My husband visited the bathroom before we headed back to our room after a sumptuous dinner.
The comings and goings fascinated me. Business executives, hookers and late night gym users, on personal missions to fuck over, fuck anything for cash and pump like fuck, in that order, passed me by paying little attention to my furtive spying.
I'm proud to be an accomplished, surreptitious watcher of people and things.
This time, someone far more accomplished than I, stalked me with their eyes.
I felt excited, her fascination in me drove mine in her. My heart pounded, I panicked from self-induced tension, one eyeball or a twitch of my head away from capture.
The flight attendant furtively averted her eyes, as did I, when the orbit of our gaze intersected. Our battle for voyeur supremacy felt somewhere between dodging a leering perv on a tube train and studying the cute boy in row four, centre aisle.
I felt aroused, my senses spiked and surged, signalling danger, pleasure, and taboo throughout my body.
I was alive, both hunter and hunted.
I stole a few frames here and there with secretive glances directly or through reflective surfaces, building a picture in my mind. Relishing what assembled, one pixel at a time.
My phone buzzed, distracting me from our latest oculus tryst. I was at a disadvantage, my enemy could ravish me, stealing my image forever.
"I'm sorry, I feel unwell, so I went straight up."
"Fuck! Why didn't you say something?"
"You're playing."
"What do you mean?"
"The air stewardess wants to fuck you. I'm not blind. Go ahead!"
I fumbled with my phone, dropping it under the table. By the time I recovered, she was gone.
"She's gone now, anyway."
I felt confused. We'd never fantasised about having anyone else before, and now suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, my husband gave me permission to fuck a woman.
"I don't understand."
"I don't mind."
"You don't mind what?"
"If you and she fuck each other."
I stood up in protest, as if my innocence were still possible or my lust could be hidden. I scanned the room in case my husband was playing a silly joke, but there was nothing for my iris to report that was remotely out of the ordinary.
A key card on the glass table caught my eye. I picked it up, checking my own was still in my jacket pocket.
It was.
I couldn't remember this being here.
Room 625.
"I think she left her room key."
"Use it then."
"Fucking hell, John, where did this come from?"
"Twenty years of marriage and my deep, loving trust in you. I saw the way you looked at her and I know you want to try her out, so I'm giving you my blessing. She's already seduced you, anyway."
I sat heavily, tossed her key card back on the glass table as if dismissing the idea, then panicked and ran headlong into emotional turmoil.
My phone buzzed.
"Chill out, darling. I know you're panicking. I won't judge... just enjoy, or not, as you wish."
God, I love that man, but my wedding vows were carved into my heart and I just couldn't see myself committing adultery, regardless of John's encouragement to do precisely that.
I agonised, wrung my hands while watching the phone buzz with messages, sliding across the glass table until it almost fell off.
I read his encouragement and affirmation of undying love for me.
"Are you sure?"
"Do you love me, wife?"
"Absolutely."
"Enjoy her, then come and tell me all about it."
Butterflies exploded in my stomach, sending hormones that excite, thrill and delight surging through my body. A hedonistic feeling swamped my mind, urging me towards her even though I'd only drank two glasses of wine and sneaked a peek.
I picked up her key card, stroking it with a thumb, considering its opportunity, yearning for the woman who'd left it, while feeling deeply conflicted.
What the fuck! John wants it, I want it, and she definitely wants it.
I strolled nervously to the bar, engaging its manager.
"I'd like to pay my bill, please."
"The lady picked up your tab and asked if you'd bring this to the room."
He handed me a bottle of Veuve Clicquot with two crystal flutes. My favourite champagne's orange branding aroused me, invoking memories of the bathtub, hot tub, and kinky bedroom sex with John.
She was pressing my buttons.
The chill of the bottle sobered me slightly, dragging me away from arousal. My knickers felt damp, evidence that she'd already seduced me. I floated towards the bank of elevators on a cloud of enchantment, commanded by her mystique, imagining a debauched evening ahead.
"Hello?"
Her room was dark when I let myself in, but a dim light was switched on as I closed the door, having hung a privacy notice on its outer handle.
"Come in, please."
She had a sexy soft American accent that pressed more of my buttons. I tiptoed into her bedroom, like a thief in the night, until rounding the corner, beholding her nakedness.
"I'm glad you came."
She smiled beautifully, making her pleasure to see me very obvious. Her eyes lit with delight and desire, my favourite bedfellows.
"Umm, me too, I feel odd though, sorry."
I stood at the end of her bed. She was naked and raised her knees seductively, opening wide, offering a full and perfect view of her pussy.
"Is that for me?"
"It's your prize for being courageous."
She was beautiful, in a cute, 'girlfriend for life' way. I wanted to drop the bottle, sink to my knees and worship her plump slit with my tongue forever.
"You came for this, right?"
She drew her labia apart, between two fingers, making sure I inspected her pink cathedral in all its glory.
