Pieces of Perfect

For our husbands, who provided us with a

constant source of inspiration.

One

“Do you have your boarding pass printed, Ma’am?”

Ma’am?  
Ugh, when did I become a Ma’am?
 I’m only 27 for Christ's sake.  “Yes, it’s here somewhere.”  Placing my Vera Bradley carry-on on top of my suitcase, I fumbled through my purse.  “Give me a minute.  Sorry.  Rough night.”  I had left the restaurant so abruptly, so tired of my parents’ incessant nagging.  They just couldn’t let it go.  I had come out to Colorado for winter break to visit them. That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it?  So why does every conversation have to end in their unsolicited commentary on my career choice, on my life in general for that matter?

“Would you like me to print you another boarding pass?”
 The line behind me increased, and I could feel the intense stare of the weary woman behind the counter, who was clearly unimpressed with my organizational skills.

“No, I swear I have it right here.”
 Quickly realizing it wasn’t in my purse, I moved on to my carry-on.  I grabbed my bag off of the top of my suitcase, unzipping it simultaneously.  I went to plop it onto the ground, when I quickly morphed from well-dressed professional to a sideshow attraction.  As I lowered my carry-on, my bracelet snagged on the zipper of my suitcase, wrenching it open and ejecting my clothing all over the airport floor.

I looked up to heaven as if to say, “Gee, thanks.”
 As I bent down quickly to pick up my clothes, along with my dignity, I felt my face flush.   I surveyed the wreckage I’d caused, when I noticed that some of my clothing had landed near the feet of the man behind me.  Seeing my boarding pass, I pulled it out and frantically began shoving everything that had fallen out into every available compartment, including inside of my carry-on.

“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered under my breath.
 Could this day possibly get worse?

“Well that’s pretty presumptuous.
 I usually insist on a drink first.”  A deep voice coughed back a subtle laugh and extended a strong hand for me to grab. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I
. . .” Glancing up as I finished collecting my belongings and thoughts, I found possibly the bluest eyes I had ever seen flashing back at me.  “I . . . I found what I was looking for,” I stumbled over my words.  Fuck, did I ever?  This man was gorgeous.  So gorgeous that I was willing to overlook his sexually-charged response.  

He pushed his dark, wavy hair away from his face as he looked down at me, the left corner of his lips revealing an amused smirk that he made no effort to conceal.
 
Focus, Lily.  For Christ’s sake, you’re still on the ground.
 I managed to compose myself as he grasped the side of my arm firmly, helping me to my feet.  I handed my boarding pass to the woman at the counter, who was sadly not as amused as the handsome stranger
had been with my display.

“You look a little stressed,” he said laughing as he lifted up my suitcase and placed it on the scale for me.

Gee, what gave it away?  He was a real genius, this one.  No shit I’m stressed!  My parents think I am wasting my life because I decided to become a teacher, I have a four hour flight ahead of me that doesn’t get in to Philly until 2:30 in the morning, and this bitch at the counter thinks I’m a complete fucking moron.  Not to mention that I’m pretty sure my thong fell onto your foot a few seconds ago. Was it even clean?
Jesus, fuck!
 “I’m fine,” I managed, turning my attention to the counter again.

“You sure are,” he whispered in my ear as he leaned back to take his place in line.

What a creep.  Who the hell did this guy think he was?  I mean, really.  Does he say things like that to any woman he thinks might be an easy lay?  But something involuntary fluttered low in my stomach at the thought that he might find me even half as attractive as I found him.  

I finished checking in, grabbed hold of my purse and carry-on tightly and left to make my way to security without looking back.

*               *              *

The line at security was longer than I would have expected for a Monday evening.
 I placed the hand sanitizer and lotion from my purse into a clear plastic bag and put them into the gray container, along with my shoes.  I was definitely regretting not getting changed after dinner.  Heels and a pencil skirt were not the best choice of attire for a late night flight, but I had left in such a hurry after my parents’ hurtful remarks about how I was wasting my life.  Changing had been an afterthought.  Instead, I had grabbed my luggage out of their car and opted to call a cab, heading straight to the airport while my parents were still waiting for dessert. A part of me thought that at least one of them would come after me, try to smooth things over after I had announced that I had endured enough and was leaving.  But heaven forbid they end their meal early on my account.  My disappointment was still palpable as I placed the container on the conveyer belt and walked through the metal detector when the portly, balding security officer motioned me through.

“Ma’am, please step into the area to the right for a full body scan.”
 

Here they go with that
“ma’am” shit again. And what was all of this crap about? Was getting one break tonight asking too much?  

“The detector didn’t even beep.
 Why do I need to be scanned?”

“It’s just protocol.
 Completely random.”

Random, my ass
, I thought.  Those pervs in the back room probably get off on watching women go through body scans.  I had no choice but to comply, so I stepped into the clear box and spread my legs slightly in order
to place my feet in the painted outlines on the ground.  As I turned impatiently toward the officer at my right to give him a look of disdain through the glass barricade, I saw him.  The “gentleman” from check-in was a few people back in line
.
 His head pointed toward the ground, but his eyes were tilted up toward me, staring at me intently, clearly amused by my perpetual inconvenience.  What an asshole!  

A hot asshole, though.
 He lifted up his fitted white t-shirt at the waist slightly to allow me a peek at his hardened abs as he removed his belt with his other hand and placed it in the container, never once taking his clear blue eyes off of me as he made his way through the security area easily.  My eyes followed him to my left as he slid on his shoes, bending down for a few moments to fix the bottoms of his faded jeans before pulling the waist up slightly and putting on his belt.  Damn, he had a nice ass!  Now I was the voyeur, checking him out without his knowledge.  Or did he know?   Maybe he was doing this intentionally—putting on a show for me to enjoy while I was stuck in this cage helpless.  Tossing his black backpack over one shoulder, he ran his hand through his hair and strolled away.  This time, it was his turn to not look back.  

I knew two things for certain.
 I needed a drink, and I needed to forget about everything that happened while I was away.  By the time I left security, I still had about 45 minutes before my flight boarded, so I found an open bar and took a seat near the door, at the corner of the U-shaped counter.  I organized my belongings (I’ll be damned if I was going to lose my boarding pass again) and hung my purse on the hook under the bar, as I sunk down onto the red cushioned stool.  I looked up to get the bartender’s attention when I noticed him for the third time. He was seated a few stools down from me, to the right of the corner I occupied.  What were the chances?  How had I missed him when I sat down?  Certainly if I had seen him, I wouldn’t have stayed.  I think.

I quickly assessed whether or not I could make an inconspicuous getaway.
 With a few other patrons at the bar, most middle aged men in varying degrees of inebriation, my exit would probably go unnoticed.  But, for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to stand.

Without saying a word, he slid a drink my way.
 He must have noticed me immediately and ordered the drink while I was preoccupied with my bags.  The red liquid splashed a bit when I went to grab it, and I licked a little of the cool liquor off my finger.

“Well, how
can I pretend not to look at you when you’re licking your finger like that?” he asked playfully, his tongue running across the corner of his upper lip involuntarily.

"I didn’t say you had to ignore me.
 But, your attention isn’t necessary.  The drink, however, is,” I said, putting it to my lips.  It tasted sweet, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

“Wow, such harsh words coming from such a beautiful mouth.”

I paused for a moment at his directness and furrowed my brow a bit.  “What is that?  A pick-up line?  You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am serious.
 Beautiful creamy skin, silky hair I’d like to run my fingers through.  An ass . . . well, we’ll leave that comment for later.  What’s not to like?” he said, taking a sip of his drink.  “And I did enjoy your little show back there, by the way.”

A chill ran down my back, and I shifted in my seat.
 God, this guy knew how to make me uncomfortable—and a little wet.  I didn’t have people who looked like him coming on to me like this every day.  He had to be at least six feet tall and had that brooding, bad boy look to him that I’ve always been attracted to.  And speaking of hair . . . God, I’d like to yank on his while he moved his head back and forth between my legs.  
Jesus Christ, Lily.  Get back to reality.  
 “Show?  Um, it wasn’t me who was putting on the show.  You, lifting up your shirt, taking off your belt and staring at me?  Any of that ring a bell?”

He slid a few seats closer to me, closing the space between us.
 I could feel my heartbeat quicken, and the warm feeling in my lower abdomen returned.   I swallowed hard.  Facing me and raising his left eyebrow, he lowered his voice and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to see I wasn’t the only one enjoying a show.”   

“I didn’t say I enjoyed it!” I snapped back.
 Yes, I needed to be clear I wasn’t interested. .  . even if that wasn’t entirely true.

“But you didn’t say you
didn’t
enjoy it either.  Tell me your name.”

Tell me your name?
 I didn’t take orders.  Plus, I was taught as a young child never to tell my name to strangers, and I damn sure wasn’t going to break that rule for this asshole.  “I don’t think we need to do names.”

“Suit yourself, doll. But I thought you might be interested to know
mine
since I’m fairly certain you’ll be screaming it later.”  He rubbed his hand across his face, and I found myself daydreaming again about how his scruff would feel brushing against the insides of my thighs.

“Wow, you’ve got a big head, don’t you?” I asked, rolling my eyes at his forwardness.

This must have amused him because he cocked his head to the side a bit like a confused puppy, obviously entertained by my comment.  Lowering his voice, he ran two cool fingers lightly down the side of my left arm.  “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”

“Aaannd . . .
that’s my cue to go,” I said, raising my glass in the air and taking a final gulp.  As I began to lower it, a mischievous thought crept into my mind, along with the memory of his words during our first encounter of the night.  “Guess you got your drink after all,” I said with a wink.   I then turned, grabbed my bag, and stalked out of the bar, satisfied.  Two could play at that game.

I couldn’t believe that guy.
 Who did he think he was saying things like that to someone he just met?  But, more pressingly, who was I to like it?  Thank God I got out of there before I did something I might regret.  Although, if his “head” was as big as he claimed, there might not be much reason to regret anything.  
Stop thinking about him, Lily.  He’s a sleazy asshole who’s probably just looking for a quick fuck before he hops on a long flight home to his wife.  
I breathed in deeply to calm my nerves before heading to the terminal.  
You’re better than this.
 

Two

I strolled through the airport toward my gate, stopping only to grab a bottle of water and a
Cosmo
magazine to take with me.  I looked forward to resting on the plane, and I was hoping that the late flight would mean that the plane might be somewhat empty.  Between my parents and that douche from the bar, I had dealt with enough arrogant assholes for one day and was hoping not to be stuck with one next to me for the next four hours.

I found a seat at the gate facing the window and gazed out into the night sky, trying to clear my mind.
 Seeing my distorted reflection staring back at me, I couldn’t help but flash back to the bar.  I
was
pretty, some might say hot, and why should I be offended by that?  I was 5’5” with wavy brown hair that fell about three inches past my shoulders.  I could definitely pull off a sexy outfit, and yet I hadn’t really thought of myself as attractive in a sexual way until now.  Was it
him
that made me feel that way?

I’ve had a pretty good track record with men and have had my fair share of romances. I even thought I would eventually marry Chris, my college boyfriend of a little over two years.
 He always made me feel special, telling me how beautiful I was, taking me out even when we didn’t have much money, and leaving me little notes in the morning when he’d leave my apartment to get to class while I was still asleep.  After our graduation, he had moved out to Chicago to pursue a Master’s Degree at Northwestern.  But, I just couldn’t bring myself to move back there after I had decided, against my parents’ wishes, to become a teacher and not a lawyer—a cardinal sin in the Hamilton household.  When Chris and I parted, we were still very much in love.  I felt so much pain after our breakup that I almost gave in and returned to Chicago to be with him.  But, I just couldn’t.  I needed to be my own person and I wouldn’t be able to do that in Chicago.

Despite our passion for each other, somehow I never felt
hot
with him.  Never felt so irresistibly desirable in the way that I had in that bar only several minutes ago.  But acting on my body’s desires would draw me too far out of character.  They did not mesh with the person I had tried so desperately to become. So what if that jerk made me wet just thinking about him?  I would never see him again, and if I did, I could never pursue it.  Clearly, he was a top notch prick.  

I was ready to get on that plane to get home and back into my routine already.
 So far they had boarded first class, passengers with small children, followed by children flying alone, and I found myself wishing I had some kind of a physical disability just so that I could have boarded earlier.  “Now boarding all remaining passengers,” blared the muffled announcement.  I shoved my magazine and water into my purse, took a sigh of relief that this bullshit trip to my parents’ vacation house in the mountains
was finally over, and walked through the narrow hallway and onto the plane.     

I had barely turned the corner to proceed down the aisle, when I spotted his blue, piercing gaze immediately.
 “Oh, you’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” I muttered under my breath as I walked a few paces closer to him.  The line paused to let a few passengers place their bags in the overhead compartments and take their seats, and I found myself stopped nearly in front of him in first class, my pelvis almost directly in front of his face.  Despite my best efforts, I glanced down once while I was accidentally daydreaming about burying his face between my legs right here in aisle 3.

He looked up at me.
 “It’s Max,” he said with a cocky wink.

What a conceited bastard
.  I thought back to his advances at the bar and I knew exactly why he had told me his name.  
Un-fucking-believable
.  Did he know what I was just thinking about?  Did something on my face give it away?  If this motherfucker thought he had an actual chance with me, he was sorely mistaken.  I could definitely control my baser urges.  As the line started to move again, I shifted the bag to my other shoulder, intentionally knocking him in the side of the head in the process.

Thank God
, I thought as I eyed up row 19.  I placed my carry-on in the overhead compartment above my row, and took my seat by the window.  I had never been so happy to be sitting next to an old guy who smelled like cough drops in all my life.  Sure, he’d probably snore and pass gas intermittently throughout the flight, but there were about 16 rows of distance between me and Mr. First Class, and this ancient fellow next to me seemed relatively innocuous.  For once in my adult life, I was happy to be flying coach.

Coming from a wealthy family, I had flown many times, but it always made me slightly uneasy.
 Maybe it was knowing you were doing something that goes so directly against nature.  Or the feeling that despite your better judgment, you have to give up all control to someone you don’t even know.  The risk was strange and unnerving, but at the same time, it had a certain allure to it.  

I asked the flight attendant for a blanket and took a few deep breaths to calm myself before taking out my book, hoping that it would tire me enough so I could get a little sleep.

I must have dozed off at some point because I awoke a while later and glanced down at my watch, which I had set to east coast time before leaving Colorado.  1:50.  Not much longer before I’d be home and able to relax a bit before heading into work.  I pushed up the shade on the window to look into the darkness, took a deep breath, and yawned.  It was then that I noticed the conspicuous presence of a fresh, clean scent.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you sleep with your mouth open?”

Oh, fuck!
 

“Your head bobs around a little too.
 It was pretty entertaining to watch actually.  And also a bit of a turn on, I might add.”  His arms were folded across his chiseled chest as he stared straight ahead at the seat in front of him, not even glancing my way.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve sitting here,” I snapped.
 “When that old guy comes back from the bathroom, you’ll have to get up and leave.  You know that, right?”

“Oh, he won’t be returning.
 He’s up front, happily crossing “flying first class” off his bucket list, courtesy of me.  It’s just us, sweetheart.”  He paused momentarily, assessing his surroundings.  “Well, us and the gorgeous creature sitting to my left.”  He threw a slight head nod in the direction of the round, gray-haired old woman to the other side of him. “She’s been sleeping for a while too.” He suddenly turned his attention back to me, flashing a mischievous smile. “Though watching her doesn’t exactly give me the same thrill as staring at you with your head back and your mouth open,” he said playfully as he leaned toward me, imitating my sleeping pose.

Fuck.
 He’d been watching me sleep.  For how long?  

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
 “What the hell do you think you’re doing back here?” I said quietly through my tightened jaw.  Though I hated to admit it, seeing him lean into me with his mouth open and eyes closed had the same effect on me as I had on him.

“Well, I’ve been sitting in first class with my cock
pressed up against my jeans for three excruciating hours. It was either take care of things myself in an airplane bathroom or take my chances here with you. So here I am.  Sitting next to you.  Still fucking hard.  You can probably guess which one I would prefer given the two choices,” he said, angling his broad shoulders toward me and uncrossing his arms to relax a bit.

I couldn’t help but look down to his lap at the mention of the word “cock.”
 I sucked in a breath quickly and reached up to turn on the air above me before slowing my breathing and allowing myself to exhale.  
Jesus Christ, it was hot on this fucking plane suddenly
.  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but I didn’t have to.  My body felt him. There was something primitively erotic about him that couldn’t be denied.  I just had to try to ignore it for the next half hour or so.  I deliberately looked over my shoulder at the bathroom door.  “Bathroom’s vacant.  Guess you’ll have to settle for your plan B,” I said, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not as dirty as I am when you’re reading this lovely fucking porn here,” he said with a wicked grin as he held up the book that had been on my lap when I’d fallen asleep.
 He opened to a passage.  Beyond embarrassed, I tried to tune him out as he read aloud a paragraph about moaning and throbbing ecstasy against someone’s ass.  He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with his comeback.

“
Lolita
is a classic tale about a man’s obsessive passion for the girl he loves,” I explained defensively.

He smiled.
 “Classy porn is still porn, doll.”  He raised both hands up with open palms. “Not judging.  Just saying.  And I’ll also have you note that reading your ‘classy porn’
did nothing to help alleviate my pesky erection problem.”  Pausing for a moment, he softened his voice seductively and leaned in closer. His breath smelled of sweet mint mixed with alcohol.  All I could think about while he talked was feeling that tongue in my mouth and letting him devour me.  “You still seem a little stressed, and I think I have something that will help you relieve some of that frustration,” he said, lifting up the armrest that separated us.  He put a smooth, solid hand under the blanket on my lap and rubbed my leg gently just above my knee.  

My nipples hardened instantly, and the tingling sensation from the bar returned as he made his way slowly up my thigh.
 

Oh, shit
!  Is he actually going to do what I think he’s going to do?  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I whispered, trying to resist my primal desires.
 But I knew as I heard myself speak that my pleading was much too weak to convince him that I didn’t want this.  Or even to convince
me
for that matter.

“Relieving some
of your stress, doll,” he said as he motioned to the flight attendant with his left hand. “I ordered you a glass of white zinfandel while you were asleep.  I thought it might help, uh, take the edge off. The attendant said she'd bring it over as soon as you awoke."

I thought for a moment before motioning to a nearby flight attendant.
 “Um,” I said stifling a moan as his fingers travelled delicately up my thigh. “Excuse me, miss, I’ll actually have a gin and tonic instead.”  
Yeah, that’ll show this dominant bastard who’s boss.  
I wasn’t about to drink some fucking girly drink that
he
had ordered
for
me.  

“Gin and tonic, huh?” he said smirking.
 “Whatever will, ahem, loosen you up a little.”

I became acutely aware of his deliberate choice in words.
 
Loosen me up a little?  
The acknowledgement of his intentions sent a shiver up my spine. Could I let him do this?   And here?

The attendant smiled pleasantly. “I apologize, ma’am, but drink service for this flight has just been suspended.
 We will be touching down shortly,” she said with an apologetic smile.

He turned his head to gaze at her—and obviously her name tag. “Kristen, is it?”
 And I could see the hint of a genuine smile emerge from the corner of his eye as he clasped her hand gently. “Just one last drink, please?  I’d be very grateful.  She’s not really a fan of flying,” he said, nodding his head in my direction while sliding two fingers forcefully inside me.

I inhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.
  The blissful feeling that radiated throughout my body contrasted with my sour mood. I couldn’t believe this asshole.  I mean, really?  Did he seriously think that now was an appropriate time to be flirting with her?  Holding her hand with his left while he fingered me with his right?

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied with a white grin, as she turned to leave.
 But she only made it a step before she found a reason to turn back to Max. "Could I also bring you a drink, sir?"  
What a slick little temptress
. Max smiled sweetly. "Oh, that would be great, Kristen. I'll take a scotch. Neat."  Christ, this son of a bitch was charming.  There was no denying that.  His sexually magnetic pull clearly could not be denied by any woman, including me.  Though I wasn’t sure if that revelation was supposed to make me feel better or worse about being finger fucked by a stranger in coach.    

His thumb began to circle my clit and he slipped a third finger inside me, moving slowly and discretely.
 
Oh fuck, this feels good.  
I held my breath and bit my lip as he stroked me gently with his thumb and pushed powerfully into me with his fingers.  

Yup, this is really happening.

I wanted to push against his hand to create some more resistance, but I didn’t want to seem too eager.
 Although something told me it was a little late to care about appearances.  The flight attendant returned a few minutes later, lowering each drink carefully to the tray in front of him, when he motioned for her to do so. “Just put it on my card, please, Kristen.”

“Certainly, sir.
 I will have to ask you to hold the drinks, though.  Your tray tables will need to remain in the upright position for the rest of the flight.  We should be landing shortly.”