Friday, May 27, 2011

Travelogue, Chapter 1: Penelope Sets Out

Leaving is easier than one imagines, Penelope found.

As soon as she’d made up her mind, it was simply a matter of following through. No one told her not to go. Instead, they were vicariously enthusiastic about her upcoming adventures. Everyone had a travel tip. In her email and on scraps of paper, she was presented with scores of contacts for “a friend of my sisters who lives in Amsterdam” and “my high school exchange parents - they don’t speak any English, but you would totally hit it off.” She discarded all these, along with her CD collection, mismatched kitchenware, and far too many pairs of shoes. This was not going to be the kind of adventure one writes home about. Adventures can only go so far when you stay with friends of friends of friends.

And so, without very much money and barely a plan, she gave up her apartment, quit her job, and kissed her lover goodbye. In a week from making her decision, she was boarding a flight to London with all the worldly possessions she cared to keep: a couple changes of underwear, a sexy dress or two, sweater, sandals, toothbrush, lipstick and a novel for those moments when adventure failed to materialize.

At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket. The first leg of her journey was to meet a man she’d met online. They had a tenuous connection, really. And yet she supposed he must have been as intrigued by her as she was by him. After all, she was flying business class at his expense. He told her he'd give her his flyer miles so she could travel in comfort. "Besides," he said, "In coach, you're likely to meet some interesting vagabond. I want you thinking about me when you're over the Atlantic." He didn't figure, she thought to herself as she waited in the endless line at customs, on Marco.

No one could have figured on Marco. Penny closed her eyes for a moment to remember him as she’d first glimpsed him. Handsome. Gentlemanly. And utterly seductive. Had it only been eight hours ago? It felt like a much longer journey. As the line wound on through cordoned walkways, she tried to relive the long flight to London. She wanted to fix it in her mind: her first adventure.

Her flight left late - an 8 pm departure delayed until 9:30. She was a bit tired from the ordeal of the airport, but so excited about finally leaving on her adventure that she didn't care. It was a full flight. Mr. Craness had reserved a seat at the side of the plane in one of the two-person rows rather than the four-across middle row.

The passengers boarded mid-plane and Penelope found her seat was only a couple rows back, over the wing. She was eager to settle in and daydream, but when she saw her seat-mate, all thought of silent meditation left her. He was drop-dead handsome. And he was smiling at her.

He rose as Penelope approached and settled her bag on the empty seat next to him. "Would you prefer the window?" he asked, leaning forward solicitously.

"No, no, I'm fine on the aisle," she told him, trying and failing to meet his gorgeous dark eyes. What was his accent?

"Or may I switch seats so you and your husband can sit together?"

"I'm not married," Penelope returned thoughtlessly, tucking her skirt under her as she sat down. She glanced up at his eyes again and saw a faint twinkle. She realized her mistake instantly. Of course he’d been fishing for information. She gave him her best skeptical look.

"Ah. I'm transparent," he said. "Forgive me. I wanted an excuse to talk. I'm Marco," he said, extending his hand. She reached across awkwardly to shake it. "Penelope. But everyone calls me Penny."

"Penny? The smallest coin? Surely you are worth more than that?"

Penelope laughed nervously. Marco’s gaze was really too disarming. She rummaged through her purse as if for something important and carefully arranged it beneath her seat.

They were silent for a while as the airplane taxied and announcements were made. Penny got out a magazine but didn't open it. How could she start their conversation again? It was important to say something before he gave up on her and went to sleep for the whole flight. After all, one is not often trapped next to someone so attractive for eight hours at a stretch. As the flight lifted off, she at last found the courage to ask what he'd been doing in the US. "Visiting some old football friends," he told her. It seemed he'd been a professional soccer player some years past. (Was he really old enough to have a past?) They talked about the sport for a while, Penny embarrassedly admitting her complete ignorance. She asked general questions, like "What was life like on the road?"

"We didn't travel first class, I tell you that," he said. "And you - why are you going to England? I don't think it is business."

"No," she admitted, "I'm just going as a tourist."

"Just a tourist? I think it's more than that. You have the look of a woman who is going to meet her lover." He nudged her arm familiarly. She liked it. Still, she shook her head no. Their conversation rested. This time the silence felt comfortable. She read for a while.

The flight attendant came through offering beverages. “Just water,” said Penny, but Marco grabbed her hand as if they were a couple and asked for red wine for them both. He rapped their hands against the armrest emphatically as he declared, "We must celebrate the beginning of your journey!" Penny couldn't help laughing.

When the wine came, Marco raised his glass to her and she touched hers against it in toast. As she took her first sip, Marco pounced.

"And what is he called, this lover of yours you are traveling so far to see?" Marco asked. Penny nearly choked on her wine. It seemed she wasn’t much of a liar.

But why not answer him? It slipped out so easily. "Louis."

Marco's hand touched hers again, and he smiled wickedly. "I don't think 'Louis' is what you really call him." Penny tried to look puzzled. "I think, when you are alone... you call him something much more respectful."

Penny took another swallow of wine to hide her discomfiture. How did he know?

"I can read so much in a woman's eyes," Marco continued. He ran one fingers slowly down the inside of her arm. His voice was pitched low. "What do you call him - Sir? Master?"

"Mr. Craness," she choked out. It was horribly embarrassing to admit, and yet she felt she couldn’t help herself. It was like she was under a spell.

"Ah, yes, Mister Craness, very proper." Marco's voice massaged the words, making them sound lascivious. Penny felt herself flush.

"Don't worry, little Penny. Mister Louis Craness won't mind my enjoying your company. I know all about his kind."

The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendant collected their glasses. Penny thought she might read a little while. She felt restless, even vaguely claustrophobic. Despite being in business class, there wasn’t quite enough room. Or maybe it was the tension of sitting next to a handsome man inside the intimate hum of jet engines. She reached to turn on the light, her arm brushing Marco’s shoulder. A searing pain struck her shoulder and she made an involuntary cry of pain.

“What’s the matter?” Marco asked, immediately attentive.

“It’s just a muscle spasm,” Penny said, but Marco was all concern and sympathy. "Let me," he said, inveigling his hand under hers where she gripped her shoulder.

"Ah," she protested, "No," but already his fingers had found their way to a spot that offered relief.

"Breathe out," he said, and her breath released. Why should she not let him help her, if he was willing? He took her shoulder in both hands and moved it, pulling the scapula towards him gently. It felt marvelous. She could feel the pain and tension draining out of her. At the same time, Marco’s nearness took on a new intensity. Handsome, handsome Marco was giving her his full attention, touching her with his warm, intelligent hands.

"You're good at that," Penny said, to break the silence as much as anything.

"It's what I do," he said. "Now that I'm retired from football, I do massage. Or, massage is part of what I do." He lifted her upper arm, rocking it back and forth as his fingers probed the base of her neck.

"What else?" she asked. She felt her neck and jaw relaxing.

"I specialize. I invented a new technique. I call it Hypno-Massage."

Hypno-Massage. How corny, Penny thought. She laughed and as quickly tried to stop herself. “That sounds very interesting,” she ventured.

"Would you like to try it?" he offered.

That sounded like a come-on. The whole idea sounded like a come on. But Marco was still working on her shoulder, and his touch was entirely sincere. "What do you do?" she asked him.

"It's hard to explain. I'd love for you to experience it." His voice was earnest. "I think it would be a wonderful way for you to start your journey. In the right frame of mind - relaxed, confident..." She could tell this was a seduction. Maybe she was a little hypnotized already, because she didn't feel the need to object.

"Alright," she said. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing, cara. Just put your seat back so you can rest your head."

"Are you going to hypnotize me?"

"Yes, but, you know, it is perfectly safe. You won't go to sleep, you can stop anytime." His voice was soothing. She put her seat back and Marco turned out her light. She felt warm and at ease. "I think," he said, his voice getting lower, "You would like some pleasure. Something to prepare you for Mister Craness."

It was too much. I should stop him, she thought. His knowing tone when he mentioned Mr. Craness. The offer of pleasure. They were on an airplane -- practically public transportation. As her mind protested, Marco was massaging her upper arm, melding pain with kindness as he unwound her muscles. "Pleasure," she heard herself saying in a sleepy voice. "We're--there's no privacy."

"Don't worry. I won't undress you. If you would like, I will touch only your arm." He gazed at her sincerely, and she smiled. It had been a long day. Why not relax. Her eyelids were heavy.

"Wonderful," she said, and let her head fall back against the seat. Marco's thumb ran down her arm, erasing tension. Her whole body began to relax. Her eyes closed.

"Let yourself go," he said into her ear. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "Focus only on sensation." His thumb pressed a knot near her elbow. Pain flared and then faded. He continued kneading her arm.

"I'm going to make my touch lighter," Marco murmured. "But it won't tickle. You'll remain relaxed." His fingers began to run slowly up and down her arm. It felt incredibly sensual.

"Feel my fingers tracing lines of light on your arm," he told her. She could visualise it, glowing white behind his fingers. His thumb grazed the inside of her arm and she shivered with pleasure.

"That's right," he said. "Sink into the sensation. Feel your arm is your whole body." He traced a circle on her shoulder. "Here is your head." His fingers trailed down her deltoid and lingered at its base. "Here," he said, his voice getting lower, "Are your breasts." He pinched her there, very gently. She felt it in her clit. "Yes," he said, "Good. It is as if I am playing with your nipples." His fingers pressed and squeezed. Her chest felt tight. The pressure of her clothes against her breasts became noticeable, and her nipples hardening against her bra.

His fingers slid lower down her arm and for a moment she felt bereft. He was making small circles above her elbow crease, around and around. "Do you feel this in your tummy?" he asked. Speaking felt difficult, so she nodded minutely. "Yes, you do. Good girl. This is your tummy, and here--" he traced the fold of her elbow-- "we are lower still." Her pussy throbbed. Marco traced a triangle along the crease of her elbow, pointing downward. "It feels good, doesn't it? You know where this is." She did. Her body did. Her hips were rocking slowly beneath the airline blanket. His touch lightened. He might only have been stroking the fine, invisible hairs of her arm as he made tiny circles. She could feel the circles like fire around her clit. Moisture was seeping out of her, and her breath was short.

"Mmm," said Marco. "You like that. How beautiful you are when you are deeply aroused." His fingers didn't stop their subtle caresses. "Soon you will reach your peak," he continued. "Soon. Already you feel the energy building, don't you. You crave a finger inside you. A cock, filling you. You long to be fucked."

Every word became true as he said it. Her legs were parted lewdly underneath her blanket, and she longed for his hand to leave her arm and touch her pussy. Privacy be damned. She was past caring. "Shh, shh," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "Soon you will cum for me, but quietly, quietly. Pay attention to my hands." She tuned back in to the inside of her arm. His fingers were brushing her skin rapidly now, from just above her elbow to halfway down her forearm. His strokes were rapid, as if he were brushing something off her skin, and she felt each one as an electric force, pulsing against her clit.

"Yes," he said, "You're ready. Relax. Let it unfold." She realized she'd tensed every muscle in her body. With a breath, she let go. Her orgasm bloomed in her like a peony, unfurling layer after layer of iridescent pleasure. Marco's hands steadied her, one firmly behind her neck, one still tracing circles on her arm. She gasped and arched silently, on and on, and finally subsided. Pleasure still lingered at her core, sending little spasms through her. She turned to look at Marco and saw his gorgeous smile. She smiled back, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss.

She would have gone on kissing him. She imagine she would have climbed on his lap and ridden him if he'd asked her -- but he drew away. "Do you feel wonderful?" he asked, holding her face in his hands.

"I do." She did.

"You are delightful company," he said. "But now--let me help you sleep. After all, you'll be meeting your Mister Craness in the morning. You need to rest." He tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed her arm and she moaned. "Mmmm," Marco hummed at her. "But it's time for rest now. Listen to me." He moved his palm over her face, closing her eyes. "Sleep, and wake rested."

She don't think he did anything else. There was no repeated suggestion. Maybe he still had her hypnotised or maybe, replete, she was just ready to drift off. Either way, she fell asleep, and woke surprised as her breakfast tray arrived.

Read at BedPost Confessions, November 2010.


Tom said...

Dared to touch "sex on a plane" and came through without a single Cliché... well done! (and delicious as ever)

Rosie Q said...

Whoa - that's a genre? I'm glad I didn't know. Thanks, Tom!

Tom said...

Of all the exotic places that people choose to have sex in (real or fictional), the cabin of a passenger jet is possibly the most common and unexotic. It's just been done so-many-fucking-times, keeping it fresh is quite a feat.