by Whitney G.
I took off the fourth condom of the night and tossed it into the trash, hoping like hell that this back to back sex was simply a symptom of withdrawal. That the only reason I’d sent her a “What’s your room number?” text hours ago was because I was trying to make up for four weeks of sexless nights.
As she continued to lay on the bed bare-ass naked with her eyes shut, I stared at her and trailed my fingers against her plump lips.
Blushing, she suddenly sat up and pulled the sheets over herself. “I thought you’d left.”
“I’m about to.” I pulled a shirt over my head and double checked my pocket for the room key.
Grabbing my phone off the the TV stand, I checked the time. Four o’clock.
We fucked for four hours?
“What’s your line for the rest of this month?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. You think I know that by heart?”
“I know mine by heart.”
She furrowed her brow, but she didn’t argue further. Still holding the sheets around herself, she leaned over and grabbed her phone. She tapped the screen a few times and my phone vibrated seconds later with a series of text messages.
Gillian: HNL-JFK. JFK-MIA. MIA-PHX. PHX-ATL. ATL-SFO. SFO-LGA.
Gillian: [image]
Gillian: [image]
I looked at the dates attached to each trip and noticed we’d both be in New York City for the last four days of next month, but I didn’t mention it. This needed to be pure and simple sex with a dash of her required “cordial” conversations and that was it.
“I’ll see you in Phoenix on the fifteenth,” I said. “I’ll let you know where to meet me in the airport.
“That’s five days from now.”
“I’m aware. Is that a problem?”
“No.” She shrugged. “It’s just that…You don’t strike me as the type that’s capable of holding off from sex for that long. Actually, someone I dated once told me that’s too long for a guy to go without sex.”
“Then you need to date better people.” I rolled my eyes. “With the exception of today, I haven’t fucked anyone since that day I was with you at The Madison.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” I watched her sheet slowly shift, exposing her hardened nipples.
“So, you’ve been thinking about me all this time, too?”
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you all this time,” I said. “I don’t and won’t know you, remember?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiled. “I didn’t mention this before, but I won’t be able to meet you anywhere the last Saturday of next month. Familial obligation.”
“That’s fine. I’ll never be able to meet you on the third weekend of any month. Personal reasons.”
“Would you like to talk about it? I can make coffee.”
I blinked.
She really is the ‘after a boyfriend’ type…
“Is that a yes to the coffee?” she asked, standing up from the bed—sweat from our sex still glistening against her skin. “Caffeine or decaf?”
I didn’t answer. I took one last look at her and left before the sight of her body would make me want to have her all over again.
I took the elevator to my room, took a cold shower, and lay back on my bed. Unable to sleep, I checked my email—seeing a new email from Elite at the top of my inbox.
* * *
Subject: Annual Elite Airways Gala. Last Chance to RSVP.
Mr. Weston,
We know you’ve received variations of this message multiple times this month, but we felt the need to send it again.
Attached you will find a formal invitation to our airline’s annual gala. This year, we’re unveiling a new design and celebrating our latest milestone. We’ll also be honoring the lives lost on the only tragedy at our airline, the victims of Flight 1872. Whether you’re able to attend this year’s event or not, we’d appreciate your response.
Employee Affairs Department
Elite Air
* * *
I started at the phrase regarding Flight 1872, shocked and surprised that the truth could finally come to the light. I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be the first step to not hating this criminal airline, and maybe another step toward sleeping well for more than a few nights at a time.
Against my better judgment, I opened the invite and selected “Yes.” Then I rolled back over and tried to sleep Gillian and her pussy away.
I made it five minutes before my phone buzzed with a text message.
* * *
Gillian: What’s **your** room number?
Gate B13
Gillian
Phoenix (PHX)
My fingers trembled as I sent an “I’m here” text message to Jake, as I stood in an unconstructed bathroom in Phoenix’s airport waiting for him. I’d somehow managed to lie to Miss Connors with a straight face when we landed, telling her that I would have to check into the hotel later since a “college friend” had just messaged me on Facebook saying he was nearby.
I wasn’t sure if the expression on her face was annoyance or relief, but she’d pulled out her clipboard and written me up for “failure to comply with protocol” before heading to the hotel herself.
As the sound of passengers and rolling luggage sounded outside the bathroom’s doors, I considered leaving—letting Jake know that I wasn’t cut out for this after all. I pulled up my text messages, starting to type, but he suddenly walked into the restroom.
“Hi…” I said. “Are we going to your hotel now? It’s not the same Marriott, is it?”
He looked confused, setting his carryon against the wall before walking over to me. “Who said anything about a hotel?”
“You…You said we would meet up in whatever cities our layovers intersected and decide where to go from there.”
He stared at me, and the reality suddenly dawned on me.
“You want us to fuck in here? Are you serious?”
“Why else do you think I would ask you to meet me in a half-constructed bathroom, Gillian?”
“So you could give me directions for the next destination, maybe?”
“This isn’t a goddamn stealth mission.” He looked into my eyes. “It won’t always be in the actual airport, but I have a flight in three hours and we don’t need to waste any time.”
“You’re that insatiable?”
“Yes.” He smiled, sliding a hand under my dress and gently touching my panties. “And so are you, apparently.”
I didn’t say anything. I backed up against the door of a handicap stall, trying to think this through. It was bad enough I was going to be blatantly breaking the no-fraternization rules by sleeping with him, but I had no idea the chances of getting caught were going to be this intensified.
Still smiling, Jake reached behind me and unlocked the door to the stall, pulling me inside. He lifted me up and set me on the third step of a paint ladder.
“Why are you so nervous?” he asked.
“I’m not nervous.” I was still shaking. “I just…I thought this was going to be more civilized and away from the possibility of people walking in on us.”
“Gillian, you’re what? Twenty-six years old?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Okay, you’re twenty-nine years old,” he said, looking more content with that answer. “I think you can handle having private sex in public places.” He caressed my cheek with his hand. “I would never pick somewhere where we would be caught.”
“But—”
He pressed his finger against my lips. “Construction ends at five o’clock. It’s currently seven. We’re in Terminal 4, the international terminal. The last flight that will leave from here is currently boarding at the gate far down the hall, and airport employees aren’t allowed to enter construction zones for fear of injury.”
“So, you’ve done this before?”
“No.” He spread my legs and gently pulled my panties down to my ankles. “I’m just very well-versed in air
ports and I think you need to relax before we start this arrangement.”
“I can relax…”
“I’ll make sure of it.” He took my panties and stuffed them into his pocket. “In the meantime, let’s agree to start over after today. Can you do that?”
He didn’t wait for me to agree with him, though. He pushed my dress up past my stomach and spread my legs a little further. Without saying another word, he lifted my left leg over his shoulder and buried his head between thighs, devouring my pussy for so long that I went completely weak at the knees, that he had to cover my mouth to muffle my screams.
I clawed at his back as his tongue brought me to orgasm twice in a row, leaving my pleasure etched onto his skin.
When he finally finished, he had one hour until boarding so he simply put me back together and walked away, saying, “I’ll email you for where you need to meet me in Charlotte next week. And for the record, the taste of your pussy’s come is incredible…”
Gate B14
Gillian
Charlotte (CLT)--> Atlanta (ATL) --> Montreal (YUL)
* * *
Subject: Charlotte
How’s your week going so far? (Mine is very stressful and hectic.)
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Charlotte
This email isn’t about fucking. (Emails are only supposed to be about fucking.)
—Jake.
* * *
Subject: Charlotte (The Correct Email)
Meet me in Terminal C when you land. Gate 15.
—Jake
* * *
Subject: Re: Charlotte (The Correct Email)
Regardless of if **emails** are only supposed to be about “fucking,” would it kill you to say, “Hello, Gillian” or “Hope all is well, Gillian” before launching into where you want me to meet you for sex? I thought we agreed to be cordial…
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Charlotte (The Correct Email)
We also agreed not to have pointless conversations. Terminal C. Gate 15.
—Jake
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Charlotte (The Correct Email)
If you don’t start being cordial with me after today, I can promise you that I won’t come meet you anymore.
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Charlotte (The Correct Email)
And I can promise that you have no idea who you’re fucking with…
—Jake
Subject: Atlanta
You were supposed to meet me at E3 thirty minutes ago.
—Jake.
* * *
Subject: Re: Atlanta
I’m still waiting for you to ask me about my day or say hello first…
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Atlanta
Keep waiting. Get to E3. Now.
—Jake
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Atlanta
Hello. How are you? Please meet me at E3 so we can have sex today because I am addicted to having sex with you. See how easy that is? Give it a try. :-)
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Atlanta
Stop fucking with me, Gillian…You have thirty seconds to get to E3.
—Jake
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Atlanta
SERIOUSLY, JAKE? Did you just say what I think you just said over the speakers?
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Atlanta
If you’re not here within the next ten seconds, I’ll make sure to say “Gillian’s pussy.” Try me.
—Jake
Subject: Montreal
Hello. How are you.
Tim Horton’s. Arrival Zone.
—Jake.
* * *
Subject: Re: Montreal
Fuck you, Jake.
—Gillian
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Montreal
Looking forward to it in three hours.
—Jake
I leaned against a chair, scrolling through Jake’s latest text messages—unsure whether I could wait another week to have him again. For the first time in my life, I felt like I needed sex. In the past, when the sex was with my previous boyfriends, it’d felt good—sweet, even, but this was different. It was raw, no-holds-barred, and primal, and I was beginning to believe him when he claimed I was just as insatiable as he was.
“What’s up with that goofy grin on your face, Miss Taylor?” Miss Connors sat across from me at the gate.
“Nothing.” I tucked my phone into my blazer pocket. “Just checking up on recent events.”
“Oh really? Because I thought for sure the reason you were looking like an idiot was because ever since you went to the bathroom a couple hours ago, you’ve been walking around with your dress inside out.”
What? I looked down and sure enough, the white seams of my dress were face up, something I’d neglected to check when I redressed earlier.
“Go fix it, Miss Taylor.” She waved me away. “Now.”
As I walked past her, I heard her mumble, “I swear they get dumber every year…I don’t get paid enough for this…”
I slipped inside the closest restroom and quickly flipped my dress inside out. I made sure my hair was still sleek and in place, and then—still on cloud nine after today’s sex, I called Meredith.
No answer. An immediate text from her appeared instead.
Meredith: Hey, Gill. Been weeks since we caught up! Are you okay? I’m at a crucial run-through right now, so I can’t talk. Can I call you later tonight?
Gillian: Of course! And I’m more than okay :-)
There was no one else I could call right now, but since I wanted to get this off my chest, I logged into my abandoned blog from years ago and started a new post.
* * *
~BLOG POST~
Oh New York, New York, New York…
I finally found the cure for getting over you: Flying…and—
Write later,
Gillian
No, wait…
**Taylor G.**
* * *
I heard Miss Connors calling my name and posted the blog without finishing. But as I stepped out of the restroom, I realized it took all of five seconds for my only follower to comment, as if no time had passed at all.
* * *
KayTROLL: Welcome back. This should be interesting…Or not. Your writing seems even worse than before. Now, after all these years, you can’t complete simple ass SENTENCES???! O_o #sadddddd.
Gate B15
Jake
Seattle (SEA) --> Minneapolis (MSP) --> New York (JFK)
* * *
I was beginning to think that sex with Gillian was the cure for a good night’s sleep, the perfect distraction from the nights of breaking shit that came every so often. And despite the fact that she drove me up a wall with her need to talk, her demands of unnecessary ‘Hellos’ and ‘How are yous,’ I couldn’t get enough of her. Each time we had sex was far more explosive than the last, and no matter how loudly she screamed, or how deeply she dug her nails into my skin as she came, I always looked forward to the next time.
The only downside to our arrangement was the small things she was beginning to do here or there, subtle things that seemed as if she was attempting to seep further into my life and break one of our rules. Whenever we met at certain airports, she always insisted that we stop inside a magazine shop or a bookstore together and talk. She would pick up a new book, insist on having a short conversation about either, “I wonder if this will be good,” “Maybe this will last me on my next flight,” or “I saw lots of passengers reading this one, but it’s kind of expensive.” And it would take me all of three minutes to take the book from her, pay for it, and escort her to whatever secluded place we were really supposed to be.
When we finished
fucking (if we didn’t go back for a third or a fourth time), she would stare at me with her big green eyes in silence for several minutes. Sometimes she’d stare at me so long that I would be forced to help her quickly get dressed so we wouldn’t get caught. In those moments, she would ask about my flights, about my day, and simply say, “I’m just asking to be asking. I don’t really care.” I always answered her questions then, hoping she was telling the truth.
Thinking about the way she’d rode my cock in the Charlotte parking garage the other day, I smiled and finished reading the latest pompous news articles about the upcoming Elite gala and the “Amazing Era and Ambitious CEO of Elite” on my phone.
The second I finished, an email from Gillian popped onto my screen.
* * *
Subject: Random.
I need to ask you a question…
—Gillian.
* * *
Subject: Re: Random
Is this question about fucking? (And you didn’t need ellipses after that sentence.)
—Jake
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Random
No, it’s about something personal. (Thank you, Professor Weston… <--How about those ellipses? Did they fit there?)