She stood around 6 feet tall, with long blonde hair tied in a pony tail and fixed with a velvet navy bow. She was not pretty by conventional standards, however, this 40 something lady was certainly attractive even handsome some might say. One thing you noticed immediately about her when she spoke, was that she radiated sexual attraction. The combination of height, sharp blue eyes and a voice like poured English honey was enough to make men act like dogs in season. What set her apart from other women who commanded male attention, was her ability to be so beautifully polite. Always a smile, always a genuine thank you, and occasionally a touch on the shoulder to reinforce her gratitude.
I first met her in 1985 on a bright early morning in June. I had been waiting for the 747 jet to arrive from Singapore, along with its 380 passengers, 30 tons of cargo, and for me, 15 tons of baggage. Watching the aircraft from a distance could see the passengers disembarking, one by one passing a small glass window on the side of the jetty now attached behind the nose of the great white aircraft. It is a slow yet methodical process unloading an aircraft. Everything has a time frame to operate safely and efficiently.
As I watched the first of the baggage containers being towed across the tarmac towards us, I became aware of some activity behind me. Turning around I was confronted by a tall attractive lady with a big smile.
“And what’s your name young man?” she asked.
Somewhat taken aback by the sudden question, I forced out the answer before filling my lungs.
“Gaaaary” I said ridiculously.
“Well Gary, my name is Christine, I’m very pleased to meet you. Now, could you make sure the First Class baggage containers are unloaded before anything else?”
I knew it was a rhetorical question and just nodded. I made a complete mess of saying my name so I was not going to risk a sentence. Christine issued more polite instructions to the team in our loading gang and left, leaving quite an impression on an 18 year old boy.
Over the next 18 months I would speak to Christine on a regular basis, either through interaction on a job, or politely passing the time in the main terminal building. On a rare occasion I would find myself sitting next to her on the staff bus late at night. Each time we spoke we became more friendly and although she knew much about me, my questions to her were always half answered. Looking back I realise I knew little about her, and what I didn’t know, I filled the gaps in myself.
On or around my 19th birthday I was treated to ritual humiliation by being stripped, taped up and sent on my merry way into the baggage reclaim hall along with the rest of the suitcases. It caused uproar and I imagine the guys who did it to me could not have foreseen how many police cars would arrive after I had been swiftly spirited away onto the safety of trusty staff bus.
I do not recall seeing Christine sitting on the bus when I boarded having just had to run to catch it. I imagine I was still flustered from being naked in front of 300 screaming tourists! Looking out the window, a familiar soft voice behind me said, “Hello.”
She had dark eyes, crying eyes I would have guessed.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She smiled and nodded. “I’m fine, but what’s this, 11.30am and you’re heading home?
She tried to gauge my feelings before laughing at my story. We were both laughing when she suddenly kissed me softly on the cheek. I tried to pass it off as a non-event, however, she knew the hammer blow it had really delivered
“Do you know where the airport Sheraton is?” she asked close up.
I nodded, not sure at first why she would ask that.
“There’s a bar in the hotel, always open for airline staff, interested?”
I quickly changed out of my coveralls in the car park and threw on jeans and shirt that I always carried as a quick change in case of a impromptu after shift night-time drink. Entering the hotel I realised that I had no idea where to find the special bar. I was about to ask a passing porter when I saw Christine sitting in an armchair away from the main lobby. She pointed at the bank of steel elevator doors and held up 4 fingers.
Waiting on the 4th floor away from the elevator doors I looked for the signs indicating where the bar might be. On reflection I knew that the bar was probably downstairs, although the proverbial penny had yet to drop. A high-pitched ping announced the arrival of a lift. As a number of people exited and I felt out-of-place loitering without any particular intent. I was about to turn away from the glow of the elevator’s interior light reflecting onto the carpet, when she stepped slowly from the glass mirrored box. Christine still wore her airline uniform but had removed her name badge and corporate coloured neck scarf. To the passer-by, she was uniformal and yet white labelled. Without a word she turned left and walked a short distance to door with the number 403 embossed on a brass plate. The key in her hand had a corresponding number. She entered the key, turned, took my hand and with one movement rotated the key and led me inside.
Standing before her I felt paralysed. Chemicals raced through my veins and the pressure in my jeans was almost unbearable.
“Are you okay, to be here with me. Is this, okay?” she asked.
I nodded not knowing what I should say. Christine was a woman I had fantasised about for so long. This was not our first time together, only now, she was actually here.
Her hand went to my shirt buttons and slow peeled away the material. She laid her hands flat on my chest and I could feel my cock already starting to weep.
“Remove you shoes and socks.”
I did as I was told and felt the thin hotel carpet beneath me. I could feel so much. The carpet, the temperature of the room on my skin and the hammering of my heart in my chest.
Christine removed her blouse to reveal her modest breasts cradled in a white lace trimmed bra. She dropped the blouse on the back of a chair and proceeded to remove her navy blue skirt. My cock throbbed furiously and my bowels turned awkwardly; I felt embarrassed watching her undress.
Her skirt fell to the floor and she stepped out and towards me. Her knickers were dark blue and made of silk. A suspender belt circled her waist with straps that linked to her stockings. I had never seen anyone in real life wear them.
As her hands gently undid my jeans and slid them down along with my shorts I stopped breathing. My cock stood erect and with one warm embrace of her mouth I exploded, inexperienced, naive and breathless.
We last kissed in 1989 – Happy 75th Birthday Christine.
I enjoyed your story. Beautiful photo, erection inducing.
Wicked and wonderful…
Loved the story but you bought tears to my eyes at the end. That had such poignancy…
True or false?? Enquiring minds want to know!! Ok ok just me!
If only! However, the story is loosely based around real events and timeline.
I liked the allusion to fantasy with “this was not our first time together” followed by the tongue-in-cheek caveat of “only now, she was actually here.”
Beautiful story, loving, sweet. Like Mrs Fever pointed out, that is a piece I love too, but there are more beautiful metaphoric sentences in here. Thanks for sharing and welcome to Wicked Wednesday!
Thank you both Mrs. Fever and Rebel for your kind words and observations.
There is a tenderness to this story that I find really captivating. I think he was lucky to meet her and that she probably taught me many things
If only!! ?
Nice story, quite charming. I bet she still wears her stockings and suspender belt!
Such a nice thought even in her later years!