I had a window seat on the flight back and watched the mountains rise up out of the long, grey-brown desert below. I thought how strange and wonderful it was to be 51 and to have had the first time again. Your perfume was still on my shirt and my hands and my hair. My lips still deliciously bruised from kissing you. I leaned against the window and closed my eyes, the glass cool against my forehead, and there you were. Eyes closed, the gleam of your teeth catching your lower lip, bare arm bent behind your head, breasts rising and falling, nipples, the color of ripe plums, tight and erect. One hand light on your hip, the other brushing back your hair.
Later, saying goodbye at the door, your hair brushed and under control, your lips freshly glossed, my hand against your cheek — a last kiss, soft and gentle now. A secret desire, stolen moments, a weekend out of time, and as the plane left the coast behind and brought me back to my other life I set aside all thought of destinations and obligations and felt instead the joy of the first time. I leaned back and closed my eyes and relived the days that had just passed; even as now, a year later, if I stop for a moment and let my mind wander, each moment is as clear and fresh as if it were only a moment ago.
Airports are all the same but the feelings we have about our destinations are always different. Leaving Jo‘burg, I walked the shops in the departures zone, bought a book for distraction, a pack of gum. Just a few hours to kill, nothing about it out of the ordinary, and yet, everything about it was new. This time I was going toward you. Security, flight announcements, delays, lines, check-in, luggage, taxi, hotel check-in all lit with the glow of anticipation, all somehow significant and worth remembering, all leading me to you.
You had chosen the restaurant and, sitting so I could watch the door and the people passing by outside, I waited for you. Wondered how you would dress, wondered if I had chosen right, wondered if conversation would sputter or flow, wondered until you walked in. Suddenly, wondering ended. Ended with the touch of your hand light on my shoulder, your lips on mine, your smile as you sat beside me.
We talked and time slipped past easily but all the while I was aware of your hand near mine on the table, your bare shoulder, the way you adjusted the straps of your dress, the curve of your breasts. Walking to your car after dinner, the air cool with a breeze from the sea, watching the sway of your hips beside me, the touch of your hand on my arm as we kissed goodnight, each move, each gesture, each word a promise of more to come. You wore my jacket to cover your shoulders. I opened the door for you and you began to slip it off your shoulders but then hesitated to give it back.
“I wish,” you began. I watched your resolve waver. I knew you had to go back tonight. “I want to,” you said. “But, you know.” You smiled and handed me my jacket, stepped close to kiss me, your red nails digging into my shoulder. Your teeth sharp against my lips. “Tomorrow,” you whispered.
After I watched you swing out of the lot and disappear I slipped the jacket back on, not for the warmth but because it carried your perfume with it so that I felt you around me even after you had left. I smiled. “Tomorrow,” I whispered.
Sleep didn’t come easy that night. I felt you so close but not yet, I felt an anticipation building, felt a glow and a warmth all through me so that it was a relief when morning finally came and I could just get up and begin the day. But when the day began I felt as restless as a caged animal, pacing the room, reading every pamphlet and notice twice and three times and then again. I walked the area around the hotel, walked to get a bite to eat and then couldn’t eat it. Fussed and paced until you knocked and I stood before you and breathed you in once again. Breathed you in and knew this time was our time.
We sat on the small couch and you fit in under my arm as if you belonged beside me, close and comfortable, you drew me towards you like a magnet. To touch your hair, the side of your face, along your shoulder and then you sighed softly and leaned even closer, close so my hand slipped along the curve of your breast and traced the arc of your bra, so my fingers slipped your buttons free and found your skin so warm and soft as silk and delicious. Close so my lips were in your hair and then on your neck and finally you turned so our lips found their mates. Oh, once my lips found yours they did not want to leave but the lure of your cheek, your neck, your shoulders, the fragrant warmth between your breasts, these all called to me, called for attention, called to be touched and tasted and nibbled. Breathing your perfume and tasting your skin, feeling the soft sigh of your breath and the rise of your chest as my fingers slid the straps of your bra off your shoulder, and then slid the cups off your breasts so I could taste your nipples and stroke the full, taut curve of your breasts. I felt your hand on my thigh and the pressure of your nails sliding along the shaft of my cock as it rose to meet your fingers while your other hand caressed my neck and brought me closer to you. I felt your fingers at my zipper, felt the pressure of your fingers reaching in to hold me.
I wanted more, wanted all of you, but the delicious slow time was too wonderful to let go. The soft touch, the hint and promise of your breath in my ear, my lips returning again and again to find yours. My hands slid along your legs, tracing the softness of your thighs and the heat of your pussy through the silk and lace of your panties. Time is not constant, it ebbs and flows in tides and currents beyond our comprehension. The sea air that stirred the curtains stilled. The traffic beyond hushed. Time itself held its breath between one moment and the next. There are no words for this quality of connection, no way to explain the thrill of joy which rises iridescent and shimmering like a bubble within and flows out in waves through fingers and breath and echoes between us. Time held still but desire does not rest. Finally, we needed more and without a word we rose. You slipped your blouse off your shoulders and freed your breasts, I watched you wriggle out of your skirt and stepped forward to hold you and cupped your face in my hands and kissed you more deeply and strongly than before. I broke off, my breathing harsh, flushed as if with a fever and, as you sat on the edge of the bed and then lay back, one knee raised, eyes half closed, I slipped off my shirt and pants and lay beside you.
And in this new position, with your body open to me, I kissed you again and again took in first one nipple and then the other, felt your breath quicken, heard you murmur, “That’s so good.” And then slid down to kiss your thighs, let my fingers slide up and down your legs and then slide in under your panties, slip in and slide around the edge teasing, teasing your panties down, so my tongue could find you and slide between your lips there, slide into you, slip up and down, lingering here, pressing there, down almost to your ass and then back up, tasting you, feeling your hips rise to meet me; feeling the catch in your breath, hearing your soft words of wonder and encouragement, wanting only to please you, to bring you to the edge of control and then beyond in a long and liquid time of breath and wetness. It was as if I breathed and drank you, filled you with my lips and tongue, felt you rise up and slide along my face, reached beneath you to hold the sweet, sweet curve of your ass and bring you even closer. All the while feeling your hands in my hair, along my back, holding my ears, bringing me closer, guiding me, clasping me to you, clasping me into you.
As I looked out of the plane’s small window and watched the world spin away below me, I was glad we hadn’t managed to finish that afternoon, glad that we had left so much for another time. But mostly I was just so full of being with you, so consumed with the touch of your hands, the warmth of your breasts, the tightness of your nipples against my tongue as I drew them into my mouth and stretched each just a little, so full of the joyous wetness of my fingers sliding through the satin of your pussy, so full of your breath and so full of desire with you and for you.