, how I would react. Now that fantasy was reality. Now she was sitting next to me and I would give almost anything for that reality to be moved back into the world of fantasy - or would I? She hadn't recognized me yet. I hoped to see to it that she didn't. Four years ago I had been clean-shaven, had fairly short hair, had worn glasses and had been slightly underweight. Now, besides the full beard and long hair, I wore contacts, slightly tinted, making my light blue-grey eyes seem darker. Eating three squares a day in the camp had boosted my weight, too. I worked out some now, as well, so it wasn't all that surprising that she didn't recognize me. The jet lumbered down the taxiway and took its place in the queue. The stewardess - sorry - flight attendant, gave her little spiel, then moved off to strap herself in. I waited - expectantly. Sure enough, Lisa began covertly looking over to me, eyes wary but hopeful. The plane edged forward. We stood next in line. The roar from the aircraft on the runway ahead of us started her hand shaking. It wouldn't be long. Our plane slipped onto the runway. "Please . . ." Lisa would have said more, but my hand was already open, palm up, and she gratefully placed hers in mine and squeezed it tight. Lisa had always been a nervous flier. Takeoffs and landings bothered her the most. Once the plane leveled out she would be okay, but until then she would maintain a death-grip on my hand. Oh. When I say she would be okay, I don't mean that she would return to normal, she just wouldn't be a white-knuckler any longer. What she would be was talkative. The times we'd flown together had been real gabfests. I hoped to hell that she would find the in-flight movie interesting. How long does it take a jetliner to climb to its cruising altitude? The question now became more than just academic interest. When her hand touched mine I felt my stomach flip. Currents of something long forgotten shooting up and down my body and my poor mind couldn't figure out what was going on. I hadn't expected this. I hadn't expected the mere touch of her hand to cause any problems at all. I tried to control my breathing and failed. Fortunately she wouldn't be able to hear anything over the roar of the jet engines as they accelerated us down the runway and pushed us up into the sky. She wouldn't be able to see anything for, upon take-off, she always closed her eyes tight, not opening them again until the plane began to level off. She wouldn't be able to feel anything, for the one part of my body I could control was my hand, the hand that held hers. I held it firmly, but not tightly, and waited for the jet to begin to level off. How long does it take a jetliner to climb to its cruising altitude? It takes forever. It takes forever, and during that eternity I turned my head to look at her. Time had stood still for Lisa. She was as I remembered her. Such a sweet face - it was almost a pain to look at it. Still had her hair cut the same way, too, and, yes, she still wore the pearl studs in her ears. I turned my head back to the front and closed my eyes. There is something about the roar of the jets, about the vibration, the pressure pushing me back into my seat, which causes an altered state of consciousness in me. In it I can go places. Sometimes I don't even realize I've been gone until I get back. "Cal? I'm back." Her voice sounded nervous. I turned around, my smile coming to my face on cue. I didn't care how it had turned out, I was going to love it - whether I did or not. I needn't have worried. "So, you did it. You had your hair cut. Looks great, Lisa," I beamed at her. Twice before she had changed her mind at the last moment. "Turn around and let me see." Lisa did a slow pirouette for me, but not before I saw the joy leap to her eyes. She had been worried - eight inches of hair made quite a difference, and once the deed was done there was no going back. Now she knew her worries were without basis. I loved the new look, and if I loved it, it couldn't be too bad. Seeing the joy leap to her eyes like that did something special for me as well. It's great to be in love. She came to give me a kiss. I held up my hand. "Hey. Hey. Stop." "What is it?" she looked, and sounded, perplexed. "Whenever I get my hair cut, you make me take a shower to get rid of all the loose bits. Now it's my turn." "Bully," she snorted, but her eyes were filled with humour. "Oh, and Lisa?" "Yes?" "You'd better be careful. With all that weight gone, your balance may be a bit off." She looked at me suspiciously. I immediately confirmed her suspicion. "Perhaps I'd better accompany you - just to be on the safe side." "Brat!" She swatted at my ass - and connected. "You just want to see me naked." I gave my head a small shake, looking as surprised and hurt as I could, "But I thought that went without saying." Then I brightened, "It's a great excuse, though, isn't it - ouch!" I led her to the bathroom door, which was closed, and stopped in front of it. "What now?" She pretended to be put out. "We don't want all those dirty clothes of yours cluttering up the bathroom, so you might as well take them off here." "Here?" Her eyebrows rose, along with the indignation in her voice. "Do you really think I'm going to put up with this?" She sounded annoyed. It was a sham. She knew something was up and there was no way in hell she was going to miss out on it. I stood there, blocking the door and said nothing. "What about *your* clothes?" I was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt - nothing more. "*My* clothes are clean," I said in a superior tone. "Well, if you're going to be like that - fine." Lisa tried to hide the smile that was threatening to break out, and succeeded. She unclasped the belt which encircled her waist and laid it across my outstretched forearm. Then she unzipped her skirt, stepped out of it, carefully folded it and placed it, likewise, across my arm. I looked straight ahead, like a good valet should, ignoring the fact that her lovely legs were now uncovered. She kicked off her shoes and, with my feet, I carefully arranged them against the wall opposite the door. She paused and regarded me carefully. A slow grin appeared on Lisa's face. With tantalizing slowness she began to unbutton her blouse, one button after after another, never pausing, yet never speeding up either. During this slow procedure her tongue came out and wet her lips. She was telling me, silently, that if I could play games, so too could she. I loved her for it. At last she was done, but the blouse still covered everything. Then with a flourish she whipped it open, exposing her bra encased breasts. I had been expecting something of the sort and I manfully remained, eyes straight ahead, face without expression. I could tell that the challenge appealed to her as she carefully folded the blouse and placed it, too, across my arm. The look on her face told me that she wasn't going to let me get away so easily. Her arms went behind her and unclasped the bra, but left it in place. She came up to me, turned her back and removed it. If I looked down, I might catch a glimpse of a nipple. I didn't. One of her arms came up and languorously fell, brushing across the side of my face and my neck as it did so. It was the perfect opportunity to glance down and see a perfect breast, highlighted against the shiny hardwood floor. Naturally I took advantage. I may be tough, but I'm not made out of rock. I took advantage just as she knew I would, just as I knew she wanted me to. And, just as I knew that, I knew also that she would not try to catch me taking advantage. By the time she had slowly turned around my eyes would be back where they had been previously, so aged her breasts, pulling and pinching at her nipples. "Oh, yes," she groaned. I was ready, and so was she. She rose up and guided herself down, until I was at her portal. She dropped suddenly, causing us both to gasp. She was warm and wet and wonderful. The woman went wild on me, bouncing hard and fast. I contented myself with supporting her, letting her do her thing. A couple of times there was some mad fumbling as she rose too high and I came out of her, but mostly there was just the wild ride. I was being royally fucked, and was loving it. The build-up was fast and I approached the point of no return. "Slow down, a bit," I gasped. She responded by moving even faster, fingering herself furiously. "Oh, yes!" Lisa cried in triumph, tensing, throwing her head back, holding still for several seconds, then collapsing upon me. I was close, real close, and I thrust up into her six or eight times, threw my arms around her, hugged her tight and came deep inside of her, an unintelligible cry wrenching itself from my throat. As we came down, I stroked her back, her legs, her sides, anywhere I could. She was murmuring something, but it didn't seem to make much sense. "That was beautiful, darling," she said, raising her head off my chest. "Everything was just beautiful." "For me, too. Only one problem . . ." I began to chuckle. "Yeah?" "We need another shower now." "Later." Lisa reached over and pulled a cover over us. In a very few minutes she was asleep. I let her sleep on me, feeling very good about it all, until her weight became too much. Then I slid out from under her and cuddled in behind her. She snuggled back into me. Some time later I awoke. The candles were almost gone, but there was still enough light to make out her head in front of me. I closed my eyes again. Lisa's hand came up and took my hand, which had been cupping her breast, and brought it up to her lips to kiss. Her head turned slightly. Her grip on my hand slackened and I heard her say, "Thank-you." I opened my eyes to see the pearl stud gleaming through the blonde hair. I felt the grip on my hand slackening and heard her say, "Thank-you." I opened my eyes to see the pearl stud gleaming through the blonde hair. Lisa let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. I've always been a little afraid of flying." "No problem," I replied, lowering the timbre of my voice. I'd have to be careful. "Were you asleep?" she asked, sounding a little guilty. "No. My eyes are a little tired." Usually I'd take out my contacts, it was too dry in the aircraft for them to be comfortable, but that wouldn't be possible this time. I would rely on the eyedrops I carried to get me through the long flight. A flight attendant passed by and I requested a blanket. It wasn't cold, a bit cool, perhaps, after the stifling heat on the ground, but I didn't desire the blanket for the heat it would provide. I wanted it to cover the bulge which had grown in my pants during my reverie. Sitting up straight, as I was, Lisa wouldn't be able to notice it unless she looked there carefully, but I intended to recline, to sleep if I could. While I was placing the blanket over me - and over the armrest on the far side from her in order to give myself some room underneath - Lisa was thumbing through the flight magazine. She stopped on the page that told of the inflight movies. "Bridges of Madison County," she said out loud. "What a coincidence. I just saw it yesterday." Damn. Lisa was one of those people who didn't like to watch the same movie twice. "Too bad," I observed. "I hear it's a good one." "You haven't seen it?" she sounded disappointed. It occurred to me that if I were watching it I'd be unavailable for her to talk to. It was a thought, but I didn't think my eyes would be up to it. "No," I lied. "I'll probably see it later, though. I wouldn't miss a Clint Eastwood film for anything." The Cal she had known had been ambivalent about most of the more violent Clint Eastwood shows. "However, I can't stand watching them in planes." The Cal she knew could watch a movie anywhere. Lisa looked relieved. "Then what do you do to pass the time?" I gave an inward sigh. It had started. "Mostly I read or try to sleep." I gave the appearance of being disinterested. "Pity about your having seen the movie yesterday." "Yes, quite a coincidence . . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I knew someone, once, who didn't believe in coincidences. He said that everything happened for a reason." Damn. That was me she was talking about - at least I thought it was. "Ah. A fatalist." Why did I push it? Did I want her to talk about me, to find out what she thought? Weren't her letters enough? Was I a glutton for punishment? "No, not really. He believed that the Universe afforded us opportunities. What we did with them was up to us. If the same sort of thing pops up more than a couple of times, it pays to keep a sharp lookout - the Universe is trying to get your attention." It *was* me - and she had it pretty much correct. Maybe she did have it correct - for the Cal that she knew. Perhaps my outlook had changed so gradually that I wasn't aware of the subtle differences between that which I held before and what I now held. It didn't matter and I knew it didn't matter, I was just trying to avoid the thought which was trying to make itself heard over the noise - she still thought of me. I grimaced to myself, and consoled myself with the idea that she held me up as a bad example. The first officer came on the public address system and began to reel off the usual information concerning the flight, but I wasn't listening. Lisa's words about 'coincidence' had me thinking. It was true. I didn't believe in coincidence. Events come up for reasons, and then we have to deal with them. How we deal with them is up to us. There are always choices. There are no 'right' choices, or 'wrong' choices, simply choices. Right now, though, it wasn't the choices which were bothering me, it was the reason behind the 'coincidence' of us meeting here and being seated together. Was I, were we, being given the opportunity to get back together, to become the couple that we had been and, perhaps, should have stayed? Was this an opportunity to 'right' the 'wrong' of four years ago? Or was it merely an opportunity for closure? Being suddenly confronted by a Lisa I no longer knew, meeting her in reality instead of in one of my daydreams, had already made me realize that many of my imagined conversations just no longer applied. Much of the bitterness I had when I thought of her had simply fallen away. It had been, at the time, necessary - maybe - but was now simply a waste of energy. She had moved on and so had I. On the other hand, I was not so sure that I wanted to be involved with her even to the small extent of identifying myself. While much of the bitterness had simply disappeared, not all of it had. The break-up had been too acrimonious for that. It was difficult trying to follow Lisa's idle chatter about the relative comfort of airplane seats while digging through my own memories. However, I was relieved of the responsibility of listening to Lisa while thinking my own thoughts by the flight attendant, who came by with the drinks cart. I lowered the tray in front of me and ordered a white wine. It wasn't good white wine, but it was passable. Somewhat to my chagrin I noticed Lisa ordering the same. She swirled it around in the ridiculous plastic glass, breathed in of its bouquet, then took a small sip. After the sip she ran her tongue thoughtfully across her lower lip. I noticed that, after her sip, Lisa ran her tongue across her lower lip. "Well, does it pass muster?" I asked, laughing. "Heathen," she smiled in return. "One of these days I'll have to teach you that wine is the nectar of the gods. I don't understand how you can drink that muck," she indicated my glass of beer, just now placed on the table by the waitress. "Muck!" I pretended outrage. "I'll have you know that this is made with only the finest of hops, the freshest of water and . . ." Words failed me, as I had not the slightest clue as to how beer was brewed. "Anyway, it's great stuff," I finished, somewhat lamely, raising the glass. Lisa's hand closed around on my wrist and I allowed her to push my hand back down to the table, the beer untasted. I let go of the glass. We hadn't been together long, yet I knew what was coming nonetheless. I was about to be introduced to the pleasures of wine. "Here," she said, passing her glass over to me. I accepted with a condescending smile. I'd seen movies before, and I knew what was expected, but I'd let her teach me anyway. Over the next few minutes she explained the rudiments of wine tasting. "Now take a small sip," she told me, at which point I quaffed half the glass. "I said a *small* sip," the teacher speaking to the rather slow student. "That *was* a small sip," I complained. "Can I help it that you are so dainty? I'm a man. A man can down half a bottle in a single quaff. A half-glass is a mere trifle." It might have been a mere trifle, but my insides were being pleasantly warmed nonetheless. It only stood to reason, of course. The wine was probably 12 percent alcohol whereas the beer had been closer to 4 or 5. "Waitress!" "Yes, sir?" The waitress had been nearby and came over quickly. "Take this away," I said indicating the beer, "and bring us a bottle of whatever this is," indicating the wine. "Is there a problem with the beer?" "None at all," I waved off her concern. "We have decided to partake of the grape, that's all. Oh, we'll need another glass, too." "A bottle?" Lisa raised an eyebrow, looking like a female Mr. Spock on Star Trek. "If I have to learn this, I'll learn it right, no matter how much it takes, or where it leads," I proclaimed loftily as my hand disappeared beneath the table and came to rest on her thigh. Lisa's eyebrow arched a little higher yet. "It's going to be a long night," she sighed. "Oh, I do hope so," I replied, for which effort I received a gentle elbow in the ribs. We sat at a corner table and it was cozily dim there and I took advantage of that. Not that Lisa minded, she took advantage as well. We polished off the wine in between teasing touches and kisses. We both were a little tipsy by the time we decided to leave, and were both enjoying that light-headed feeling and the lowered inhibitions. Inhibitions may have been lowered, but there was something else that wasn't - I found our little play quite exciting - so, after deciding to leave, we waited at the table for a couple of minutes for things to calm down, so to speak. "I'll call a taxi," Lisa said. "But my car . . . . Call two." "Two?" "Yeah. The second driver can bring my car home. They'll do it, but it'll cost. However, I don't want to leave my car here overnight, so it's worth it." Outside, we breathed in the warm evening air. It was great to be alive. "So, how did you like the wine?" Lisa asked. "It was great. It gave me inspiration." "Inspiration?" "To do this." I pinched her bottom, and it was such a wonderful bottom to pinch. "Ungrateful swine." Her eyes were laughing, so I knew she didn't mean it. "Toss not your grapes before swine," I misquoted, looking at her bosom and not her eyes. She was a very exciting woman, and I loved her breasts dearly. Loved all of her, but it was her breasts which at that moment were attracting my attention by being excited themselves. "I'm insulted," she tried hard to look angry but couldn't quite pull it off. "Why?" I frowned, trying to think of what I might have said. "You mention grapes when looking at my breasts. Surely they're bigger than that?" I looked at them, judiciously. They were beautifully formed, but not large. I'd have to think quickly to get out of this one. "Yes, ma'am. However, I was referring to taste and not size. I'll give you my decision when we get home - unless you don't want to wait." I licked my lips. Her smile told me it was going to be a hot night. I also knew which would taste better, I'm no fool. Besides, simple taste isn't everything, it all depends on the context, and given the context, there would be no comparison. Yes, indeed, I knew which would taste better. "I've tasted better," Lisa declared, placing the plastic glass down on the tray. I merely nodded my agreement. The less I said, the better. I put my glass down as well, looking at the white wine. It had been Lisa who had turned me on to wine. I hadn't had a beer since that day long ago. Didn't miss it either. I looked at the wine sourly. It was one of the symptoms of what had gone wrong. I was vaguely surprised that I hadn't rebelled and gone back to beer. Lisa had her concept of the ideal man. I was to be that man for her, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. Her ideal man wouldn't be a beer-swiller, but a wine drinker. She wanted me more for what I could be than what I was, where I was perfectly satisfied with what and who she was and didn't want to change anything about her. I've since heard a few pop psychologists saying that this is a typical man-woman thing. What truth there is to that, I don't know, but after a while it began to get to me. Where I had been accommodating at the beginning, I became less so as time passed - much less so. I don't blame Lisa for the break-up, though. We were both to blame. She couldn't read me well enough and I didn't know enough to explain, and the same could be said in reverse. Eventually we both were living for the good moments. However, a relationship can't be based on sex, and soon sex was the only thing that was going very right for us. It wouldn't have taken so much to work it out, just some simple communication. Communication, such as it was, was the first thing to go. The ending became inevitable. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, to nod at appropriate times, but memories kept coming up and interfering. Fortunately, in her anxiety about flying, Lisa didn't notice that I wasn't always responding appropriately. If she noticed, she might pay more attention and, if she did, I had doubts that I would be able to keep up my masquerade. So many memories. So much pain, so much joy. It is difficult to believe that it had only been ten short months, and those four years ago. Of course it had been longer than that. It had been those ten short months plus all the months I'd dwelled on them after we parted. It had taken a long time for me to recover. "What time are we due in?" Lisa's direct question brought me back to the here-now. I opened my book to pull out my ticket, scanned it quickly and told her. "Yes, that's what I thought, but I can't seem to concentrate too well when I'm in the air." She paused, thought for a moment, then continued, "I'm staying the night at the airport hotel, then off again in the morning." She told me her flight details and I quailed inwardly. We had the same flight, the same destination. Outwardly I gave a closed-mouth, lopsided smile and nodded. We were both going back to where it had all started, going back together. I hate it when the universe does this to me. In the dimness of the cabin, as the movie played, as Clint Eastwood wooed Meryl Streep, Lisa tried to draw me out and I did my best to evade her questions, deflect her inquiries. Something had happened to cause her to change her focus, and I was damned if I could figure out what. It had definitely changed, though, there was little doubt of that. The focus was now my person. I didn't like that at all and was very relieved to feel the engines slow and the plane begin to descend. Almost immediately Lisa lost all interest in me. She sat back, pushing herself hard into her seat. She looked wanly at me, eyes pleading. I held out my hand and she gripped it once more, tightly, more tightly than ever before, as if she were afraid of it being withdrawn. Again the skin to skin contact caused me difficulties. I wondered if she could feel the pounding of my heart. I looked again at her face, the eyes shut tight, and a void engulfed my stomach. I closed my own eyes and before I knew it the plane was on the ground. It was almost with regret that I released her hand. "Thank you, again. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been so kind." Lisa smiled brightly at me. It was the smile that could light up a room, the very smile which could cause a man's heart to leap with possibilities, yet undreamed of. I felt a great emptiness. "You would have survived," I answered in a monotone, downplaying any part I had had in it. "Yes." Her smile dimmed, and I felt the loss. At the luggage carousel I stood on the far side from Lisa. Her luggage arrived first, yet she remained there. Finally mine came around. As I lifted them off the conveyer Lisa tapped me on the shoulder. I hadn't seen her move. "Yes?" My hair was all over the place and I looked at her through it. "I'm in room 348." This time my jaw did fall. She smiled wanly. "I don't usually do this, haven't done this before - ever. Room 348." She turned and left. Room 348. I walked down the line of shops in the airport concourse. I was in a daze. Room 348. The sex had always been great. I stopped at a newspaper stand. I couldn't do it. It would be like getting something under false pretenses, living a lie. And if she ever found out who I was, she would never forgive. Room 348. I looked down at the newspaper. A local politician was in trouble. The headline blurted out that it was his 'last stand'. Room 348. I shuddered. Our last stand, Lisa's and mine, had been in a hotel room. It was to be a weekend away, an attempt to recapture the past. Her breasts were pale mounds of delight and my lips sought out the hardened nipples even as my hands roamed her body over. I knew all her special spots and treated them with loving care. I carressed her neck until she moaned, gave a like treatment to the undersides of her breasts. I kissed my way down from her breasts, past her stomach until I reached her thighs. Lisa had such sensitive inner thighs. I kissed and stroked them until she begged me to continue - which I did. I always had loved the musky smell of her, it was like heady wine, engaging all of the senses. My tongue made its approach in the old familiar way, eliciting groans and pleas from her to hurry, to slow, to go harder, softer but never, never to stop. It was what she loved best of all and I was going to give it to her until she could take no more. Finally, with her thighs clamped tight around my head I sucked her clit into my mouth and she went wild around me, crying out her joy. She relaxed and I moved up between her legs, giving her no time to prepare. I positioned myself and kissed her on the mouth before driving in. I loved the sound of her gasp, loved it when I raised myself above her and watched her breasts jiggle, move about like waves as I thrust hard into her. I loved the feel of her hard nipples against my chest as I lowered myself to her, feeling her legs come up, her heels pressing me in deeper, deeper until I couldn't take it any more. Lying by her side, I realized that, for the first time, we had fucked without really saying anything (we had stopped making love some weeks before). There had been no words of love, no terms of endearment. It was then that I finally knew that it wouldn't last - that it was over, actually. Late into the night, I sat up against the wall, watching her sleep. The light from the moon entered the window, lighting up the small bag we'd packed for this weekend, my bag, the one with the half-torn ID tag. The ID tag. My eyes snapped open. Could it be? Damn. Her focus had changed after I'd gotten out my ticket to find our arrival time. Had she seen my name on it? Had she waited at the carousel to confirm by checking out the name on my luggage? She had stood where the bags dropped. I had been on the other side. Was that how she knew when to come around? My hands, holding the newspaper, began to tremble. Room 348. I could do it two ways. I could go as I was, admit who I was and take it from there, or I could wait for tomorrow, get a hair-cut and shave and meet her on the commuter flight. Maybe even wear the glasses I kept for emergencies. Room 348. After our long flight we could both use a shower - maybe we would take one together. I began walking towards the exit, towards the Hotel. "You should have worn a tie. It's more fitting," the woman said to the man, as I passed them. "Okay, dear," the man sighed. I have one in my suitcase." I smiled and shook my head sadly. Room 348. How long does it take a jetliner to reach its cruising altitude? I was going to find out, I promised myself as I noted the time on my watch. The thought of another long flight was a horrible one, but it was the best decision I could make. The woman at the airline desk had been surprised when I turned in my ticket and bought one for Hawaii (the next flight to a vacation area). I had smiled at her and told her that there was a joy in doing things on the spur of the moment. It was nice, if you could do it, she agreed. I like myself. It had taken a long time, but I have come to enjoy the man I am. I wasn't going to allow that to change, allow anyone to change me, not even for the pleasures behind the door of Room 348. If Lisa had changed, was willing for me to be myself, then the Universe would see to it that we met again, that there was another 'coincidence', or I would meet someone else who would let me be me. I was happy with myself, proud of myself. Yet in spite of that I felt empty, lost. Lisa's face, so beautiful that it caused me pain to look on it, rose before my inner eye. My hand felt the loss as there wasn't another one to grip it, to take comfort from it. How long does it take a jetliner to reach its cruising altitude? It takes forever.