Isabel dropped her carry-on somewhere between first and business class on her way to the back of the plane. She was one of the last stand-by names called on this two-stop flight to Paris. She took little notice of the rugged man who helped her settle into her seat. By his slight accent and disheveled travel attire, she dismissed him as a Frenchman. Something else, she thought, without much more than a furtive smile and quick thank you.
It had been exactly 36 days since she graduated from college and 22 since she married the artist. No one knew. Not her parents. Not her best friends. Not even Vivi. It was a mercy marriage to keep her latest lover from being deported. No one would ever know and the bureaucratic procedure of residency procurement would come and go, probably within the course of their affair, Isabel reasoned. No harm. No foul. Impetuous, she was not one to ponder consequences. This was just another of her senior year adventures, like her junior year in Brazil; a brief affair with her sociology professor; and, her first lesbian fling with a woman she met on Venice Beach.
Isabel’s new husband was Luca, a member of the Euro trash Thursday club that would frequent Sarno’s, an old Mafia dive where she was part-time student and full-time singing waitress. Tall, muscular, with chiseled features and a long mane of curly brown hair, Luca was every waitress’ overt fantasy man and even more so because his English was horrible. Isabel could care less and although she understood every word he said in Italian, she feigned ignorance for as long as it was opportune. She felt very woman-of-the-world when she met Luca, a previously married Italian 5 years her senior. Luca had described his marriage as a bright flame that burned out quickly, and Isabel could imagine how it was possible. He had been the first to dominate her and the experience had ignited her passions like no one ever had.
Nicely settled, Isabel ordered a glass of wine, eying the flight attendant with a strange mix of curiosity, wondering if she had sex with the rest of the flight crew and if she would be carded for the drink.
As soon as Isabel finished her mini bottle of wine, another one appeared.
“I didn’t order this, but thanks, you must have read my mind,” Isabel told the attendant.
“It’s from the guy in 4C,” she said. She looked in his direction with the intent of offering up a thank you nod, but he was reading.
“Handsome, isn’t he?” the flight attendant said. “He’s a famous photographer or something. Does this route pretty often.”
“LA to San Francisco?” Isabel asked.
“No, LA/Paris,” she answered.
Their conversation was broken by an announcement over the aircraft’s PA. Tonight’s flight to Paris canceled due to mechanical issues. The next flight would be in the morning; airline staff to provide hotel vouchers for Paris-bound passengers. A collective rumble of dissatisfaction filled the plane as the lead flight attendant took over the intercom offering instructions on baggage, ground transportation to hotels and something about free round-trip travel.
Isabel tuned out. She was to have been in Paris three days ago and Luca was waiting. Things weren’t really strained between the newlyweds – they didn’t know each other well enough yet – but Isabel’s delay put a damper on his plans to show her off to his friends in Paris and then head to Rome in a couchette on the TGV.
Isabel went to freshen her make-up, mostly out of boredom before the plane landed, finding herself in a reverie about her first anal encounter ever, with Luca, who, like many European men reveled in her gasps of pain until her firm, full buttocks opened to the fullness of his long thick cock and he could ride her with abandon.
Isabel pulled her tits out of a lacy bra and fingered them, then brushed them with full palms, like Luca did. She brought one breast to her tongue and strained to lick it, and then the other. This was too much work, but it felt so good that she wanted more – as much pleasure as she could give herself. Isabel then pinched her breasts firmly until the pain reverberated throughout her body. She observed her own arousal in the mirror as her nipples doubled in size and pupils dilated.
She stared at herself intently, feeling a killer orgasm coming on. One hand hiked her skirt and wandered up her thigh, pushing her panties to the side of one labia. She finger fucked herself for a few minutes before her middle and ring fingers found their familiar perch on Isabel’s clit. She fingered herself slowly and deliberately, barely noticing that the return to seat sign had gone on.
Someone knocked at the door as Isabel climaxed, her face flushed from the wine and the subsiding orgasm, she whispered, “Just a little second.”
“Take your time,” a man’s voice answered.
Needlessly flushing the toilet and running her hands through cold water, Isabel opened the door to find the man from 4C in front of her. He was handsome alright, Isabel thought, for an old guy. Probably 45, she guessed, or whatever age her parents were.
“I never did thank you for that drink. Thanks.”
He really was good-looking, Isabel thought. That flight attendant probably caught his eye more than once. They were about the same age, she guessed.
Isabel recognized the slightest hint of Dolce & Gabbana that lingered from 4C. Although she had lost her virginity at 17, it wasn’t until Luca that she started noticing the expanse of men, in general, as possible sexual partners. It was as if that with the first pain at the hand of her new husband, a whole new world of sensuality opened up to her.
4C smiled, “My pleasure.”
He could tell, Isabel thought. He must have known what she was up to which is why he so meticulously sized up her eyes and breasts as she inched by him. She looked back to see if he was watching her walk back to her seat. Just in case, she added a little swing to her hips, not too much, she thought, just enough to make it worth his while. He was. She flashed a sweet and seductive smile. She wasn’t sure why, but she did it anyway.
She wondered if he could smell the feminine juices puddling in her panties as she noticed his cologne. Not likely, she concluded, counting off the hours until Luca and her clandestine honeymoon.
On his way back, 4C paused next to Isabel’s seat long enough to give her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. Innocent enough, it sent an unexpected shiver of excitement through Isabel.