This story is not what you think it is -- although I have no problems in that regard! I grew up in French Canada, and on an air force base where many nationalities trained, so by the time I was three, I was speaking indiscriminately in several languages, and continued to maintain them as I grew older (some, obviously, more than others). To this day, I still don’t know why people limit themselves to one language and expect everyone else to understand them. Right now, I’m fluent in French, English and Spanish, and even if I don’t get a lot of practice, can still have a conversation in Italian, Russian, German, Cantonese and Japanese. And I can still tell the difference between some of the other Asian and Polynesian subgroups (thanks to my father’s stint in the Philippines for three years). These stories (some in the first person, some in the third) are based on my experiences.

I was in the window seat of the 737 trying to ignore most of what was going on around me. It’s not that I don’t like air travel, it’s just that the sardine-can experience doesn’t serve anybody really well. I’m an “anything but aisle” traveller -- I despise getting clocked in the head by people heading for the restrooms, the trolley jamming my knee, or the complementary hot beverage being spilled on my crotch while being passed to the person in the middle. And don’t even get me started on the person in the window seat that feels they have the right to disturb other passengers ‘cause they need to pee -- I can control my bladder for 5 hours, so I’d rather be on the inside and shut myself off to the world with some music and a book. Or in the best of all possible worlds, a nap.

I was flying to Kansas City to conduct a workshop for some business people looking at the challenges of going international. These workshops are my bread-and-butter, and it is amazing how much I can get paid just because a client wants a sit down with some supplier that doesn’t speak their language with any understanding or nuance (and American clients that think everybody in the world speaks English). I’m not quite George Clooney in “Up in the Air,” but I’m comfortable (maybe even well-off) and I like what I do.

And I was having a nap. Until the conversation around me caught my attention.

It became clear that the young woman sitting on the aisle -- she looked to be about 25 -- was having an issue with the flight attendant. I had to give the flight attendant her due -- she was working hard in Spanish and English. The problem was that the passenger was speaking very broken English with a strong Russian accent.

(Perhaps I may be of some assistance?) I asked. The flight attendant looked confused; the young woman looked stunned.

(Do you speak Russian? I am trying to find out about my connecting flight.) There had been a delay in New York, and the in-flight announcement made it clear that several passengers would miss connections in KC. “I am supposed to fly to Phoenix on a flight that is leaving before we will land, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I can translate for you.“ “M’am--this young woman has a connecting flight to Phoenix, and she is worried about her missed connection.” I hadn’t been paying attention to the announcement, but figured that they had said something about alternate arrangements.

The flight attendant looked from the young woman to me with something akin to gratitude, but I could tell that her next words weren’t going to be helpful. “Could you tell her that the Phoenix passengers will need to make arrangements to overnight in Kansas City and fly out tomorrow morning. Our delay was weather related and there is nothing the airline can do for her. I’m sorry, but that’s the policy.”

I was beginning to feel sorry for the man in the middle seat, because this was starting to look like an extended conversation. To the young woman, I said that she would be flying out in the morning and that the airline would look after her luggage and ticket on the next flight, but that she would have to stay at the airport all night (and implying that I didn’t like the airline policy -- actually, I said it sucked -- my Russian was not proficient enough for subtlety). I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

“In the last two days, I have flown from Moscow, stayed at Kennedy Airport for nine hours, got on and off a plane because of thunderstorms, waited another three hours to get on this flight, and now I have to spend another night in an airport? I am hungry and tired and want a shower so badly, and all the airline can do is say they’re sorry? My brother in Phoenix has told me how good life is in America. I have yet to see it.“

I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked the fellow in the centre if he’d mind changing seats with my Russian damsel in distress. The flight attendant thanked me, and went back to her cabin duties. As my new friend and the other passenger changed places, she said how sorry she was to have imposed on me, but she was beside herself with exhaustion. “Don’t worry about it, “ I replied. “I’m pretty used to air travel, and these things happen. Don’t let it get you down -- you’ll just get there a day later than you expected.“ And then she burst into tears.

By instinct I reached out and put my arm around her shoulder. She sobbed quietly against my chest for a few minutes, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you -- you are so kind. My name is Elenya. And you are?“

“Douglas Morris,” I answered. “Pleased to meet you.” We chatted on for several minutes. Elenya was a graduate art student who had just finished two years of work at the Hermitage following an apprenticeship at the Tretyakov in Moscow. Her brother had gotten her a job at a local gallery in Phoenix and she was looking forward to coming to America (at least until she ran into American air carriers). In the mean time, the flight attendant came back with two of the airline bottles of vodka, two glasses with ice, a can of Seven-Up and presented them, saying it was the least she could do. Elenya waved away the soda, poured most of the ice into my cup, poured one of the splits into her cup, and tilted it back in one swallow. She refilled the glass and passed it to me.

“Do you drink like a Russian or an American?“

“I’m from Canada, “ I said, and downed it. The vodka was harsh -- I’m more of a sipping scotch drinker -- but I appreciated the gesture from the flight attendant and the playful challenge from Elenya. “Look, “ I continued, “I’m staying at a hotel in Kansas City, and I’m sure I can get two rooms. You won’t be able to get your luggage tonight since it’s been checked, but if you want, you can get a shower and a good night’s sleep, and I’ll make sure they get you back to the airport in time for your flight. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to -- after all, we’ve just met -- but I feel badly that things aren’t working out well for you, and it’s no bother for me.“

“You would do this for me?“ Elenya exclaimed, and then burst into tears again. This time when I put my arm around her, I had the distinct feeling that there was more than gratitude in the way she snuggled against me. She hardly moved for the next hour until the announcement to prepare for our descent in Kansas City was made, and it was then that I realized she had fallen into a deep sleep. I roused her, and we got straightened out for the landing.

Making our way off the plane, I told Elenya that I needed to stop by the luggage carousel as I had a case with my conference materials and good clothes to pick up and that we should let the airline rep know where she was staying. Elenya had picked up her carry-on, went to the restroom, and when she came back, had clearly spent a moment washing her face and reapplying makeup. I picked up my suitcases, she shouldered her carry-on, and we made our way to the transportation center. Just as we were leaving the baggage area, Elenya said, “Is that sign you?“

A chauffeur was holding up a card with Morris Associates hand printed on it. “Good clients,” I thought, and with that we were whisked way in a limo to the Intercontinental Hotel.

“You are a very important man?“ Elenya asked.

“Not really, “ I answered. “It’s just that because I can speak several languages and know a bit about business dealings, people invite me to oversee their negotiations. I’ve never worked with these clients before, and at least so far, I’m impressed with the way they’re looking after me.“

At check-in, an assistant manager greeted me and let me know that my clients had arranged for a suite that would be suitable both to stay in, and as a place for our meetings the next day. The bellman had taken charge of my bags, and it was at this moment that the manager looked at Elenya and said that he hadn’t realized I wouldn’t be travelling alone. Elenya looked a bit troubled, having made out enough of the conversation to figure out that she was not expected.

“It’s alright, “ I told her in Russian. “For now, you can be my secretary, “ I smiled. Elenya grinned back, and said I was fortunate to have two suitcases. She had caught the implied impropriety.

“There are two bedrooms in the suite, although I would like to make sure that the second room has been prepared,” the manager said. I translated this for Elenya, who nodded curtly to the manager and winked at me. On the elevator, she took me by the arm and kissed my cheek. “This is an adventure,” she smiled. I could feel her warmth as she stood close beside me, and said that I was enjoying it too.

The Intercontinental is a pretty classy place, and the suite was on the top floor. Two bedrooms, a huge bathroom with a deep soaking tub and separate shower in the master bedroom, a living room that had been set up with a boardroom table, projector and screen, a separate bar and small kitchenette were the first things we noticed. As the bellman showed me the amenities and asked where the luggage would go, I said to just leave it and that I would get set up for the morning. A ten-dollar tip helped him disappear, and I asked Elenya whether she wanted to eat, sleep or shower first.

“Oh my god, I need to shower so badly you can smell me from the other side of the room.“

“Not really, “ I replied, “but the bathroom is yours. I think there are robes in each bedroom.“

“Doo-go-laz (her charming pronunciation of my name), I don’t think we’ll need both bedrooms, “ she said, and with that, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. I could feel the warmth of her breasts as she pressed against me, and the tip of her tongue brushed my upper lip when she pulled away. “Tomorrow we will shower together. For now, I want to make myself ready.” I had no idea what “make myself ready” meant, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t an altogether bad thing.

While Elenya was showering, I set out the materials for the next day’s presentation and connected my computer and projector in the other room. When everything looked right, I went over to the bar and poured two shots of Stoli that someone had thoughtfully put in the freezer, and carried them to the master suite to wait for Elenya.

It was several minutes after the water stopped running that Elenya emerged, dressed not in a hotel robe, but wrapped in a towel. It was not until I saw her without makeup and her hair pulled back that I realized how truly gorgeous she was. Even wet, her hair was still blonde, and her eyes were wide and luminous. “You are still dressed?” she asked.

“You don’t need to do this,” I replied, passing her the vodka. “You don’t owe me anything.” Her face clouded, and her eyes darkened.

She tossed back the vodka, slamming the glass on the table. “You think I do this because I owe you? I could stay at the airport. You are a handsome man. You are kind. You want me to be here – I could tell when we kissed. Why do you say this? I want to make love. I am a woman. You are a man. We are not children. Do you really want me to go?” She stared at me. “What kind of man are you?”

I silenced her the only way I knew how – with a long, deep kiss. We both melted into each other, and as she pressed against me, the towel loosened and dropped to the floor. I picked her up – she seemed light as air – and carried her to the bed. As she lay on the white linen cover, I looked at her, appreciating how lovely she was. Pale skin with a slight bikini tan, pink nipples stiffening in excitement on firm breasts, a sparse blonde thatch of hair at her crotch, and, as she drew one leg up, evidence that she was already excited as she revealed her moistening pussy.

While I unbuttoned my shirt and unbuckled my trousers, Elenya gently caressed her breast with one hand and unashamedly began touching herself with her other. Her eyes never left me as I pulled off my shirt and tee, and stepped out of my pants. My cock was pressing outwards in my briefs, and when I pulled them down, Elenya moaned as she saw my cock. “It is beautiful!” she breathed.

“And so are you,” I replied. I pulled the spread and blanket down, watching Elenya wriggle to move on top of the sheets. As I lay beside her, we continued to kiss and our hands explored each other. She put one leg over mine, and I could feel the damp heat from her pussy on my thigh as she ground herself against me. When I pulled her nipple between my fingers, she moaned loudly, and when I took her breast in my mouth, she pulled my head against her. I sucked at her nipple, feeling it swell between my lips, and as I massaged her breast while holding the nipple gently between my teeth, she came for the first time pressing firmly against my leg.