“You promised.”
Wrenching her fingers away he gasped, “Alright, I promised, but what if I said I was …” She tried to stop him but he caught her hand. “I’m not saying I am, and I am not saying I am not. I’m just saying what if you knew I wasn’t married. How would you feel?”
She sat back. “It would be difficult for me to fall in love with a foreigner.”
His head jerked up—a foreigner? He’d never considered himself a foreigner and was startled to realize that was exactly what he was.
She continued, “It would be too complicated—imagine the wedding, nobody would know what to say, what to wear, or where to have it. Then it would be a problem to know where to live. And the poor children—seeing only half of their relatives most of the time.” She carried on with numerous other objections: religion, customs, education. “Food,” she added, poking him in the ribs accusingly. “You don’t like herrings.”
“Neither do you,” he reminded her, poking her back.
“Then there’s sex,” she concluded, giving a little smile.
“What do you mean—sex ?”
“Well, you might do it differently to us.”
“We could always find out beforehand.”
Her look was mischievous. “We could?”
“But what if I were married?”
“Oh, that would be exciting. Sort of thrilling and dangerous.”
“Like flying?” he suggested.
“Yes,” she agreed happily, “like flying,” then paused to rearrange her face. “But afterwards I would feel guilty and feel sorry for your poor wife, or I would try to take you away from her and that would be bad as well.”
The voice of experience, he thought noticing her pensive expression. “What about you,” he enquired, “Have you ever been married?”
She thought intently, as if the answer required calculation. “I tried it once but it wasn’t much fun.”
Almost as if on some pre-arranged cue, Anne arrived with the main course—Beef Bordelaise strewn with plump white asparagus spears—and lifted Yolanda’s mood. She teased him unmercifully, taking each juicy stalk of asparagus and sliding it slowly through her pursed lips with her head back, exposing the length of her slender neck.
“Witch,” smirked Bliss knowing exactly what she was doing. Then her hand slipped into his lap under the table and brushed lightly over the bump of his erection.
“You are a naughty boy, Dave.” she said demurely, and he closed his eyes and willed her to keep going but she stopped. A few moments later she slid out of her seat. “Bathroom,” she said.
Ten minutes later, when she hadn’t returned, concern clouded Bliss’ face and irrational thoughts spun in his mind. What if something awful had happened to her—maybe she’s fainted. Feeling slightly foolish he found his way to the solitary cubicle behind the curtain and tapped lightly on the door. “Yolanda,” he whispered, “are you in there?”
“Yes,” she sang out, opening the tiny door.
Dancing to the rhythm of their own music they manoeuvred into the minute washroom, their mouths fastened together. He saw what was coming and hesitated a fraction, a jumble of excuses racing through his mind: There wouldn’t be enough room; other people might be waiting; someone might miss them; it wasn’t professional. Bugger, he thought, slamming the door with his foot, it’s not as though there’s anyone else in my life at the moment. That’s sleazy Dave, he chided himself, then relented. Alright then, if you must know, I think she’s bloody gorgeous and maybe I’m not too old to try again.
Yolanda reached behind him and slipped the catch. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse while her hands played in his hair. “Quickly Dave,” she said, without breaking the kiss, and helped him with the last button.
“I’ve never done this before,” he breathed, as his fingers fought with the clasp of her brassiere.
“What?” she questioned laughingly.
“Had sex in an airplane,” he whispered, his eyes eagerly seeking a glimpse of the pale fleshy mounds.
“You said you liked to try everything once.”
Full, yet firm, her breasts yielded only slightly when he set them free from the lace trimmed half-cups of her bra. With a breast fitting perfectly into the palm of each hand, he massaged and moulded them, squeezing and teasing until she could wait no longer. Giving the inside of his mouth a parting wash with her tongue, her hands urged his face toward her chest. His head dipped and his lips brushed her nipples; his saliva lubricated them; his tongue traced their outline. Then he tweaked the hard pink erections between his teeth and felt her whole body quiver. His mind swam, this wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening.
Seized by a sudden urgency, her hands flew to his groin and she tugged insistently at the zipper of his trousers.
“Please, Dave, please,” she urged.
He experienced again the sensation approaching take-off. The jet engines revving faster and faster; the vibration; the tension running through his body; the pent up excitement. Then the thrill of the rapid acceleration as the plane bounded toward the far end of the runway with more power than ten thousand horses. Then he felt the powerful thrust of take-off as her legs swooped around him and drew him in, both her hands pulling, insisting, guiding.
Absorbed entirely in their emotions, neither saw the sign on the wall flashing impatiently. “Fasten your seat belts.”
Free as an eagle, but faster than a bullet, the giant flying phallus slipped through the air, its cargo of humanity hurtling toward a higher altitude. Bliss felt himself recklessly flying fast. Climbing higher and higher. Penetrating deeper and deeper into the warm, humid atmosphere. His body trembling with the thrust from the mighty engines of the plane; his excitement enhanced by the fear of crashing. Now his powerful upward thrusts were matched by hers. Eyes closed they raced together, higher and higher, faster and faster, piercing through the earth’s envelope, penetrating the dark, mysterious, humid clouds. All thought of Edwards and LeClarc swept from their minds. Then, together, they burst jubilantly out into the bright clear blue sky and floated and soared above the clouds.
An insistent banging brought them down to earth. “Yolanda, Yolanda,” Anne shouted through the door, “we’re coming in to land.”
“So are we,” mumbled Bliss.
“Vienna?” queried Yolanda a minute later as they stepped out of the washroom, hot, sweaty, and hastily dressed.
“Thirty minute re-fuelling stop,” answered Anne with a broad smirk that said she not only knew what they were doing, but would enjoy in gossiping about it to lots of other people. “Quick get in your seats.”
Emerging from behind the curtain into the cabin, the weight of thirty eyes fell upon them with such force that Bliss almost staggered back. Everyone was staring, many with knowing grins. Yolanda giggled, but Bliss’ face turned an even deeper shade of pink. Carefully avoiding eye contact, he kept his head down, scuttled to his seat with Yolanda in tow, and wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a round of applause.
chapter twelve
Anoisy seagull dive-bombed Roger’s raft, mistaking it for a fishing boat in the swirling mist, hoping to snatch some offal from the deck, and his thoughts of Trudy were interrupted as he fended it off with a lazy swipe.
“Clear off.”
Returning to his daydreams, Trudy’s aesthetically improved likeness appeared again and