angela146
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,347
It was a hotel restaurant like many others, better than most, catering to the business traveler. That's why I was there - alone - staring at a cupcake with a candle in it.
A curl of smoke rose from the wick and carried the unique scent of blown-out candle over to another loner. He looked over at me. I didn't see him at first.
I must have looked like I needed company - or that like I might be susceptible to a man's advances if they were part of a package deal that included a sympathetic ear.
Either way, he was right.
I didn't notice him until he cleared his throat. With his hand on the chair opposite, he asked, "Care to elaborate?" I smiled and motioned to him to sit down.
He was somewhat older than me, nicely older, with a trim physique, and a well-groomed face topped with "executive hair". Actually, that's not quite true. It would have to be silver-colored to really be called "executive", and his was more of a copper/silver alloy.
"Sized me up already?" he asked.
I smiled. "You're a pilot," I inferred, "probably a co-pilot on a 737 or 757." Sitting back and studying his affect for a moment, I made an educated guess, "... probably learned how to fly in the Navy, not the Air Force."
His eyes opened wider and began to take a tour of my face and shoulders, on their way to my cleavage. I didn't mind, especially since I'd obviously guessed right - and thereby managed to crack his composure.
Catching himself after a moment, he looked back to my face and saw my suppressed grin. His own face showed a bit of embarrassment. "It's OK," I said, "I wasn't exactly sizing you up out of professional curiosity."
My hand was half-way through my hair before I realized I was arranging it - while simultaneously executing several other man-attracting behaviors. His eyes were drawn back to my blouse, which now seemed to be gaping, while my body was suddenly positioned at an angle to display as much breast as decency would allow.
Apparently, my flirtatious auto-pilot was functioning properly. Well, I thought, I've already told him I'm interested. There's no reason to pretend otherwise. I let my body express my feelings in all their vulgar glory.
This time, he admired what he saw and made no attempt to disguise his approval. I could feel warmth spreading downward from my neck. I liked it.
Suddenly desperate to get control of the situation, I asked about his original query, "On what would you like me to elaborate?"
Returning from his reverie, he thought a moment and said, "Oh, you were studying the candle." We both looked at the cupcake. That reminded me of why I had ordered it, and of the wish I had made.
He continued, "Is it your birthday?"
I smiled again, now embarrassed at my own silliness. "Not really..." Do I want to admit my age to him? Why not? I thought. "I'm a third of a century old, today."
His reaction was surprising - to me at least. He looked pleased. I had spent the previous few minutes feeling sorry for myself at my advancing age, but he seemed to like my age for some reason - or perhaps he thought my melancholy would give him an entree to my bed.
"Well," he said, "you're just old enough for me to be interested."
I don't know why, but that remark made the warmth go all the way from my neck to my thighs. It should have offended me - would have, any other day - but in that moment, I liked his arrogance. Of course, his being a pilot added to the attraction.
"What makes a thirty-three-year-old more interesting than a thirty-two-year-old?" I asked. I really wanted to know, but I also wanted to be complemented for my age. I needed it on that particular day.
He smiled again, this time with the assurance of a sport-fisherman who's hooked his prize-winning catch. "I'll tell you after your fourth orgasm," he said.
I've never before or since seen a man swagger while sitting down. I can't really describe it, but somehow he managed to pull it off. That, in my mind, is fifty-thousand-foot arrogance... and I really wanted to feel it moving at Mach-2 between my legs.
But I had to negotiate. I couldn't just let him have me without exacting a price of some kind. Perhaps knowingly - he gave me a bargaining chip.
"How did you know I was Navy?" He asked.
I couldn't thank him at that moment, but I promised myself I would thank him later. My counter-offer was simple enough, "I'll tell you after your third orgasm - inside me, of course."
He raised an eyebrow. At first, I thought he was going to demand an answer to his question right then and there. Instead, he impressed me with a bit of humility. "I can't take my blue pill and still fly tomorrow. Could you tell me after just one?"
I stood up, hoping to make him worry for a moment that he'd lost me. But as I signed the room-charge for my dinner, I said, "Don't worry, I'll give you a mid-air re-fueling. You'll do four sorties and still catch the third wire before 0400."
He stood up and gestured toward the door. Picking up my purse and still-uneaten cupcake, I took his arm and walked with him toward the elevators.
As I suspected, he was barely an inch taller than me in my two-inch heels. Navy pilots can't be too awfully tall, but a three-inch advantage over me was just right.
We were a nice fit: I was just old enough for him, while he was just tall enough - and just arrogant enough - for me.
A curl of smoke rose from the wick and carried the unique scent of blown-out candle over to another loner. He looked over at me. I didn't see him at first.
I must have looked like I needed company - or that like I might be susceptible to a man's advances if they were part of a package deal that included a sympathetic ear.
Either way, he was right.
I didn't notice him until he cleared his throat. With his hand on the chair opposite, he asked, "Care to elaborate?" I smiled and motioned to him to sit down.
He was somewhat older than me, nicely older, with a trim physique, and a well-groomed face topped with "executive hair". Actually, that's not quite true. It would have to be silver-colored to really be called "executive", and his was more of a copper/silver alloy.
"Sized me up already?" he asked.
I smiled. "You're a pilot," I inferred, "probably a co-pilot on a 737 or 757." Sitting back and studying his affect for a moment, I made an educated guess, "... probably learned how to fly in the Navy, not the Air Force."
His eyes opened wider and began to take a tour of my face and shoulders, on their way to my cleavage. I didn't mind, especially since I'd obviously guessed right - and thereby managed to crack his composure.
Catching himself after a moment, he looked back to my face and saw my suppressed grin. His own face showed a bit of embarrassment. "It's OK," I said, "I wasn't exactly sizing you up out of professional curiosity."
My hand was half-way through my hair before I realized I was arranging it - while simultaneously executing several other man-attracting behaviors. His eyes were drawn back to my blouse, which now seemed to be gaping, while my body was suddenly positioned at an angle to display as much breast as decency would allow.
Apparently, my flirtatious auto-pilot was functioning properly. Well, I thought, I've already told him I'm interested. There's no reason to pretend otherwise. I let my body express my feelings in all their vulgar glory.
This time, he admired what he saw and made no attempt to disguise his approval. I could feel warmth spreading downward from my neck. I liked it.
Suddenly desperate to get control of the situation, I asked about his original query, "On what would you like me to elaborate?"
Returning from his reverie, he thought a moment and said, "Oh, you were studying the candle." We both looked at the cupcake. That reminded me of why I had ordered it, and of the wish I had made.
He continued, "Is it your birthday?"
I smiled again, now embarrassed at my own silliness. "Not really..." Do I want to admit my age to him? Why not? I thought. "I'm a third of a century old, today."
His reaction was surprising - to me at least. He looked pleased. I had spent the previous few minutes feeling sorry for myself at my advancing age, but he seemed to like my age for some reason - or perhaps he thought my melancholy would give him an entree to my bed.
"Well," he said, "you're just old enough for me to be interested."
I don't know why, but that remark made the warmth go all the way from my neck to my thighs. It should have offended me - would have, any other day - but in that moment, I liked his arrogance. Of course, his being a pilot added to the attraction.
"What makes a thirty-three-year-old more interesting than a thirty-two-year-old?" I asked. I really wanted to know, but I also wanted to be complemented for my age. I needed it on that particular day.
He smiled again, this time with the assurance of a sport-fisherman who's hooked his prize-winning catch. "I'll tell you after your fourth orgasm," he said.
I've never before or since seen a man swagger while sitting down. I can't really describe it, but somehow he managed to pull it off. That, in my mind, is fifty-thousand-foot arrogance... and I really wanted to feel it moving at Mach-2 between my legs.
But I had to negotiate. I couldn't just let him have me without exacting a price of some kind. Perhaps knowingly - he gave me a bargaining chip.
"How did you know I was Navy?" He asked.
I couldn't thank him at that moment, but I promised myself I would thank him later. My counter-offer was simple enough, "I'll tell you after your third orgasm - inside me, of course."
He raised an eyebrow. At first, I thought he was going to demand an answer to his question right then and there. Instead, he impressed me with a bit of humility. "I can't take my blue pill and still fly tomorrow. Could you tell me after just one?"
I stood up, hoping to make him worry for a moment that he'd lost me. But as I signed the room-charge for my dinner, I said, "Don't worry, I'll give you a mid-air re-fueling. You'll do four sorties and still catch the third wire before 0400."
He stood up and gestured toward the door. Picking up my purse and still-uneaten cupcake, I took his arm and walked with him toward the elevators.
As I suspected, he was barely an inch taller than me in my two-inch heels. Navy pilots can't be too awfully tall, but a three-inch advantage over me was just right.
We were a nice fit: I was just old enough for him, while he was just tall enough - and just arrogant enough - for me.
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