Brief Encounters

She squeezed her hand around his cock and pumped, letting go only to fondle his balls, pleased to feel them tighten, and then returning to his cock to finish him off. Unable to see his face, she could just hear the tiny gasps and groans that indicated he was close. And then he came, with a sigh. She smiled. Aeroplane fucking was so much easier for women. In a moment her cunt would tighten round his fingers, her clit would ensure the explosion of her orgasm. And that would be it, done.

And that happened sooner than she expected. He was very good with his hands. His fingers moved more urgently, delving deeper, parting her pulsating cunt. Her head fell back onto the headrest. Her breath was coming in tiny gasps, her hips bucking. She had gone beyond the point when she cared if the flight attendant became aware of their actions.

And then her orgasm came in a torrent, flooding through her. It was all-consuming, intense. And then it subsided, and was over.

‘Thanks,’ she whispered, pulling the mask away, meeting his eyes for the first time since his fingers had found her thigh.

‘No worries,’ he replied.

They chatted for the rest of the journey. He asked questions about her, a rarity amongst doctors in her experience, who generally enjoyed telling her about their achievements. Which helped preserve her anonymity.

And then they landed. He handed her his card. She reciprocated. With a real one.

‘Call me,’ he said. ‘We could meet. For a drink. Or something.’

She was surprised to see him blush. Most conference delegates were like her, people of the world. Used to shedding responsibilities, being anonymous for a few days. Confident and often arrogant. Simon Jones was different. An enigma. Was he married? Not that that bothered many men or women she met. Quite the opposite. On a nine-hour flight he had intrigued her. He made her think of Melanie.

The memory of her face and body nudged its way into the forefront of Suzanna’s mind. She tried to ignore it, dismiss it. But Melanie kept returning, smiling.

And encouraging. It was like she was saying, ‘Go, girl,’ again.

She didn’t call him. She wasn’t sure why. The days were busy. The nights too. There was one fuck. On the first night. It had started out as a fumble in the lift between her and another sales rep. A woman. They’d shared a martini in the bar. Suzanna had gone back to the other woman’s room. And they had fucked, quickly and efficiently. Without much pleasure or desire. It was a mechanical act. Suzanna tried to summon the image of Melanie again, but it was elusive, like she’d been teasing her, beckoning and running away.

And then they met. He was in her hotel lobby, apparently questioning the receptionist, when she came back on the final day, ready to drop into bed and sleep through. She felt a frisson of excitement, but crept past him, despite Melanie’s voice whispering, ‘Go, girl,’ in her head.

‘Ms Parker,’ the receptionist’s voice called her. ‘Ms Parker. I have Mr Jones here for you. He says he has an appointment.’

Suzanna raised her eyebrows. An appointment?

‘Hey, Suzanna, you’re still here. I was hoping you’d call.’

This was the first time a fuck partner had tracked her down again. It had all been down to chance in the past.

‘You know,’ she shrugged. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘How was the keynote speech?’ She thought it only polite to ask.

‘Nerve-wracking. But apparently well received, if the bastards aren’t lying to me and sniggering behind my back.’

‘I guess you’ll never know that.’

‘They will be. It’s a dead cert. Either through professional envy, because it was good, or because it was crap after all.’

They both smiled.

‘Goodbye drink?’ His voice was hopeful.

She hesitated, then nodded.

‘Come up to my room.’ She’d made her mind up. It wouldn’t hurt, would it, to fuck him properly this time? Still no commitments. Just a goodbye, we won’t see each other again, fuck. Like all the rest.

He followed her. Their lift journey was silent. They stood well apart. In her room, he stood by the window overlooking the bay while she found two small, cold bottles of champagne.

‘Can I kiss you?’

She nearly giggled at his formal, old-fashioned tone.

‘If you must.’

His kiss was light at first. He cupped her chin, just touched his lips on hers. Then they lingered, and parted hers, his tongue pushing inside, suddenly more insistent, far less formal. He began to unbutton her blouse, slip his fingers into her bra, twist her nipples, making her groan.

Now she wanted him. Really fucking wanted him. The tiredness had oozed from her.

‘Go, girl.’ Melanie’s voice again. She could hear it because he was the first person since Melanie to have really touched her. And she knew Melanie would have been OK once she’d left. She’d have ditched Jake, moved on to someone new, but stayed where she was, physically. Melanie was rooted. Solid, beautiful and happy in her skin.

They fell onto the bed, tearing off clothes, discarding them in a molten pile on the floor.

The first fuck was quick, routine, urgent. He was already rock-hard. She parted her thighs and welcomed him. He thrust into her, she pushed against him. He came quickly then withdrew.

For a fleeting moment she feared disappointment. She closed her eyes, unable to believe she was trying to suppress tears. But then she felt his fingers run down her sides, circle her flat belly, dip between her thighs. And then he flipped her over. Things were looking increasing promising. She felt the woosh of air as his hand flew down to slap her arse. Her cunt tingled with desire. This was more like it.

‘That’s for not calling me.,’ His voice was curt.

Another woosh. Another slap.

‘And that’s for trying to creep past me in Reception.’

She took the punishment, almost coming from the slaps alone, burying her head in the soft, plump pillows, crying out with pleasure. Her arse was stinging, and she hoped his hands were too.

‘And this is for saying yes to that drink.’ His voice was soft now. He was stroking her arse, down the back of her thighs. She shuddered with pleasure. His hands moved between her arse cheeks, tracing a line down to her cunt, forward to her clit. She raised her arse to welcome his touch. She felt his lips on the curve of her back, his cock, hard again now, pressed against her side.

‘Fuck me,’ she whispered.

And he did, raising her arse and pounding into her, gripping her hips. Her fingers strayed to her clit, and she began touching. His hand pushed hers away, and he touched her instead. Gentle circles. Round and round. Her arse writhed against him, matching his rhythm, and this time they came together.

Her orgasm was delicious, waves of frenzied spasms rolled through as he groaned and thrust until he was spent.

They fell back on the bed, hot and satiated.

The night ended how it had started, with them entangled on the bed, whispering to one another, sharing. And it felt good. Like the sex. Then morning came, and time for them to part.

‘See you again?’ he’d asked. She hadn’t replied.

And now she was here, waiting for her plane. He had returned to Australia, on a lecture tour. She took her phone from her bag and turned it around in her hands. Did she want to be tied down, not literally – she always wanted that – but metaphorically? Did she want to feel rooted? She thought that, at last, she might. She’d never stop travelling. That was in her soul. And she doubted she’d stop adventuring in the near future, at least. She wasn’t ready, yet, to be exclusive.

She began texting.