Night flight to Europe. Night flight from Asia. Recapturing a day as you outrace the spinning globe, lights flashing high up above the dark vastness of the Indian Ocean. Night flight to Europe, from the sun-heated furnace of Jakarta to the soft, grey chill of Frankfurt.
Night flight with a lawyer, a lover. I'd admired her, yet again, at the hotel pool that day. The heat and humidity had seemed to affect others, it had even shocked the dense vegetation half screening the expensive, tightly-stacked and minimalist towers rising beyond. She, however, looked almost sprightly in a striped bikini, the navy and white pattern vivid against the creamy paleness of her skin. Shoulder-length blonde hair (several tendrils gathered together over a high cheekbone and chiselled nose) framed a classic Nordic composition of high cheekbones and jade green eyes that sparkled vividly.
The string bikini would have challenged many a 25 year old: a top of fabric triangles that demanded high and firm breasts , and bottoms that required a tautness of belly. She carried both off superbly; fit and with an athletic economy of motion, her body belied her age. Her c-cups strained against the fabric firmly, leaving it stretched and hinting at perfectly defined nipples. So brief were the bottoms that it took little imagination to see that, below a firm and athletic belly, she was fully waxed. Her body was as toned and fit as it had been 15 years earlier when she swam and ski'd to a very high standard. She was tall enough that in heels she almost looked him in the eye. She gave an overall impression of occupying precisely that point at the intersection of lean and feminine.
Later, as they walked through the enormity of the modern airport, she drew eyes in a Prada wrap dress and beige Ferragamo suede flats.
The upstairs cabin of the cavernous Airbus 380 aircraft is split. The section forward between the first galley was only four rows, divided into little islands of sleepers by the seating pods. In the dark, curtained off and half empty, it felt still, almost abandoned.
The upstairs business class washrooms on the A380 are an adventurer's delight. Curtained off from the cabin, the two washrooms flanked a broad stair down to the lower level. A broad vestibule - enough for several people to comfortably mill around in - was set between them and the wall and curtains delineating the cabin.
At roughly two meters in length, it was easily three times the length of a normal airplane washroom, and much wider. A broad sink was set below an expanse of mirror; the far end of the port side washroom was occupied by a padded bench.
I whispered as much to her.
Dinner had been served and cleared away. The scattered passengers had drifted into sleep, some fitful, some deep. Two screens still glowed with the varied flashes of a movie, though the watchers were quite buried in the gloom of their pods and were likely in the land of nod.
I'd woken and had gone to brush my teeth, the airline amenity bag tucked under my arm. I returned to my seat to find a note on it. "Meet me forward" it said, simply. I crumpled the note and stuffed it in my pocket.
I walked softly forward through the sleeping cabin and parted the thick curtain to the washroom vestibule. A mix of white and blue lights gave it slightly unearthly feel. Centered between the washrooms was a rounded arch and a broad stairwell leading down to the vestibule separating the First Class cabin on the lower level from the cockpit. All was still and quiet save for the continuous rumble of the jet engine and the insistent hiss of the ventilation.
I knocked softly on the door of the port washroom: the one I'd not been in. There was a pause and the pale grey door with a subtle patterning opened a crack. Set against the greys of the walls and the dark floor a line of creamy flesh and blond hair was visible. She peered out and then a lean and elegant arm - the odd lighting revealing the subtlest trace of blonde hair - reached out through the crack in the door, turned and an index finger curled to invite me in.
"Open the door. Let me see." My whisper sounded loud amidst the emptiness of the vestibule. "I want to photograph you."
The door opened two feet and then, slowly, temptingly it swung wider.
She was holding the door ajar with her right arm; her left was cocked, arm resting on her hip. She'd removed her dress: it hung from a hook visible to the side and just behind her. Her thong and the light bra she'd be wearing were draped over the dress. The angle of her arm meant that she was fully, frontally exposed. The round underswell of her breasts was now surmounted by two pink nipples that had stiffened in the mild cold. She'd crossed her ankles one over the other, pushing thighs together providing a modicum of coverage for the waxed, tightly defined perfection of her slit. She'd loosened her ponytail and the hairband, the same dark blue as the belt of her wrap dress, adorned her wrist above her ladies' Omega.
She grinned. I fished an iphone from my pocket, raised it and snapped a head-to-toe.
"Step out". Her eyes widened. "Step out" I repeated, more slowly. The door closed somewhat and her head peeked out to gaze left and the around and down the stairs.
"Is there anyone?" she said in a low murmur.
I turned and parted the curtain. The cabin was sleeping, there was no sign of the cabin crew, and there were no noises in the galley beyond the dimly lit pods of blankets and indistinct shapes of passengers sleeping on the lie-flat beds.
I released the curtain, let it fall closed and shook my head. The door opened again and she stepped partly out.
I retreated to capture a better shot of her, and then advanced to trace a hand down her arm and flank, lingering on the softness of her hip. Advancing I moved to kiss her. Her lips trembled somewhat. My hand traced up and cupped a breast, then traced down to outline the crease delineating her pubic area from her thigh. A nail caressed the fleshy, soft, hairless left lip of her pudenda.
I retreated further. She glanced down the stairs, eyebrows raised.
The stairwell was composed of low steps under a curved roof edged by a rounded archway. Framed in the arch, her curves and those of the descending passage blended symmetrically.
She pirouetted for me, for my camera. Then she turned a tight, feminine bum set below a lean and elegant back, and slowly began to descend the stairs. She was perhaps three steps down when there was a rustling of curtain below and a man, dark shirt, dark trouser, tousled hair, appeared in the vestibule on the lower deck below. His back was to us, and he was entirely oblivious that a stark naked blonde was frozen in surprised immobility on the stairs above and behind him. Were he to turn her pussy would be framed for him.
The man was focused entirely on reaching the washroom below. The lighting was reasonably bright in the centre of the vestibule below, but the door fittings were in gloom, and he rattled them to find how to open it.
She still stood frozen, evidently fearful a movement would attract his attention. Finally the darkly attired man unlatched the door and stepped in. The moment the door closed, she turned and walked up the stairs. At the top she turned and bent at the waist, as if to tempt the man in the washroom at the bottom of the stairwell with a ravishing and wanton view.
After a pause he opened the unlatched of their washroom. She walked by me, brushing sensually against him and stepped in, grabbing me by the hand as she did.
I locked the door behind me and embraced her. I twined my right hand in her hair and kissed her as my left softly tricked down her taut belly to trace between her pussy lips. She was wet, practically sopping. As we kissed I began to finger her, slicking her slit with moisture. As we kissed I began to caress her clitoris.
I backed her towards the far corner and used my left hand to raise her left leg and place her foot on the padded bench that ran a metre across the back of the small room. Her pussy was now open to me and, licking my right index, I began to penetrate her slicked pussy. I used the thumb of my other hand to lightly trace over her clit in a side-to-side movement.
