No Honestly

Those Things Happen.

But why to me?

Dick, my husband, had been dealing with some family estate problems all last weekend, and didn't get back home until late Monday night. I really missed him, and,frankly, our phone sex was a poor substitute for the real thing. Better than nothing I suppose, but not by much. Ah, but we saved Tuesday nights for our close encounters of the sexual kind.

I could hardly wait.

Monday crept its way through and finally the sun rose bright and shiny on our Tuesday and I've got to tell you, I couldn't wait much longer. I was ready to jump his bones at the breakfast table.

All 206 of them.

Then things started going downhill fast. My company's president, Henry, called an emergency meeting the first thing on Tuesday morning. That was only three days ago, but for me it seems like a lifetime ago. "I need a tiger team. Our biggest distributor is trying to strong-arm us into deeper discounts, because our stuff isn't moving off their shelves fast enough. So what are we going to do? Bill, you head up the team. Brian Hills, the big honcho over there, and I hate each other. If I get close to him the personal chemistry will kill any chances we have for sure. I just need to delegate the whole problem to you - I can't be objective. It's your baby, I'll trust your judgment, OK?"

Bill looked up. "OK, Henry. I'll deal with it."

Bill's our 'go-to guy'. He wasted no time at all, dealing out assignments like a sorting machine. Potential lost income analysis went to one of the accountants, alternative sales/marketing schemes to our VP of sales. Then he turned to me. I knew what was coming. "Carole, you've had a lot of contact with Brian Hills, hell, you used to work for him. I need you to got out there and meet with him. Find out all you can, see what's going on. Can you leave on the noon flight?"

Interesting how English works, isn't it?. 'Can you leave' sounds just like a question, doesn't it? Is anyone the least bit confused about it being an order?

"Sure, Bill. I'm on my way."

Brian had been a mentor to me, and always honest. I might be able to help. But now I'd be away and probably overnight! I hoped Dick wouldn't be too upset. I was upset enough for both of us!

"Sure, honey, I understand. Good luck. Call when you know what flight you'll come back on, I'll pick you up when you get home," he said when I called him after throwing some stuff in an overnight bag. Why was I worried, Dick is really great guy. He's still so considerate, after a whole decade of marriage. I should have known. I took a cab, not having time or interest in parking at the airport, especially since Dick wanted to pick me up.

I actually got to Brian's office at 3:30 that same day. And in just a couple of hours, the problem was solved. It was more a misunderstanding than anything - it's just that Brian and Henry simply can't talk to each other without anger flaring up. "Carole, you tell those guys what our new proposal is, and tell them that it's good as gold so long as you become the account executive."

I called the office. A clerk expected the call, and arranged a conference call with the tiger team, and Henry. I explained the deal on a conference call to the rest of the team. "We'll just let their payables extend to 90 days for a couple of months without hassling them about it. We'll do some reduced shipments, but we expected that anyway, it's part of our forecast. When the inventory gets down to a reasonable level they'll start paying in 45 again. Any problems with that?"

The team's accountant pointed out we could deal with the dip in cash flow, and the balance sheet would hardly be affected at the end of the quarter.

Success!

Henry spoke up. "Good job, Carole. I hope you can get home tonight, but flights back here out of Chicago are pretty bad at night, Anyhow, I don't expect to see you at work until Thursday. And congratulations on your new responsibility for that account. Go celebrate. We'll figure out an appropriate reward when you get back." When Henry says that, you can take it to the bank.

Brian offered his hand. "We have a deal. I'd take you to dinner, but we have other plans. Thanks, Carole, for helping us work this out."

What a day. I got stroking from everyone. I wanted to celebrate.

I had a cab take me to O'Hare. There was no way home that made any kind of sense that evening. "Be civilized", I thought. "Take the 9AM flight home, take the day off, and celebrate with Dick."

I decided to stay close to the airport. I took the shuttle to the airport Hilton, and checked in. I dumped my overnight bag in the room, and called home. Dick wasn't there, but had left a message for me on the answering machine. He was, he said, going out to dinner with Bill, who had called him to explain how important this trip really was. He promised to call me later, if I gave him my hotel and room number, and went on to say he was lonesome already, and he wasn't even in bed yet. That meant, I knew, we'd have a hot phone conversation - phone sex, even - tonight, later.

What a rush this day had been! I wanted to shout with joy, to celebrate.

But you want to know something?

Solo celebrations really suck!

"I need a drink!" I wanted that, even more than food, and I'd had nothing to eat since breakfast, and that was only a piece of fruit with Dick in the morning - that seemed like days ago.

I found a table in the lounge. It was already eight o'clock - , nine, back home. It was the end of a long day.

The first rum/coke went down fast - drinking for effect, I guess. No food, and a fast drink. That would work. I could enjoy the second one more. I looked around. Not many people here - it wasn't too early for bar trade. Where was everyone? A couple of older guys were sitting together- they must be here on business, too. There's that other guy at the bar - about forty, nice looking. A couple of couples. . . Hmm. I'll have a quiet, relaxing evening, an early bed time, and be home tomorrow. "I'm as high as I can be, I'll bet I won't be able to sleep. I hope I'm this excited tomorrow when I'm with Dick," I thought.

I was coming down from my high. Crashing down is a better way to describe it. Some celebration.

Yippeee.

Shit.

I wanted another drink. The routine was to go to the bar and get it. I did.

The forty year old guy was a couple of bar stools away, and I looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His eyes met mine, and we maintained eye contact for a second or two too long. Nice enough looking guy, sort of rugged looking, I decided, reaching for my drink.

"I'm sorry?" I said almost spontaneously, looking up, hearing something directed at me, but not hearing it clearly.

"I said, 'Lass, I'd enjoy buying that for you, especially if you wouldn't mind a little company at your table.'"

I hate drinking in bars alone, and eating alone when I travel. I figured this was safe enough, and the guy's accent was intriguing.

"Aussie?"

"Lass, that's an insult to a New Zealander."

Edward sat with me. I learned more about his island country in the first few minutes than I ever expected to know. "More sheep than people", "Two Islands, really", "God made our place after practicing on England and Australia, and finally got it right".

He was going home tomorrow - "A whole twenty-four hours of traveling, but worth every second, to get back." He'd been gone almost a month and missed home, his wife, and his little girl.

He learned a lot about me, too, especially about today's adventure, my leaving home so quickly, and how I wanted to celebrate but couldn't do that alone.

By then we were on a first name basis. "Carole, you didn't even have a chance to eat, let alone celebrate, did you?" He stood: "Let's get something here."

The restaurant, on the top floor, wasn't crowded at all, and Edward selected a table against the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the airport. He took my hand and led me there. The human contact was warm, nice. He smelled good, too. I don't know just how to describe it, he smelled, well, manly.

We sat side by side, so we could both look out at the scene. It was beautiful - airports at night always are. I enjoyed his company, and the dinner. I pretended it was almost an extension of my business meeting, and insisted on paying for my meal in spiteof his objections. If only Dick was here. I was *really* ready to see him.

I didn't want the day to end, I was so hyper and excited about everything. So, when he said "Let's go to the observation deck - it's a warm night, it'll be fun, and a nice way to end the evening," I agreed it was a great idea. Besides, I wasn't ready to be alone: not yet, anyway.

The hotel shuttle bus took us to the terminal. The observation deck was wonderful. We stood there, watching a chain of diamonds, landing lights, approach the airport, one after another, the first jet clearing the runway at one end seconds before the next landed. The parallel runway was just as busy with takeoffs. "There's nothing like this back home," Edward said, taking my hand to get my attention, and pointing to a Gulfstream G2 moving on the taxiway below us, on its way to somewhere. His hand, on mine, that human contact, lasted a few seconds longer than it needed to. I didn't object.

There were two other couples standing at the railing, too, looking like lovers, holding hands, enjoying the same sights we were. There was a lull in arrivals, and we looked around. Both of the other couples were taking advantage of the break, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing. It was so romantic, and I was so jealous of them. I was missing my husband. I was missing the warmth of that kind of hugging, that kissing, I was lonesome. . .

Let's face it, I was horny and I wanted my husband.

Then, I felt Edward's hand on my shoulder. He was feeling all of the same things.

I turned to him.

His hand provided just a hint of pressure, the most gentle urging, a suggestion and I responded, moving closer to him, into his arms, it was the most natural thing to do.

His other hand reached for my chin, and tilted my head upwards. A kiss, he wanted to kiss me.

I, I, I didn't stop him. Instead, I closed my eyes. I felt him move toward me, and his lips met mine.

The stress of the day, the excitement of my success, cocktails, the dinner's wine, all contributed. I felt his lips open, and I opened mine, too, and the kiss stopped being casual, tongues began caressing, bodies began pressing together, and the environment went from friendly and social to intense and sexual.

That kiss ended - nothing was said - and we turned to watch the airplanes again, lost in thought, silent. That was so nice, but so wrong. What was that all about? What just happened? What was going to happen?

We had talked so easily before - now there was silence.

"Uh, I just don't do things like that," I whispered into the night.

"Nor me, Carole." A moment later he turned, and took my hand - gently, not aggressively, and we went to the airport shuttle bus, and back to the hotel.

More silence. This wasn't the comfortable silence we had enjoyed together earlier - it was tense, electric.

As we walked into the lobby he gestured toward the lounge - "A last drink?" I shook my head no, and went towards the elevator. He joined me. He touched 8, and I pressed 12: his action was an unspoken invitation, and mine, a refusal. The doors closed, the elevator ascended.

He turned to me again, his body language a question, and again, I was in his arms - a second kiss, a good-bye kiss, so very nice, so romantic, this meeting of two strangers, their paths crossing only once, ending on so poignant a note.

Just like in the movies.

But then, life isn't really like the movies, is it?

The elevator stopped at eight, and the door began opening. He released me, and turned toward the opening door. "Carole, it was a lovely evening. I don't want it to end. Will you come to my room?" He was reoffering his earlier unspoken invitation, it was almost too tempting.

I shook my head no, and he stepped out of the elevator - "It was lovely," he said, "thank you. . .good-bye, Carole, good-bye, lassie."

I did something I thought I'd never in my life do!

I reached out toward him.

Toward his hand.

Nothing was said,

but everything was understood.

The elevator doors sensed the obstruction, stopped closing, and opened, instead. He understood, turned, and came back in.

The next kiss was full of passion and so distracted me I didn't notice the doors close again, and didn't notice the elevator start up again, and stop again, until the doors opened a last time.

I broke the embrace, and stepped though the doors, and I couldn't, or at least didn't, resist my impulse to touch his arm, this time I was doing the inviting.

My room was half way down the hallway. He took the card key from my hand and opened the door, and let me go in, then followed me there.

He turned the night latch, locking the door, and took me by the hand past the bathroom door, into the bedroom.

The drapes were open, the airport was in view, as romantic as before - but more erotic, here, in this private place.

I looked out at the scene, not seeing it, too aware of him in the room with me. He was behind me, his arms around my waist, looking out, too. No, that was a sham - I felt him pressing against me, his body firm, hard, and that extra pressure, too, from him, from his erection.

There was no presumption here, no questions here. Those had been asked, and answered. I turned within the circle of his arms, again we kissed, this time his hands didn't confine themselves to my back, but roamed from between my shoulders to my buttocks, my hips, pulling my pelvis to his, and I could feel his excitement, too, pressing against me. I was'nt resisting at all, my own pelvis was pressing eagerly into his - I was doing that, meeting his pressure, not retreating from it.

No words - not one.

The kiss broke. He, looking into my eyes, reached between us, got my jacket unbuttoned, and pushed it to my shoulders. I dropped my arms, and he peeled it off with my help, and we let it fall to the floor.

Then began the next kiss.

It was as exciting as the last - no, even more exciting than that. I could feel myself growing more excited, and him, too. . .

"I don't do things like this," I muttered, "I love my husband," while my actions made lies of my words, I was now eagerly 'doing things like this', exactly 'like this'.

"He's not here, though, lassie, I am. I'm completely here." One of his hands left my back, and it took mine by the wrist.

"I'll show you."

He pulled my hand to his lips, where he kissed it, then pulled it to his neck, and down between us, over his chest, over his suspenders, down, to his belly.

He looked carefully at me, looking for acquiescence, for objection, and finding neither, hemoved my hand further down.

"Can you feel how completely here I am?"

I could feel him, his penis, extended along his pant leg - warm, hard!

Even though the material I could feel it moving, growing, pulsing.

And I wanted it - him.

What in the hell was I doing?

He let my hand go - I continued to touch him there, my fingers moving, feeling that length, that excitement. . .that hot, hard cock.

And I wanted it.

It shamed me, but I wanted it badly.

Our lips bonded again, his tongue was moving against mine again, but he had moved to keep a gap between our bodies, making it easier for me to touch him, and he had a hand there between us, busy with something, but I didn't care, I loved this - this celebration of my success, I needed to share it.

Yeah, right.

He took my wrist again - "No, I like touching you," I objected - , but he lifted it, away from his pants, away from that warm shaft, that place I was enjoying touching, away from exciting myself and him by touching him. He lifted my hand over his trousers, higher, to where his pant's waist band should be - but wasn't! He had opened his trousers, I was touching soft cotton.

He guided my hand higher, under his shirt,

to the waist band of his briefs.

His hand left my wrist, and moved over my fingers,

pressing them, so that their tips were against his skin, at his short's waistband.

Then, under it.

I returned his stare as he looked into my eyes, and into my soul.

His hand found my wrist again, and pressed downward, very gently, not forcing me at all.

"Do what you were doing but like this, on the inside. Touch me like this," he said, "I want you todo it again, but this way."

I felt the elastic waistband move over the back of my hand, my fingers felt warm skin, the irregularity that was his navel.

His hand on my wrist made just the most subtle of movements, suggesting lower. Then my fingers were brushing coarse hair,

and finally,

now without any help from him,

the last incremental distance,

to where I wanted it,

My fingers were now tracing down the thickening shaft rising from his groin.

His eyes stayed fixed on mine, and I watched his pupils dilate as my hand moved to his penis's head, and behind it, feeling the heat of his scrotum with my fingers, almost weighing it, with his penis warm along my wrist, then finally trapping his shaft between my fingers and thumb, moving, stroking. The fingers didn't touch.

"Oh yes, like that," he whispered.

"I don't DO things like this" I whispered again, while still doing things just exactly like that just a little faster.

"You're celebrating - and it's with me you're doing it, lass."

"I am," I said, "with you," feeling how hot he was, the subtle feeling of his foreskin being guided by my fingers over his cock's head, then being pulled back again, knowing that head would be swollen, and knowing where it was going to go, soon.

"I have a month's worth of passion waiting where you're touching," he whispered, and I could feel that passion, that heat, pulsing in my hand. "And I want to use the entire month's worth with you, in you."

Now a voice, could it have been mine?, whispered

"yes, . . yes, . . . .I want. . . . . . . . . . all of it. . . . . . . . . . . . . inside me".

His own fingers pulled at his shirt's buttons, its cuffs. Shrugging, he got his suspenders off his shoulders, and quickly his shirt too was on the floor. His pants, losing their support, fell to his knees, then lower still.

He kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants, standing there, wearing socks and briefs.

"Keep touching me like that" he asked, or ordered, it didn't matter, because I wasn't going to stop anyway, my hand under his briefs was exciting him, and me.

He worked at my blouse's buttons, pulling it from my skirt, then pushing until it, like my jacket, fell to my elbows, held up by my arms.

I stopped touching him for a moment, and pulled at my blouse, too, getting it over my arms, and off.

He used the moment to lift one foot, then the other, taking off his socks.

Our eyes met again, as he reached for his waistband, and pushed down. He stepped out of his shorts and stood nude, erect, beautiful,

forbidden.

"Are you ready for that much passion?" he asked, and assuming he knew the answer, said "now you, you have to be undressed, too, undressed like I am."

"I know."

My skirt was easy - a clasp, a zipper, and it fell.

I reached behind me, pulling, so that my slip climbed up my back, and over my head, and off.

I didn't care! I wanted his naked body next to mine!

I was in his arms again, I could feel that penis pushing against the skin of my belly as he pulled me close to him, my arms tight around him, holding him to me, feeling that body, that nakedness.

"Wait", I whispered.

I turned my back to him.

I felt tension increase on my bra strap as his fingers worked at the clasp, then the pressure was released, my bra was hanging from its shoulder straps, loose over my breasts.