What a terrific beginning to a holiday: Waking up at 4am, heading to the airport, to then learn that my flight is postponed by four hours… Hoorray.
I find the next Starbucks, answer some emails, and finally turn the laptop off to dig into my holiday book. Lee Child’s ‘No Middle Name’, the complete collected short stories of Jack Reacher. Amazing. Few things beat a good book.
After finishing the first short story last night, I get ensnared by ‘Second Son’ within minutes.
Time flies. About an hour has passed as I finish the 2nd short story. Good stuff. Reacher in his teenage years, beating up bullies. Gotta love this boy.
I put the book aside to take a bite of my chocolate croissant and sip on my white hot chocolate. It’s going to be a great trip. Weekend on Mallorca, celebrating life with some good friends. What else to wish for?
While aimlessly gazing around the airport, my eyes fall on her. One of these ladies that turn everybody’s head, including some ladies’. One of these stunning women that most likely are Giselle Bündchen’s best friends, just better looking and more approachable, since not arrogant beyond belief.
And possibly a few kilograms extra, so she won’t need a ‘Breakable – please handle with care’ sticker when boarding an airplane.
A clear 10 out of 10. Probably the reason why 10 was invented in the first place on the original score board of one to three. Only 10 feet away.
A lady that’d make other guys drop their croissant on the spot and start drooling on their shirts. Who would dare talking to her?
I do. I’m a man of action. I coolly take another bite, take another sip, put down my cup, get up and leisurely walk towards her. My eyes are fixed on hers, and by the time I’m a mere two steps away from her she returns my gaze. Our eyes meet. One of these brief split seconds that tell you a month’s worth of conversation and will last you a lifetime.
I slowly walk past her, whispering ‘Bathrooms in two’ in her ear. I can feel her stare on my back, seizing me up, torn between being a good girl and making a memory never to be forgotten.
A minute and a half later she walks into the hallway leading towards the bathrooms, and I understand she opted for the latter. Wise girl. We only regret the things we have not done, right?
No time to waste. I take two steps towards her, grab her by the neck, push her against the wall and kiss her hard. She moans with excitement.
Time turns into a blur. I push her into the ladies’ bathroom, since ladies usually feel more comfortable in there. So I heard. From a friend. Who had read it somewhere. Probably. Or just made it up. Who cares?
We rush past two ladies adjusting their makeup to look grand on their upcoming flight to wherever, and disappear in one of the empty cabins, slamming the door shut with a bang.
Things get better than I would have dared to dream of. Besides being an absolute stunner, this lady got skills as well, and is not afraid to practice them further on a perfect stranger.
As a competitive guy, skilled women drive me into my very best performance, which she obviously enjoys. For a second I fear they might cancel all flights due to a presumed earth quake. But even if they did, nobody would hear any of the announcements throughout the airport anyway… It’s all drowned out by one helluvan excited lady.
Then that fear vanishes as quickly as it had come, as primeval instincts order my blood to leave the brain…
Despite feeling like a lifetime of lust, my watch tells me otherwise. The entire action lasts less than five minutes, and ends in a short, but intense kiss on the mouth and her messing about with her hair in front of the mirror while I contented leave the bathroom, adjusting my pants as I walk.
Bathroom quickie at the airport with a perfect stranger. Another first in the miraculous chain of sexual encounters.
I sit back in my Starbucks chair. Surely shortly she’ll rock up as well and continue her order.
Her husband joins her in the queue, pushing a pram, asking her what she’d like to order.
I break my stare, pick up my croissant from the ground, and wipe away the drool from my shirt.
Slightly irritated I take another bite, take another sip, and then try to focus on that third short story.
Morale of the Airport Adventure:
- Sorry, ladies, you can’t compete with Jack Reacher. Few things beat a good book.
- If some internet guy tells you a story that sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
- Be aware that not everybody tells you that their stories are a hypothetical construct of their fantasies.