Note to reader: This story is short and 100% true. I have changed the names to protect anonymity. All characters are over 18. Copyright © 2023 All Rights Reserved. No portion of this material may be reproduced without the author's prior written permission.
A reader accused me of plagiarism. NOT TRUE! I am the author of these stories. I abandoned my Literotica account for a few years and rejoined under this pseudonym.
Although this story is in the Erotic Coupling section, it could easily fit into the Loving Wives or Romance categories. Polite and constructive comments are most welcome. Derogatory comments will be deleted.
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My name is Scott. I am a former aerospace engineer and retired middle school teacher from southern California. I lost my engineering job in 1990, as did several million other aerospace workers when Congress reduced military spending. For years following my layoff, finding engineering work anywhere in SoCal was virtually nonexistent. I was living off unemployment and working odd construction jobs as a day laborer. In 1995, a friend suggested I try teaching because, as an engineer, I was always teaching, and if you ask me what time it is, I'll tell you how to build a clock. It all starts with a spring.
I enrolled in the local university and applied for my teaching credential and Master of Education degree. I loved teaching at first. But, the invention of the Internet, the influence of inappropriate music, and the 9/11 tragedy changed everyone. The students were becoming less interested in learning and more interested in becoming famous. Social media was all the rage. The kids believed they could become millionaires via rap music and did not care about their education. By 2006, the frustration of teaching kids who did not want to learn wore me out. An opportunity to return to the business world came knocking, and I answered.
For two years, I traveled the U.S. living out of a suitcase as a consultant to construction companies that built distribution center warehouses. I traveled to 48 different cities over 24 months. The Johnny Cash song I've Been Everywhere was my theme for those two years. Having never traveled much before, I looked upon my new job as an adventure. I can tell you about being 40 degrees below zero in Canada, where the job site porta-potty has an electric heater to keep your ass from sticking to the seat. Or, when you go to the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, if you've seen one Fender Stratocaster, you've seen them all. This story concerns three weeks I spent in Atlanta on a job site.
The weather during late spring and early summer in Georgia is tolerable. The days are not hot and humid, and the nights are warm compared to other parts of the country where winter's grip still causes trouble. I was staying at a different hotel than our normal corporate choice hotel. The upscale hotel was nice, convenient to the job site, and clean. Because the hotel was close to the Atlanta airport, airline flight crews would bunk there when away from their homes. I would see the flight crews coming or going whenever I went downstairs for a cigarette. One evening, I was nursing a beer at the hotel bar when a beautiful, statuesque blonde sat nearby. I had seen her outside chatting with friends a few times on other days and thought she was gorgeous. But considering my track record with women, a two-time loser with marriage, I knew I would never have a chance with someone like her. Women like this blonde beauty don't even know I exist.
This gorgeous blonde Aphrodite sitting four seats away from me at the bar appeared to be in her early 40s, and although she looked her age, I thought she was stunningly gorgeous. From my perspective, this woman looked at least 5ft 9in or taller because her legs could reach the floor while sitting on the elevated barstool. Most women rest their feet on the shoe rail attached to the bar or the stool while seated. Her hair was a few shades darker than platinum blonde but less dark than dishwater blonde and fell to about collar length in a sensible cut. Her dark blue mid-thigh skirt covered her muscular legs, and her sparkling white button-front top clung nicely to her body. Modest heels were at the ends of her luscious gams. Those beautiful legs were crossed as she dangled the shoe of her right foot on her toes, exposing her stocking-clad heel.
You must understand I'm not the kind of guy women naturally gravitate toward. I have been told that I have average looks. I stand 6 feet 6 inches tall and come from Scandinavian descent, so my hair is dirty blonde, and I have blue eyes. I have wide shoulders and narrow hips. I am in no way any form of what a woman would describe as a hunk. But, I can chat intelligently with senior executives in the board room or spit and swear like a longshoreman on the shop floor. I have published articles in leading industrial magazines and have been a guest speaker at national conventions in breakout groups. Yet every time I would sneak a peak at the stunning beauty, she was staring at me. I asked the young bartender if she knew the woman. The bartender said the woman was a flight attendant. They hate the word stewardess and said she stopped over frequently.
I asked the bartender, "Would you do me the favor of asking her if she would like company?"
I never learned how to be a player and have mostly struck out with women when I approached anyone at a club. The bartender spoke with the woman, and she raised her glass as a signal to walk over to where she was sitting. I stood next to her and introduced myself.
"Hi, my name is Scott," I said. "I'm here on business and asked our bartender if you want company. Are you waiting for someone, or may I join you?"
She shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Scott, I'm Julie. Please sit down."
For 30 minutes, we asked each other where we lived, how often we were here, and so on. My stomach growled, and I asked Julie if she wanted to eat dinner with me. She said yes, and we went to the hotel dining room. The food was not exceptional, nor was it poor. It was typical hotel food. We enjoyed ourselves throughout the meal. Julie is an interesting woman. She, too, was a former teacher and now a flight attendant. She lives in Virginia Beach and has grown children like I do. Julie likes her job and enjoys meeting new people. We talked about her flight attendant training and my engineering career. I thought we hit it off, and I took a chance.
When dinner was over, I asked, "It's still early, and I am rather bored. Would you like to go sightseeing with me? I hear they call this town Hot-Lanta."
"I'd love to," Julie said. "When I stay here, I usually go to my room to read or surf the Internet. Where are you parked?"
