On my flight out to DC last week, it got kind of interesting, and I think you'll enjoy the details.
I had an aisle seat, in the very back row, and after I was seated, the person in the middle seat showed up so I stood to let her in. I didn't catch on at first that the man and young boy coming along behind her were husband and son, who seated themselves in the same row but on the other side of the aisle. Once she and he started talking across the aisle, and she passed a sweatshirt across to him, I anticipated she would probably ask if I would give up my coveted aisle seat. (That was what had happened my prior plane trip, a mom by herself with 2 kids, so I guess lately my seating luck just hasn't been very good.) At first I figured I would turn her down if asked, as I like some room to stretch my legs on a long flight, and she did have hubby to look after the kid. But then my devious side took over.
Because, she did have a certain attractive quality about her; I guessed her to be late 20s or 30ish, with a generally slim build and an open approachable face that sported a few freckles. Fairly cute feet as well; what can I say, this leopard doesn't change his spots. :)
So I pre-empted the chance of her locating the courage to strike up the necessary conversation with me, by making a humorous comment about the gate agent who had looked completely frazzled for some reason. It's always good to get a woman to laugh a little bit, if you're trying to pick her up. Especially right in front of her husband. :) Then I fibbed a little: I said that it helps to keep your humor on these four-hour flights, which I have to do twice a month now. Gets boring, I said.
She asked what I did, so I explained about my job, except of course I embellished why so much travel was involved. (Shoot, I probably could travel that much, if I let my boss talk me into it. :) ) After getting across that the lengthy dead time on the plane was the only part of the job I didn't like, I asked if she made the trip to DC often, and if she still found air travel exciting, knowing it would let her explain about her family being with her and maybe she would ask to switch, which was what I wanted.
They were heading east to see his family, she explained. To my surprise, she didn't ask about changing seats with me. I offered the opinion quietly, even a bit conspiratorially, that her husband was surely capable of handling the task of watching their son on the flight. She kind of snorted at that assertion. I recanted and said that it's probably in guys' genetics that we all fall asleep within an hour when faced with childcare duty, and she agreed about that with a laugh.
So I brought it up myself: I supposed she was hoping to swap seats with me? She said that she hadn't wanted to ask, knowing that people book the aisle seats in advance, but yes if I wouldn't mind. I said, honestly enough, that I usually prefer the aisle seat so as to be able to stretch my legs a little now and then in-flight, but that "maybe we could work something out ... if you're a little bit uninhibited". I continued keeping my voice low, for plausible deniability to her husband if things really went bad. I realize now as I write this that I didn't have a ready excuse, such as "you misunderstood, I said the stewardess is badly zitted" to cover for "uninhibited". :)
Her reaction told me that quiet had been a wise choice. It really was a presumptuous thing for me to say so quickly. Hardly better, I realized, than if I'd said, "saaaay, you a member of the Mile High Club?". She drew back, and said "excuse me?" I thought maybe hubby would hear that, but I didn't see a reaction from him, as he was already busy reading to their son.
I decided to take one more shot, and then would offer to trade seats without precondition, whichever way things went. "Sorry, that came out bad. I only meant a LITTLE bit. Maybe I should have said 'fun'. I mean, just to talk. These flights get so boring. Those two'll fall asleep after we take off - and then you and I can talk. About things. Play a game of Twenty Questions or something. But with no topic off limits. That's what I meant. Look, I'll give you a safeword - just say "snicklefritz", and the game will end instantly. You have my word as a gentleman about that. But you won't want to stop, I'm willing to bet. It'll be fun. Relieve the boredom at least. Whaddaya say? In exchange for a better seat?"
She was silent.
I relented. "OK, I'm sorry. Look, you can have the aisle seat if you want it, no obligations. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I guess it sounded a little bit creepy." Looking back, I had counted on it helping that I was wearing a business suit on a plane - how scary can a guy like me be, really? She said, non-commitally, "you sure? I don't want to take away your space for stretching out." I assured her it would be fine, that it was more important for her to be seated nearer her family. I got up, and she got up, and we made the switch. Hubby looked up, and thanked me for my courtesy. I hoped she wasn't planning to rat me out. :)
Even moreso than usual, I took pains to keep within my personal space in the middle seat, so as not to make her uncomfortable. I expected to pass the rest of the trip in silence, since the old guy to my left was already leaning against the window and half-asleep, and I picked up my magazine to read for just a bit - even without a kid to look after, I expected to drift off to sleep after a while, it having been a long week already. To my mild surprise, my seat mate asked me a question about the article I was reading. Apparently her sensibilities hadn't been so badly ruffled after all. The conversation didn't really go anywhere though; she wasn't much into politics and that's what I was reading about at that moment.
An hour or so passed - we took off, reached cruising altitude, the seatbelt light went off, a few people passed by in pursuit of the bathroom at the back of the plane where we were, the flight attendants served sodas and overpriced baskets of snacks - and the passengers eventually settled in for the main portion of the flight. My seat mate focused most of her attention across the aisle, a couple of times fishing an item out of her carry-on bag to give to hubby for the pacification of their child. Though I didn't notice specifically, eventually the kid drifted off to sleep, followed, apparently, by hubby. The guy in the window seat was also sound asleep by this time. I started to feel a drifting sensation, myself.
"Animal, vegetable, or mineral?" I heard, which snapped me back. "Excuse me?" I said stupidly - but how could I be that dense? "Animal, vegetable, or mineral," she repeated, "you said we could play twenty questions." I suppressed a chuckle. Twenty questions was what I had indeed said, I realized - although I had meant it just as one example, and had a variant in mind. But maybe I should play along with that. "My dick", that would count as animal, right? :) (Unless I claim that rock-hardness at times makes it mineral.)
Anyway, I didn't waste breath asking what had prompted her apparent change of heart. I checked across the aisle, and hubby's back was mostly toward us. "Actually, what I had in mind was ten questions for each of us. Yes or no questions. About anything. The deal is, after the question is asked, you wait 60 seconds to answer. Builds up a little suspense. Then the other person has to wait 60 seconds before asking the next question. It's a long flight. There's no rush. I find it helps if you have to think about it. With your eyes closed, if you want. No topic off limits, like I said. You game?" "Why not," she said agreeably. "You wanna go first, or me?" I offered. "You," she said. "OK, here, I'll time it," I said, "I'll ask you in sixty seconds. Get ready."
I used my time well, it turns out. My original half-baked idea had been to ask a generic "do you like sex?" as the opening question. But I thought about our interchange before takeoff, and decided upon a theory as to what might have prompted her to offer to play now. When my minute was up, I was ready with a better question. I leaned over next to her ear; the roar of the engines would keep my words from carrying even to across the aisle, unless I shouted, and I intended to keep the conversation very private indeed. My only concern was maybe words could carry forward to the seats in front of us; I resolved to aim slightly behind her ear since no one was behind us.
"Do you know what a safeword is?"
I saw a slight smile. "Your minute starts now," I reminded her, "shut your eyes and think about your answer." I hadn't said she should try to avoid tipping off the answer early, so I decided not to tease her about being a bad poker player or anything. But I already knew her answer. I hoped that with her eyes shut, she'd be fantasizing about me tying her up, of course; so jokes at this point would only interfere with sexual waking-dreams.
"Time's up," I said, "what's your answer?" "Yes," she replied softly, leaning toward me, "I do know what a safeword is. Now, I already have a question for you." I asked her to shut her eyes and wait for 60 seconds anyway. At the appointed time, she opened her eyes and looked at me squarely.
"Do you prefer women with large breasts?"
I was pleased at the explicitness of her question. Now, of course, I had already checked her out thoroughly, starting from the moment she sat down beside me. Her blouse was mildly low-cut, so I had tried to peep down it a couple of times when she had leaned one direction or the other, but there wasn't really very much to see. I would not have singled her out as flat-chested, but her question made it clear that she was insecure about her rack - a B-cup would probably be a generous estimate of her endowment. As if to confirm my guess, she added after a pause, "be honest." "I'm always honest," I promised, "now, sixty seconds, tell me when time's up." I closed my eyes, and thought about what her nipples might look like and how it would be to suck them to erectness. I noticed my own erectness, and wondered if it was apparent, and if she was looking there. When she called time, I gave her my answer.
"You asked a simple yes or no question, but the simple answer would be misleading. The real answer is, I like sensitive breasts. I'd much rather know that she's getting turned on by the contact. So, to answer your question the way you phrased it, no. I don't prefer big ones. OK, close your eyes, and I'll think about my next question."
A couple of obvious choices came to mind. I could follow up on my answer and ask if her own nipples were sensitive. Or I could take a different tack from her question and ask whether she preferred men with big dicks. I decided both would be following her lead too much. Instead:
"Do you like when a man takes complete control in the bedroom?"
That was more keyed to my first question than I would have preferred, but I still looked forward to her answer. After the requisite sixty seconds, she replied, "sometimes". "These are yes or no questions", I reminded her. "Yes, sometimes," she amended, "if he doesn't take it too far of course." I guess since I had fudged on the only question to me so far, I could hardly object to this type of answer from her. It was now my turn to wait for her question which, in due course, was:
"Do you think a man should expect sex from his wife every day?"
Hee hee. It felt like I was being dragged into an ongoing domestic dispute. :) It was easy to imagine sullen refusals of sex, and disparaging comments about breast size in retaliation - or, vice versa. I gave it my sixty seconds of thought, and replied this way:
"You ask good questions, and they are yes or no, but there's a lot behind this answer too. So let me say first, it comes down, to me, to what you think the purpose of marriage is. I think it means bringing out each other's best, in whatever ways each one of them needs. And I don't think a man can be at his best when he is always wondering when he'll get his next relief, sexually I mean. Now, I know you can run a marriage that way. Lots of marriages are like that, and I guess it works out OK. But yeah, if you come down to it, yeah, I think it's OK for a man to expect sex every day. And not just by himself if it's not totally convenient for her, but good sex. Now, there are always exceptions in life, and I don't mean that a guy should be a baby about it when something unexpected comes up where it's just impossible. But, to answer your question, yes. It has to be a priority."
"I'll give you credit for honesty," she commented, "'cuz it's not exactly politically correct these days to look at it that way. OK, your turn."
I couldn't help adding, "well, if it's PC-ness you want, I should mention that I also think the woman has just as much right to expect it, if she wants. OK, sorry, I'll try to keep it yes/no from now on."
My turn. I was surprised at how much thought I was putting into my questions; my cunning plan was far less well thought out than I had imagined it to be. At first I decided I would simply ask if she liked receiving oral sex. Then I thought of asking instead whether she liked the taste of sperm. But I decided at last on this variation:
"Do you like it, if you can still taste your own juices on your lover's tongue, when he kisses you after sex?"
She chuckled but didn't say anything. Instead of closing her eyes, she kind of focused on my hand on the armrest, looking up toward my face a couple of times. When I indicated time, she said:
"Well, instead of yes or no, can I say 'I wish?'"
"You mean, you wish he'd perform oral sex on you at all?" I clarified.
"No, well, both. I wish he'd kiss me after sex. It's almost like the cliche of rolling over and falling asleep. You don't do that, do you?"
"It's not your turn to ask me another question yet," I said with a laugh. She smiled but it seemed tempered by her admission. "He's always so sleepy," she added, "just look". She gestured subtly toward the aisle. Perhaps she had failed to notice I had almost nodded off, shortly before.
Marriage Counselor was not the game I had anticipated playing here. "You didn't really answer, yes or no," I reminded her, "would you like it, to tastes your own juices that way?" "Yes, definitely," she responded, and then said, "my turn." After a minute:
"Have you ever been unfaithful to your wife?"
"I don't remember mentioning one," I said, trying to be funny, and immediately realized her reply would be "the wedding ring." Duh. "OK, clarification," I added, "does talking like this count as unfaithful?" "Of course not," she said, "I mean actual sex." "So you mean intercourse?" "Yes." "What about oral?" "Yes, I'm not playing any Bill Clinton games with words here." "So, then, anal counts too," I remarked with another laugh. "Mos' def'," she said firmly.
"So," I pressed on, "you mean, pretty much, any form of fucking." "Yeah," she said. "Well, then, say it that way," I asked. "OK, have you ever had any kind of sex with someone not your wife?" she rephrased. "No, I meant, say it using the f-word, please." "Have you ever fucked anyone not your wife?" she amended. "Heh, I just wanted to hear you say 'fuck'," I gloated.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," she intoned, "it's not that big of a deal." "I know, I just liked it, regardless," I said. "Into dirty talk, huh?" she asked. "What else do you think this is all about?" I quipped. "Thought maybe it went a little deeper than that," she pretended to pout.
"Maybe," I allowed, "so, should I answer your question now?" "I don't know, does the 60 seconds start when I ask, or when you finish the cross-examination, Your Honor?" "OK, OK, I get the hint, I'll ease up a little on the interrogation." "Well, I didn't exactly say I didn't like being interrogated, did I?" she said coyly. "Well, we can go that route, if that's what you prefer." "No, it's fun this way. So, what's your answer?" "I've forgotten the question," I joked. She leaned in and whispered directly in my ear, "have ... you... ever ... fuck ... fuck... fucked ... I said fucked ... someone other than your own wife?" She sat back, expectantly.
She remained silent, as though waiting for me to continue. I let her wait, starting to think about my next question if 60 seconds were to elapse, though I doubted they would. She fidgeted slightly in her seat. Sure enough, eventually she said, "and?" I said, "and what? The game is to ask yes or no questions." "After all this eloquence, about liking sensitive tits instead of big ones, about needing sex every day and expecting to get it, you suddenly get shy about detail on this? Ohhhkay." She didn't seem annoyed, just amused, perhaps at having hit a nerve with me at last. "You want detail, then?" I asked. "I'm all about detail, the steamier the better," she replied, "and after all, you're the one who promised 'uninhibited'."
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's not much to tell. It was only one time, believe it or not. And a long time ago. Twenty years? I guess it is, almost. And I really don't know why I did it. I don't even remember that much about what led up to it. And I got cold feet about it even before we really started, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings I guess, and anyway it wound up being quick, and that was the end of it. Do you really need to know more than that?" "What did she think about it, your having the second thoughts I mean?" she asked. "Well, I tried to be gentle about letting her down, about my not doing it with her again after that; I told her it was my fault for leading her on, and that I knew I was wrong and that I was sorry to have hurt her. I don't think it ruined her life or anything - she was new in town, divorced recently, and pretty realistic about married men all in all. I guess the worst thing was, I hate giving people evidence that supports the cynicism they already have."
"Did your wife ever find out?" she asked, perhaps predictably. "No," I said, "that other woman and I, I guess we knew how to keep a secret."
"OK," she said simply. "Well, not every story is that interesting," I apologized. "Did she at least enjoy tasting her own scent when you kissed her afterward?" she said deadpan. "Now stop that," I said, and she laughed. "Your turn," she said.
I pondered, and decided to ask something different - not that the previous questions had been esoteric, but this would be very much in the here and now.
"Did it make your pussy wet, when you said fuck fuck fuck over and over to me, just now? Like a hot little slut?" She looked at me and I reminded her, "you should shut your eyes, while you think about your answer."
She leaned back into the headrest, and I watched her for the sixty seconds. She licked her lips once. Then she squirmed slightly, like I had seen her do before. She gently bit her lower lip for a moment. Shortly before the minute was up she squirmed again. It was fun watching her; it seemed that with a little practice, one might be able to learn to read her like a proverbial book. I asked, when time was up, "yes or no?"