Helen Davison walked into the main concourse of the airport and headed purposefully for the check-in area. She was quite an attractive woman with deep hazel eyes, rounded cheek-bones, a button nose and full lips. She wore
her long, blonde hair loose and it hung below her shoulders. She wore a well tailored, black trouser suit, a dark purple blouse and on her feet were a pair of black 3" heels.
She pulled a small case behind her, the wheels rolling smoothly on the shiny floor. Squeezing behind the crowd in front of the departures board, she examined the details and cursed inwardly when she saw that her flight, along with a dozen others, was delayed. It was now estimated to board at four-twenty, nearly three hours away. There was nothing that the thirty-four year old businesswoman could do except wait. She took hold of her small, brown luggage case and threaded her way between a herd of Germans who flooded in from the terminal forecourt. At the end of the concourse was a coffee shop where she queued for ten minutes before walking away with a large, overpriced latte. She surveyed the seating area. There seemed to be no free tables but there were a few individual seats that didn't seem to be taken.
Helen moved to a table occupied solely by a woman who was dressed in what she took to be a flight attendant's uniform; white collared blouse, peppermint green skirt and jacket with matching shoes. The woman had black hair that had been pulled back into a tight bun held by a green scrunchie. She was staring hard at a newspaper obviously deep in thought and lightly tapping a pen against her perfect teeth.
Helen manoeuvred through cases, rucksacks and carrier bags of a party of noisy Italians to the single vacant chair.
"Hi. Is anyone sitting here?" Helen asked.
The woman looked up at her and smiled.
"No. Please sit," the woman replied in accented but excellent English.
"Thank you."
Helen sat to the woman's left, placed the latte on the table and manoeuvred the case next to the chair. She smoothed her trousers and crossed her legs before opening her bag and taking out a mobile phone. She pressed a series of buttons before placing it to her ear. As she waited for her call to be answered, she noticed the woman glancing at her. Helen looked away. The call was answered quickly but it was a voicemail.
"Hi, Lucy, it's Helen. My flight's going to be delayed for about three hours so can you call Eduardo to let him know that I hope to be there by eight? Thanks.
If there's any change I'll let you know. Bye."
Helen replaced the phone in her bag and took a sip of the coffee. She glanced at the flight attendant and saw that the woman was looking at her. Helen gave her a swift, nervous smile and looked away suddenly finding the coffee shop's price list exceedingly interesting. She sipped more of the latte and studied a man in a grey suit jabbering into a phone, gesticulating wildly. Harried parents were rushing to and fro with bags and kids. In general, Helen liked flying. It was an opportunity to have a few hours to herself without anyone pestering her, a short time to just sit back and let everyone else do the worrying. Even a hold-up like this didn't make that much of an impression her.
It was only an inconvenience when plans at the other end had been made and had to be altered but that was easily accomplished. Besides, there was little that anyone could do about it.
"So you are delayed, yes?" the woman said.
Helen turned to her. "Err, yes. About three hours." A name badge attached to the woman's jacket proclaimed that Isabella Moreno was Cabin Crew.
"Me also." Isabella scowled. "The French are striking again. It is bad news but at least I am being paid to drink coffee."
Helen smiled meekly in acknowledgement and returned her attention to the price list. As she watched the throng of people move about, she noticed that
Isabella was writing something on the edge of her newspaper. Finished, she tore it off and folded it. Helen looked at her again and this time Isabella was looking straight into Helen's eyes. After what seemed an eternity, Isabella placed the paper on the table and slid it in front of Helen who merely stared at it for a second before looking back at Isabella.
Still staring at Helen, Isabella parted her lips and slowly ran her tongue between them. Helen began to wonder if this woman making a pass at her. At once she felt both embarrassed and excited. Apprehensively, Helen picked up the scrap of paper, opened it and read what the woman had written.
'You are very beautiful woman. I would like to make love to you.'
Helen didn't know what to do or say. All she could do was stare at the paper open mouthed. Isabella leaned closer and smiled gently as she reached out and lightly ran her fingers over Helen's trouser covered knee. Surprised, Helen jerked her leg away.
Isabella looked hurt. "What's the matter? Don't you find me attractive?"
"No," said Helen. "I mean, yes. You are very good looking but..."
"But ...?"
"Well, I.... I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression but I'm not a lesbian."
Isabella leaned forward conspiratorially. "You don't have to be a lesbian to make love to another woman. And doing it once won't turn you into one."
Isabella sat back and they sat in silence for a few moments. A jumble of thoughts and emotions crashed through Helen's mind. She had shied away from Isabella's touch purely because of shock but she now realised that it had also sent a wisp of tingling pleasure straight to her crotch. The woman's sheer bravado had caused Helen to stop herself from grabbing her things and leaving the table. As for not being a lesbian ... well maybe what Isabella had said was true. Besides, Isabella was actually kind of... sexy. Yes! Sexy. And in fact quite pretty too. And there it was. Oh my god, she thought. She's using her feminine allure and I'm responding. And she did have at least a couple of hours to waste before the flight and... who would ever know? Surprisingly, Helen realised that she was actually thinking about having sex with Isabella, and that those thoughts were actually turning her on. There was no doubt that a warm, fuzzy feeling flowed over her and she felt quite flushed.
Isabella leaned forward again. "Would like me to touch you again?" she whispered.
It was all Helen could do to nod her head. Isabella slowly reached across and this time placed her left hand on Helen's thigh. Slowly, ever so slowly, Isabella's warm hand moved in slow, gentle circles, her fingers gently squeezing the flesh beneath the thin material.
"Is that nice?" asked Isabella.
"Yes," croaked Helen. She could feel her face becoming flushed and the beginnings of an ache in her crotch.
"Good." Isabella lifted her hand and took another sip of her drink. "You know,
I love touching women in places like this. The thought of so many people, so close, not knowing what we're doing, it really gets me so hot. I can see it has the same effect on you. Have you touched another woman before?"
"No," said Helen. "Never."
"Well then I think it's about time you did. Put your hand on my leg, just as I did to you."
Isabella shifted in her seat and opened her legs a far as her skirt would allow. Helen tentatively placed her hand on Isabella's bare thigh, just above the knee. For a minute or so Helen stroked Isabella's smooth flesh. Isabella was right. Touching another woman in such a public place was indeed as exciting as Isabella had claimed and she found herself becoming hornier by the second. Nervously, she glanced about her, a part of her hoping that no one was watching and, astonishingly, another part hoping that someone was. No-one else seemed to be taking any notice. Helen couldn't believe what was happening. Here she was in a busy airport terminal caressing a strange woman's leg. Her heart was racing and her crotch felt as though it was on fire.
"Thrilling, isn't it," said Isabella, grinning.
"Yes," breathed Helen.
