Airport Blizzard Hooup

[

Note: this is an entry in an

"exactly 750-words" writing exercise

.

]

I was standing in front of the erotica section in LAX's airport bookstore, browsing for something to take onto the plane with me, when I noticed another tall guy browsing the same shelf. He was a handsome stud, probably in his early forties, wearing an airline pilot's uniform. We exchanged smiles. I took a book off the shelf, a gay male short story anthology called

Rough Riders

. There was no hiding that I was buying a gay male book. Of course the good-looking guy was browsing this shelf too.

The smile remained on his face, and he reached by me and pulled down one titled

House of Lords

, with a bare-chested thuggish muscle man on the cover. His arm brushed on mine and I felt the chill of arousal go up my spine. Some men flip my switch immediately. He did. I nodded to him after I'd paid for my book and went on to the departure area, which was mobbed with milling people.

I was looking through my carryon, tucking the book I'd bought in, when the flight crew arrived, wearing the same uniform as the guy in the bookstore. What, I wondered, if that great-looking guy was flying me. I couldn't see him among the crew. But no sooner had we gotten up in the air than a smiling flight attendant appeared with a glass of ice and one of those small, one-drink bottles of Glenlivet Captain's Scotch. "Compliments of the captain," the steward said. I didn't catch the name of the pilot, but I knew there was a more-than-even chance he'd identify himself to me when we landed in Chicago. He was out of luck, though, unless Chicago was being socked in by a blizzard when we arrived. I only had an hour to get to my connecting flight.

As we were landing in Chicago, I could see that it was snowing hard. The tarmac was quickly turning white. As we taxied in, we were being instructed to check with the scheduler's desk as soon as we deplaned. Flights were being canceled. There was a good chance the airport was going to shut down.

The arrivals area was mobbed with confused and frustrated people. I was just another one of those until I heard a voice behind me and turned to see the pilot I'd brushed against at the bookstand.

"There you are. The great-looking guy from the bookstore at LAX. I'm Neal. I've been flying you. Are you hungry? You might as well wait for the crowd to clear at the rescheduling desk. I don't think anyone's flying out of here today. And the restaurants will quickly fill up."

"Uh, I guess eating would be a good move then," I said. "Ben. My name's Ben."

"The flight crews have their own restaurants tucked here and there, Ben. You can come with me and we'll find someplace to eat."

It wasn't just a convenient plan; it was a godsend. I wasted no time in accepting the offer.

As we were eating in a place halfway between cafeteria and table-cloth restaurant and that was so calm in atmosphere we'd have no idea of the panic and frustration running through the O'Hare terminals if there wasn't a huge window overlooking the frigid blizzard conditions outside on the deserted runways, Neal and I became better acquainted and more comfortable with each other.

Suddenly during the conversation, he paused. "I got to be honest with you. You turned me on from the moment we were looking at books. Does that disturb you or turn you off?" he asked, his enticing, hopeful puppy-dog gray eyes locked onto mine. I remembered the chill of arousal I'd had when his arm brushed mine.

"No, it doesn't," I answered. "I hope you don't think I'm easy, though."

"But with effort, you could be had?" His knee was nudging mine under the surface of the table. I'd had my thighs together and I, almost involuntarily, spread them and his knee pressed in against my inner thigh.

He was about to say something else, when he stopped abruptly and said, instead, "We've finished our meal and I see other flight crews have decided they'd better eat and this table is needed. Another perk we have is access to the VIP lounges. I have a room here at the terminal Hilton too. The airport's socked in now. You otherwise would have to sleep in the departure area tonight. Would that be enough effort?"

"That sounds great," I answered.