," I replied quite genuinely, "Though I've seen more of the films made from his books than actually read his work."
"Me too," she said. "I love films. I saw a great film last night, an oldie from the 80s. It was called Sex, Lies and Videotape..."
"Oh I love that film," I interrupted. "With James Spader."
"And Andie MacDowell. That's right," she exclaimed. "It was so good."
I laughed. "You know, when I first saw that film, my girlfriend at the time thought it was really perverted for a guy to get off videoing women talking about sex. The film made her angry."
She laughed. "Really? Was she a prude?"
"A little," I mused, trying to sound a little sympathetic towards the foibles of an old flame. "I remember arguing with her. Surely he AND the women were all getting something out of it?"
"I totally agree", she said boldly. We turned and faced each other as we did so we both simultaneously burst into laughter.
"Truly I do, " she continued. "And the more so because these women were strangers to him. And he a stranger to them. That's what made the whole thing so erotic."
Her words rang loud in my head as I recalled the sensation I felt sitting in her seat only moments earlier. The tingling, aching sensation I experienced caressing her book. My head was heavy with alcohol as my mind began to wander. Suddenly I was aware that she was talking once more.
"Have you ever shared an intimate story of a sexual nature with a total stranger?" she was asking me. She was now leaning into her seat, her head sideways facing me, smiling teasingly. I hesitated for a while, as if considering the question seriously.
"Actually, I don't believe I have."
"I'll trade you then," she taunted. "An exchange of a deeply personal experience... From one stranger to another."
Our eyes met once again. Her pretty face glowed before me. For all my expectations, I could not believe this was happening. Clearly the alcohol was having the same effect on her.
"Are you serious," I asked, stalling for time.
"Why not?" she replied. "It'll be fun. It can be about anything we like. Maybe something we'd not even consider sharing with our best friends."
"I see," I teased, digesting her words. "Something as intimate as that?"
"Yes," she purred. "But it has to be a true story. No making it up or wishful thinking!"
I laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it," I said mockingly.
"Good," she beamed. "Then you go first. I dare you!"
I shot her a quick look in the eyes and took a deep breath. "OK," I said calmly. "Let me think."
She held her mouth open slightly in anticipation, as I appeared to be thinking long and hard, already certain in my mind as to which story I wanted to tell her. Lowering my voice to that of a whisper I began.
"This is the true story of the pleasure I get when taking a shower."
She shuddered at my words and huddled closer to me so she could hear. "Oh wow," she said. "Go on."
Before commencing my story, I leaned forward in my seat and took a look around us. We were well into our journey now and there was relative calm in our immediate cabin area. Sensing my concern, she seized the opportunity to lift the armrest between us so that when I sat back in my seat she was able to snuggle up to me.
"Is that better?" she asked. Considering our relationship was less than a couple of hours old, the physical closeness between us seemed very natural indeed.
"Perfect," I whispered. When I turned to face her at last our faces were less than 6 inches apart. I felt the eager warmth from her breath as I began my story.
Six months ago I moved apartment. It was a new building with all mod cons. The kitchen and bathroom were particularly well fitted out. The bathroom had a separate bath and shower, and the shower itself had the most amazing shower head. For the first month or so I took my daily shower without paying much attention to the shower head. After all, why should I? A shower was a shower, right?
Then one evening, after returning home from a gruelling game of squash with a friend, I jumped in the shower in need of a real good soak. As usual, I spent a minute or two standing motionless under the gushing flow of water, invigorating me from head to my toe. I then lathered myself all over, conscious of eradicating the sweat from my body. As soon as I was done, I proceeded to rinse the soap off, and on this particular occasion I chose to take the shower head down from its mounting on the wall to speed up the operation. By doing so, I became aware for the first time of a number of dial settings on the shower head. By turning the dial I realised that the head was capable of delivering a wide range of power sprays. During installation, the head was set on a mid setting, which had served me well since moving in. Turning the dial in one direction made the spray more concentrated and powerful; turning it the other way made it more gentle and sensitive. Ignoring my soapy body for a moment, I selected the most powerful setting, replaced the head in its wall mounting and moaned in agonising pleasure as the pulsating jet of water beat down against my back, effectively massaging my aching muscles.
After five minutes or so I decided I could stand no more. Taking down the shower head once again, I selected the most gentle setting and began to wash down what remained of the soap from my body. In contrast to the power setting, the fine spray of water now soothed me as I waved it about my body. I recall in all honesty that at this point it never crossed my mind at all where this might lead.
