Life is Marked in Milestones

Approximately 4,100 words

Background Note:

The setting for this storyline is somewhere in the not too distant past. A place in time, where airlines served meals and drinks, smoking on planes was still permitted, and our protagonist freely traveled across the USA evaluating hotels for accommodations, culinary services, values, and treatment of a guest’s wants and needs.

+++++

Lately, flying out of La Guardia, at least for me, always seemed to be snake bite prone. Again, this afternoon I was stuck on another rattler and it was chewing on my butt with sharp fangs.‘I just needed to get to Atlanta, just get wheels up, for God’s sake and make it happen.’ I muttered to no one in particular.

Those were my thoughts as I sat stewing in my own angst. I had a tenth-year date to make and I felt like it might not happen if we weren’t airborne soon. Normal flight time was two-and-one-half hours and now we just tacked on another forty-five minutes. With traffic, I calculated, now, that I wouldn’t arrive until after 7:45 pm. Dinner and room reservations had been set for 6:30 at the hotel. We had sat for forty-five minutes, delayed on the runway and still it was a judgment call for takeoff amidst an afternoon thunderstorm that had unexpectantly rolled in from the east.

Apparently, someone did hear my muttering. I felt a light hand reach over and tap mine, “Not to worry, sugar,” her southern drawl purred, “this old bird is gonna take us home, just be a bit more patient. Make sure to bring a book along to read next time, honey.”

I glanced across the aisle as her arm pulled back to grasp the spine of a paperback book entitled, “Life is Marked in Milestones” She was cute, seemingly statuesque from the way her body was tucked so tightly into her seat. Late thirties I’d say. Certainly a lady anyone with normal vision would recognize and behold as a wonderful ‘long drink of water;’ if she were undressed, certainly undressed for sure! No ring. If I didn’t have plans for the evening, I would have given some thought to asking her to dinner. From her remark about home, Atlanta seemed to be her final destination, or at least close by for the night.

I bought into her remark. “Good book then, miss?”

The innocuous, ice-breaker question gave me more time to drink in the view across the way, while awaiting her response. With curves and an appealing bosom that properly filled out her snug, low-cut blouse, the view certainly was a long drink of water. Wearing a matching skirt that rode well up her thighs, it was easy to see that she was athletically inclined. Hope she had someone waiting for her this evening; someone who could bring her enjoyment at the apex of those beautiful legs.

“So far, just about forty-five pages into it, sugar. It’s by a guy named Donald J. Mallord. It’s about individuals documenting their lives based upon important events they consider to be profound turning points. He calls them milestones. Not a bestseller, but still, it’s interesting. Seems like something everyone should do as they get older, you know?”

I nodded as a jester of politeness. It was not necessarily a nod of agreement. It gave me still another moment of visual pleasure. Life is far too short not to absorb as much of a woman’s beauty as you can, without seeming to be leering. Great eye-candy, after all, was not abundant and to not take advantage of the opportunity to pursue it should not have been one classified as being among the first mortal sins. Religious, what right did they think they had to regulate pleasure?

Dodging thunderstorms at takeoff, the flight out from La Guardia had been hellacious. Turbulence had things rattling off the trays and the flight attendants spent more time trying to pacify anxious passengers than serving drinks. Women with small children got most of their attention it seemed. Rightly so, I guess. They made the most noise. ‘Squeaky wheel gets the grease,’ my father used to say.

‘Get the drinks out for the rest of us, ladies, and you’ll have less nervousness to attend to!’ This time, however, I kept the muttering to myself with just a hint of a smile.

I had found that thought amusing as I caught sight of Linda swaying her way toward me amidst the rattling. She carried my usual version of a Cuba Libre, that’s Barcardi Lijero and coke, and pressed it into my hand while holding onto my headrest for balance. It brought her thigh firmly against my shoulder, much longer than it needed to be, but not long enough to draw attention. The soft, warm pressure against me felt nice. However, I knew it had felt better when she lay bare and between my thighs, spread out in a comfortable hotel room. I held up a hundred, which she eagerly took as her eyes sparkled.

“You know I don’t have change for this, right?”

I grinned, while lifting the plastic glass in a celebratory salute to her beauty, and answered, “No change needed. Dinner is on me.” i was feeling generous; knowing that i was on my way to spend the evening with another more gorgeous woman than any other I had met in my lifetime.

She smiled, “Nice to have you aboard again, Mr. Radisson.” Then she was off to shepperd her crew mates in placating the whining, the irritated, and those just focused on something to help take the jitters off, caused by the buffeting turbulence.

“Let me guess,” came that Georgian, soft-spoken voice across the aisle, “… frequent flyer?”

She took my light smile for a yes and then sighed, “I sure could use one of those, too, right about now, sugar.”

“It’s a Cuba Libre; rum and coke,” I remarked as I offered it across the aisle. Her smile brightened as she accepted it, sipped it, and thanked me as she took a generous swallow.

I leaned back in my seat as the aircraft began a steeper climb to find less turbulence. It took about five minutes of continuous jolting before we broke through and leveled off. At that point, the intercom chimed in with the captain apologizing for the rough takeoff. It would be restful the remainder of the flight, he noted, and we were expected to arrive in Atlanta right after sundown. Within the calm, the cries diminished and the beverage carts finally began to made headway down the aisles. Linda sped by, stopped, and looked for my glass. She spotted it across the aisle and gave me a wink. She found her way back to me quickly with a refresher, well ahead of the cart. I was grateful for that.

There are good service people in the world — just not enough, it seems like the old days.

I had two more stops. Two more annual hospitality reviews to conduct: Atlanta and then Dallas before returning to the city that never sleeps. Each year, thoughts of retiring start rattling around in my head as these annuals seem to grow closer and closer together. I didn’t really have a reason to retire, though. Just kept the concept percolating so that I had a future goal in mind.

For this particular review, I always flew in the same day, the same month; it became a ritual thing ten years ago, to the day. You see, my daughter and my wife had a falling out over a man on this day, while I was in Atlanta.

My wife was livid when she discovered my daughter was sleeping around, livider when she found out with whom. It was a break that couldn’t be repaired and Rachel never returned or spoke with my wife again. It broke my heart. I couldn’t believe she would disavow her own child in that manner. I found myself drifting away after that as well — the short of it is that we separated soon after. It left my wife alone, sadly alone and haunted for her lack of understanding. She stewed with righteous indignation over the row for years until it sickened her. In her last year she was barely recognizable. I’m certain it was the bitterness to which she finally succumbed. I came to her, out of courtesy, for moral support in her last hours. Though she never forgave my daughter or myself for that matter in her last gasps. The doctors couldn’t pinpoint a direct cause; natural succumbing due to age, they determined. She just gave up on living. Punishment for one of her mortal sins, I suppose.

Ten years ago, on this very day, my wife disowned our child. I happened to be in Atlanta at the Ritz-Carlton hotel conducting another hospitality check when I learned about my wife’s discovery. She called, belligerent, ranting, and trying to rain down holy hell. I hung up on her. That evening I, too, found someone who captured my heart. It was an immediate attraction. She had all the wonderful physical attributes one could want, and somethings my wife didn’t: kindness, understanding, and a large dose of compassion. So yes, I was still married while I lusted after this new love. But, my heart found another on that very day Rachel was disowned by her mother. Perhaps that’s why my wife and I parted ways so quickly afterward.

++++

The hotel had sent a car for me. Lorenzo recognized me at a distance in the airport’s crowd and took my bags. It was nice to see a familiar face amongst so many milling about. Everyone seemed to be looking for a recognizable face — I found mine immediately. I silently wished that my fellow travelers found theirs as well.

As the southern belle on the plane had remarked, ‘it does pay to be a frequent flyer.’ Lorenzo took care of my luggage while I hurried for a very late dinner. I almost offered up a prayer that she would still be waiting for me. But that seemed to be sinful, reproachful even. Two hours late, that would be the impossible wait time it would seem, even if it was for a once-a-year lover who flew in from out of state to spend the night in your arms. One night, and she would have to return to her husband and a now seven-year-old son. One night, that was our commitment for the past nine years. Tonight, if she was there, would mark the tenth anniversary of finding my soulmate. An anniversary that would be a milestone, if there were such a thing in my life, that coincided with my wife’s disownment of our daughter and the budding of a new romantic involvement in my life as well.

++++

In my haste, I almost toppled a diminutive hostess as I scanned over the heads of other guests, hoping to catch sight of my date in the waiting area. Not there. Perhaps it was far too long a wait and she had left. Hoping against hope, I checked with the desk to see if my dinner reservations were still honored.

“Yes, sir. We received a call from your ‘plus one’ that your flight was delayed but that you would be arriving — just late. She is seated, sir. Arrived about thirty minutes ago.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I should have realized that she would have checked the flight arrival times before she left home. Did I also mention she was intelligent?

“Sorry, bad weather,” I remarked as I slipped into the chair alongside her. As I looked up, our eyes just locked. There are moments in one’s life that you walk past a drop-dead gorgeous woman and you stop, suspending time for the moment, and stare unabashedly. I drank in all the spectacular wonder of her charming emerald eyes, that barely discernable dimple that creases her face whenever it breaks into a bright smile, and that seemingly frozen youthfulness encasing her as though she were still ten years younger. This moment was identical to one we have been enjoying on our special day, every year, for the past ten wonderful years.

Small talk ensued over dinner — about her husband Johnathon and his work, their son David’s growing curiosity, and then it inevitably led to my wife’s demise. I really didn’t want it to go there, but it was the elephant sitting in the chair next to us.

“Was it…” she started to ask.

“She wasn’t in pain. Just languished for two days, and quietly slipped away at the end,” I responded and waited quietly for her to absorb the news.

“Did she ever…” came the next question, after a few more contemplative moments.

“Forgive me?” I asked cutting short her question, hoping to end this useless direction.

“Yes, I thought she might have finally changed and wanted to go out… having forgiven us,” she quietly clarified.

“No. that wasn’t even expressed. Just another reposte, a stab in the heart, for our past transgressions,” I replied, sipping the last of my wine.

We sat in silence for a few moments. The somberness of the short conversation about a cruel milestone in our lives had pushed that elephant’s weight upon our shoulders. It seemed to want to hang some sense of guilt around us for her final, vengeful act of not forgiving nor accepting the inevitable dissolution of an old love and the formation of a new one. Even in death, she reached out to try and hang an albatross around our necks.

“I’d like to… change topics. The weight of this last few moments has been too heavy. This is supposed to be a night for just you and me, here in the present. Right now. Not the past. We can’t change that, sugar.”

She smiled as a chuckle escaped her lips at my remark. “Sugar?, she giggled, “Where did you pick that up, Yankee? Have you been messing around with another southern belle?” She covered her smirk with another sip of wine and peered over the rim of her glass, looking for an answer.

The question lightened the tone a bit. Something in the laughter shattered the glass elephant and its weight glided from our shoulders.

“I guess it was having my ear bent by a young lady on the plane. She used it so frequently in the two-and-a-half-hour flight down here that its permanently stuck in my vocabulary,” I answered mirthfully.

I watched her smile turn a bit terse as she returned her glass to the table. There was something in the change of her demeanor that I detected. Perhaps, something in the way I answered; it’s difficult to understand why that happens, but it does; women you know?

“Was it long enough for you to invite her for the evening as well?”

I was bit nonplussed at the tone carried in her question. In my haste to greet my love and dazzled by her beauty as well as the raw sobering discussion regarding my ex-wife, I now realized I had forgotten to bring that subject up.

“Well, it is our tenth anniversary, I thought you might enjoy a special treat for the evening,” I answered candidly. “But, I can…”

“No. That wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be right to invite and then rescind an invitation to a stranger, sugar,” came her carefully measured response. “Besides, you’re right about needing to lighten the moment. We’ve added to our evenings together before and you certainly have a knack for selecting well. Let’s just go with it tonight, honey.” She feigned her own southern belle accent in light mockery.

“I think you’ll like her.” I remarked as the waitress added our bill to my room tab and we retired to our suite.

+++++

The warmth of the multi-head shower helped ease some of the muscle tensions earned from being crammed into a narrow seat in a jostling airplane on the flight down. Its pristine feel also scrubbed a bit of the elephant off my shoulders. Pushing the lather between Rachel’s thighs and ass crack to cleanse her body in preparation for exploration was enjoyable as we stood beneath the rain shower head. I particularly enjoy thrusting a finger into her rectum and feeling the reflexive tension of her buttocks clutching tightly against my trapped hand. That and the low groans that my movements evoked when an errant thumb found the swollen nubbin between her thighs dismissed any thoughts of the outside world.

The remnants of the elephant flowed down the drain along with the frothy soap bubbles. The rain-like sound and the warmth of the shower drowned out all thoughts of Johnathon and David. Being clutched together, my hand thrust between her thighs, turned off any thoughts that didn’t focus on building lust.

All showers come to an end despite the pleasures you derive while in them. Ours always moves to building a sensual foreplay of tantric sex positions as a prelude to the main events. Tonight’s warmups broke with our traditional non-conversational approach. Rachel felt the need to talk. No doubt brought on by the conversation regarding my ex-wife. The conversation about David, her son, was an unexpected discussion item this evening as well.

“David is seven, you know?”

“Yes. I’m aware of that. Is this going somewhere?”

“Johnathon and David have had a long talk,” she started, “about their father-son roles.”

I listened to her words as my fingertips slowly caressed the curves of her breasts while avoiding her nipples. I save those for later.

“Go on.”

“David knows,” she continued, “Johnathon is not his father. The bastard told him.”

She spoke those words quietly breathing deeply in response to the movements of my fingertips on the cusps of her areolas.

“He is asking me, now, who his father is,” she added inhaling deeply as my fingernail gazed the topmost part of her right nipple.

“Did you tell him?”

“Vaguely, I have. That he is someone I met years ago. This week, he came to me again asking for more. He wants to know what his father is like, where he lives, why he doesn’t come to see him. Those kinds of questions.”

“What are you going to tell him, Rachel?”

Rolling the soft folds of her mons apart, I lightly stroked her labia, coaxing the first hint of a forming pool of lubricant to the other folds. I watch as her eyes close and her head tilts back in response. I slow the motions, allowing the Chi energies to subside a bit. She sucked in her lower lip, then her upper one in anticipation of the next movement.

“I’m going to tell David that I’m making arrangements for his grandfather to come and bring his father to visit,” she answered as her shallow breathing began to deepen again as my fingers worked their way inside. Slowly, her eyes opened to explore my response to her statement.

“And Johnathon?”

“Johnathon knows about the visit. He’s the one that demanded it. He was angry at us when he found out that first year. He was very prideful and learning that we were together, and later learning that David was not his son hurt him. The latter wounded his pride, very much.”

“How did you overcome that?”

I asked, curious as to how she managed to stay married.

“I appealed to his pride. I made an arrangement with him for each day we are together. It was easy enough after that and he accepted it the first year and has each succeeding year. We go to the malls together. He picks out a woman he likes and I have to seduce her; convince her to have sex with him on this night. At first, he thought it would be an impossible task that I couldn’t achieve. He wanted to piss me off, castrate our relationship. After that first ‘date’ he fell in love with the idea of fucking a stranger on a whim. Johnathon is no saint. He has his own sins to bear Mr. Radisson.”

“But, he says its time — before David develops issues over not knowing those answers — to introduce him to his father for David’s own well-being.”

I found my lips pursing as I pushed two fingers inside, perhaps a bit more forcefully than I should have at the early stage of foreplay, but learning about Johnathon’s actions nine years later felt like a thorn intentionally driven into my side. My love had kept that a secret. Guess she could tell I was miffed. She could tell my movements had slipped out of sync for a bit. I knew it as she stiffened momentarily.

“Daddy, you have to come and meet him. You have to figure out a way to tell David you are more than his northern grandfather.”

The second elephant of the night just landed in the room.

“How long do I have to think about this?” I asked as my fingers paused just short of probing her vaginal canal.

“How long? It’s not as long as it’s going to take your hand to probe my cunt, Daddy. There is no ‘think about this’ in the equation. This is going to be one of your seminal milestones. One Mom never let us forget.”