STOPOVER IN THE BIG "D" October, 2000
A wise friend told me once it is important for cyber lovers to feel from
time to time the substance and the warmth and the flesh and blood of a real
lover, to assure oneself that human contact and love is not a fantasy. My
human lover stood tall and smiling there at Gate A18 of the Dallas-Fort
Worth airport as I came out the ramp. We had ten minutes less than three
hours to find my departure gate in another terminal and to confirm the
sexual passion we had shared two months earlier.
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close and hard and kissed my
lips, and I knew that love had taste and smell and strength. My Dallas
lover is not a man: his hair and eyebrows are white and there are
deep lines in his face and throat. But his body is strong, his smile is
wonderful, and his eyes wrinkle at the corners. He is a conventional,
almost a shy, businessman, not generally thought to be adventurous or a
risk-taker. I had teased him about making love in a dark corner of the
airport parking garage; but it was primarily a tease. He took my hand, put
an arm around my waist, and without a word, hurried me out the exit to the
Terminal A parking garage, those eyes twinkling with mischief.
His car was in short-term parking. "We have to find a better spot," he
said.
"We're really going to do this?" I said in a half-question.
"You're damn right we're really going to do this." He started driving
toward the top of the garage, looking for that dark corner. There were no
empty parking spots on any level---none.
As we drove around and around that giant, crowded, frustrating public
garage, I reached over and unzipped him and began playing with his crotch.
He was already very hard. Time was slipping away. We drove every level
twice with no success. He was reaching up my skirt now. I had purposely
intended to be naughty and I was wearing no underwear, top or bottom. Both
of us were almost crazy.
We left Terminal A and went to C. The same situation, level after
level. My jacket was off now and I was unbuttoning my blouse. We finally
came out on the roof of the parking garage, brilliant with bright Dallas
sunshine. Against one low wall, with a dramatic view of the Dallas
skyline, was a row of empty parking spaces! We each literally leaped out
of the car's front seat, then leaped into the backseat as fast as we could
move. My blouse was off and flung---somewhere. My shoes were off; my
earrings were off; my skirt was around my waist. Bare arms and legs and
bent and tousled heads were everywhere. It was a most acrobatic
performance.
A passer-by might have seen two pairs of legs above the seat, or a foot
with red-painted toenails partly out the window. We were hoping there were
no passers-by on the roof of the Terminal C Parking Garage, but by this
time it didn't much matter. It was a fast and intense lovemaking with
fingers and tongues, stroking and biting, and swallowing. I
screamed when I came, and then I remembered where we were. We sat up,
then, and looked around, two naked grandparents holding each other tight
and tenderly in the backseat of a car on the roof of an airport parking
garage, breathing hard and giggling.
"I feel like I'm eighteen years old," he said.
"An eighteen-year-old," I answered, "would never have this much
imagination."
He walked me to my departure gate, with five minutes to spare. Walking
through the airport was just a little uncomfortable.
"Going without underwear after sex," I said, "is not all it's cracked up
to be."
"I hope I remember where I left the car," he answered.
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