A passenger

When you board a busy plane and find the seat next to yours still empty, anything could happen. As you watch the line of passengers struggling down the aisle your way, you wonder what card you will draw. It could stay empty. Not likely. It could be filled by a bad-smelling, obnoxious, unattractive, uninteresting, overflowing boor. Highly likely. Or you could spend the next six hours in the company of a Goddess. Very, very rare.

This time around, I drew the lucky card. She was a petite brunette in jeans and a gray hoodie. A college coed, perhaps. I stood up and stepped into the aisle so as to politely deny myself the exquisite pleasure of having her soft, perfect rump glide past my face.

She dozed most of the flight, this being an overnight journey, so we only talked briefly. I just let her sleep although for a few minutes, the heat of her body pressed against me as she slumbered. But I daydreamed about other possibilities.

She took a final drink of her soda bottle as the plane landed, and shoved it into the pocket before me. In my less-cautious days, I would have grabbed that bottle the moment her cute backside vanished down the aisle towards the exit. I would have savored the moistness upon the cap where her womanly lips had just pressed, and I would have drunk down the remainder of the sweet liquid, thrilling to the thought that at least some of it had washed against her lips and perhaps had even ventured as far as her pretty tongue.

Sigh. Perhaps I am getting too old. Too restrained. Too cautious. Flying free only in daydreams. Daydreams of a never-to-be world where a beautiful young stranger sits beside me and rubs her tired feet and comments on the long walk between concourses and I dare to slip off her shoes and caress her toes and heels and she groans softly with the pleasure and whispers a thank you.

Daydreams where they still serve dinner and she has pork and I have chicken and she spears a piece of pork upon her fork and takes a bite and says with surprise, "Hey, not bad." And offers me a taste, from her fork, of the remainder of the piece from which her sharp teeth have just sheared off a morsel, and so I bite where she has bitten, without hesitation. And we share back and forth until finally she emits a cute little burp and says she is stuffed and offers me her leftovers, all of them nibbled upon by her to some degree. And so I do, knowing that the slight sniffle that she exhibits every now and then, will make the jump to me within a few days, but I do not care.

She stands up and murmurs, "I need to pee. No, don't get up, I can fit past."

So I stay seated as her blue-jeaned bottom slides past my face, hot as summer sunshine as the soft curves go by.

To be continued