Stori
I’VE NEVER BEEN in a cabin so elegantly staged or one offering such a high level of service. There’s only nine seats in the whole of the space, three singles and three doubles. Oliver and I are alone except for the older couple and a man flying solo. All are private and angled away from the others, so no one’s privy to each other’s conversations. Each seat can become a bed, complete with mattress, feather pillow and twelve-inch personal screen. When we boarded, the entire crew came in and introduced themselves, from the captain to the flight attendants. Unbelievable.
But I would have been just as happy being in a middle seat on a cramped local carrier. Because next to me sits Oliver. Once we’re in the air he removes his hoodie, then his shoes. The uncomplicated beauty of his body in a white T-shirt and soft worn jeans is really something. I can picture God saying “Behold man” as soon as He created him. When I see his toes it makes me smile. He used to tell me I had beautiful feet. And I’d say his were boney. We’d play this game where he’d pretend to be insulted. Then I’d apologize by making out with him till the poor boy’s balls were aching. Or so he’d say when he’d try to get me to put my hand down his pants. “Just touch it,” he used to plead. But I never would.
“Are you looking at my feet, Miss Ryder?”
“You caught me,” I say laughing.
“Want to play?”
“What? No!” I feel a rush of adrenaline, because I know exactly what he means.
“Are you making fun of my boney toes?”
I don’t know how to react or what to say, because making out on a plane or putting my hand down his pants isn’t an option. He just grins, and it’s because he so clearly knew which button to press.
“At least let me see yours,” he says quietly and leaning in as if he’s asking to see more than my feet.
I kick off my ballet slippers and stretch my legs. I wiggle my white pedicured toes for his pleasure. And if I’m being truthful for mine. I know the sight will please him. “Still the most beautiful I’ve seen,” he says.
We start talking and don’t stop. Neither of us sleeps even though it’s going to be four in the morning our time when we land. We have two delicious meals, and I go through the popcorn and two candy bars. We talk about our lives and where our separate roads lead. I tell him about my father’s stint in prison and he tells me about his sister’s emotional illness. When he talks about Piper and how she made it all happen for him, I get a new view of her. I conveniently leave out the part where I googled Piper Mann and found the story of their relationship and his rise from obscurity. He tells me about his dog sweet Louise, and his friend Prue.
We talk everything out. All except how we parted. It’s the elephant in the room for me. And at about hour seven I feel it stomping on my heart. I become quiet for a few minutes as I roll around the idea of bringing it up. What can I gain from knowing the why? He’s going to say he was young and stupid, and I’m going to say let’s just forget about it and move on. But I won’t be able to completely deliver on that. I’ll always know he’s capable of just walking away. Before I can clear the air or bury it forever Oliver gets this serious look that matches my mood.
“When we get back, maybe you could come visit Grace with me. All those years ago when you had to leave so abruptly I know it bothered her. And when we never heard from you, well it was hard on us both. I guess I want you to know that you were missed.”
He touches my hand.
“Are you kidding me?” My tone has changed to annoyance. I take my hand away.
“No. I just want you to know I get it. It must have been horrible what you and your mom had to go through. I was the last thing on your mind and you did the right thing.”
I can see he’s annoyed too. Now I’m pissed and my face shows it. “What the hell are you talking about? Never heard from me? What about all the letters?”
We both sit up straighter and turn towards each other so there’s no mistaking what’s being said. Our voices change. Gone is any hint of playfulness.
“I never got any letters. I wrote letters. I sent you letters for months. When you didn’t write, or call with your new address I sent them to your old address. I knew they’d be forwarded,” he says. Neither one of us know what to believe. The whole planet has tilted and I’m hanging on by my fingernails.
Could this be true?
“I told you we were moving in with my grandmother. And when there was no response to my letters, I wasn’t going to call you. I was embarrassed because I’d written deeply personal letters. Love letters that were never returned or acknowledged.”
“Neither were my love letters to you. I figured you wanted a fresh start.”
He wrote me love letters?
“I don’t know what to think,” I say.
“You said you’d send me the address and phone number. I had no idea what your grandmother’s last name was. I couldn’t track you down. Hell, I didn’t know what town you were in. The school wouldn’t give me that information. I tried everything I could.”
He’s getting frustrated. I see it in his eyes. It sounds like the truth. But how?
“Why didn’t you get my letters? I had the right address,” I say.
He just shakes his head. We both just stop and think things through for a few moments.
“Did your mother get any forwarded mail?” he says.
I consider the question. “We both did. My grandmother made sure she gave my mom all the bills that came from our old place and I got my school records.”
And then the lightbulb goes off in my head. “Oh, God. My grandmother.”
“What about her?”
I feel my eyes welling with tears. After all these years, and long after her death, the woman still has the power to make me feel bad. Oliver takes my hand.
“Tell me.”
“My grandmother was a miserable woman. But it was her home and she saved us from being on the streets. She was especially controlling about the mail. She had the key to the box and let us know her mail was none of our business. She’d dole out my father’s letters like she was doing us a favor. Every day I’d ask if I got anything from you. Every day she’d get angrier at the question.” Tears stream down my face.
“Why would she care if you got a letter from a friend?”
“Because she knew you were more than a friend. And she was still angry my parents had married against her will at a young age. It didn’t matter to her that they were in love. With my father in prison it just confirmed her opinion of him.”
“She didn’t like him either?”
“She was on my mother’s case constantly, whenever she wasn’t on mine. She used to belittle me for being so upset about you at my age. After a while I stopped asking her about the mail. I figured if a letter came I’d get it. I guess she destroyed the letters from and to you.”
Oliver is stunned. He shakes his head as if he can hardly believe someone could be so cruel.
“I’d give her the letters I’d write, and she’d say she left them for the mailman. I didn’t understand why you just let me go . . .” My voice trails off.
His face shows the anger he’s feeling, and then the empathy. After all he suffered too. He lifts my chin and looks at me sweetly. “I never did.”
I see the goodness in his eyes. He was hurt as much as I was.
“Here’s the redeeming part of the story,” he says. “Now we know neither one of us broke our promises.”
My tears are coming stronger now, for all the wasted time, for the heartache, for the way her cruel actions helped shaped my view of men. I’m crying for the young people we were who missed their chance. He puts his arm around me and brings me close. I bury my face against his shoulder.
“It’s all in the past. Nothing we can do to change that. Come on, don’t cry, Stori.” He lifts my chin. “I think I can make you feel better.”
Now he’s got my attention. “How?”
“I haven’t forgotten about the magic. Have you?”
He starts kissing away my tears, and I feel spaces long ago sealed shut opening inside of me. His soft lips touching one cheek and then the other. He kisses the fingers I had used to wipe away my teardrops. My crying slows to a halt, replaced by something stronger than regret. Closing my eyes, I let the sensation wash over me. Then I feel his hands on either side of my face, and his lips on mine.
Of all our kisses this one is the most thrilling. We’ve found our way back. It feels familiar but far beyond our youthful hungers. Two decades of waiting doesn’t disappoint. The fact that we need to hold back for decency’s sake just makes me want him more. If I could, I’d fuck him where he sits. I’m so over denying the current that runs between us.
The captain informs us we’re starting our descent, which is ironic. Nothing could stop the rise in me. Oliver’s face reflects what I’m feeling inside. I half expect to see his mouth stretch open in a roar. I’m not a stranger to desire or at least I thought I wasn’t. But this is another animal. My pulse quickens when I decide to let him in on my intentions.
“Do you still want me to just touch it?” I whisper.
It’s obvious he thinks this is the most brilliant idea he’s ever heard. He looks around for prying eyes then when he’s satisfied no one’s watching takes my hand and places it right on top of his rock-hard cock. His hand stays atop mine, holding it in place. Then he slowly slides my hand up and down and up again, so I can feel the length of him. Impressive. Holy balls. I sense the wetness between my legs and the pinch deep inside. I’m going to take it to the next level. I very carefully slip my hand under the waistband of his jeans, and it’s stunning to feel the warmth of his skin against my fingers. He deftly unbuttons the top two buttons and angles his body so I have easy access. As my hand reaches under his boxer briefs, he looks up at me. His jaw tightens and his breathing quickens. In this seductive moment, I feel my power and his. A quiet moan escapes his lips when I wrap my fingers around his cock.
His hand reaches over and runs a finger down the front seam of my pants. “I’m gonna kiss your lips tonight. The ones down here,” he says softly.
“Can I get either of you anything before we land?”
We both jump with the shock of the flight attendants voice and her presence standing behind our seats. Oliver grabs his hoodie and bunches it in his lap trying to hide the erection. I pull my hand away and close my legs. He gives a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair. The look on her face says she suddenly understands her cock blocking masterpiece.
“No I think we’re both good. Thank you,” I say fooling no one.
When she walks away Oliver buttons up. He sits up straight and locks eyes with me. “We’ve spent too much time waiting, Stori. I need you in my life and I want you in my bed. Tonight.”
I return his declaration with my own. Just so he knows I don’t need convincing.
“I’m wet for you right now.”
For a few beats he gets this exquisite look in his eyes, like a wildcat about to pounce on his prey. But then he contains it, and a wide smile breaks out on his face. “This is going to be one hell of a week.”