She knew she wanted this flight; she had to get away, and she knew that what she would encounter at the other end was something she wanted, no, needed for herself—to feel like a woman again. This trip was the end of the slavish life she had left behind, a life that had started out well but had gone sour, corrupted and decayed by infidelity and the loss of trust that had come with it. The reward for that infidelity and breach of vows was her angry silence. In that dark time first she had shied away from everyone in her hurt, choosing silence over words that would hurt those that didn't deserve it. When that threatened to overwhelm her, she had sought solace for her own needs in the other she was flying to see now, not for any revenge or infidelity of her own, but for understanding, to try to get past her hurt, to heal, and move on. He had helped her, and she had moved on and healed, but she also found she wanted more. She had almost completely moved on from being used and exploited as a housewife and penis depository. The divorce was long past. Her emotional wounds had all healed save one. This trip was to see him, to heal that final wound, to become whole again, and to repay the debt she owed him.
At first they had simply talked, about the situation she was in. She was able to break her silence with him. He provided her a male perspective on the situation, including insight as to how the male mind operated, and why some men acted like total assholes. She found him gentle and understanding, and she knew she could trust him with anything. As time went on the talks moved beyond broken relationships into more mundane things like how to fix her broken computer and why women's clothes sizing in stores made no sense. After the divorce, she found herself sharing dreams and fantasies with him, and him her. Although they had known each other for a few years, they saw each other rarely, because time and distance made for persistent enemies of even the longest and strongest of relationships. They exchanged photos, and of late the photos took on a more risqué tone, with her taking the first step of a topless photo, then the rest of her. His replies were in line, indicating he loved what he saw, and he reciprocated with photos of him, and she replied in kind. This was not a man who was out for a conquest, even though they had cybersex together a few times. There was a mutual attraction, and after a long time, this trip was finally happening. But the time for words between them was past, so silent she would be.
She stirred from her thoughts and absently reached for, then finished her rum and coke, the third since she left. A few minutes later the flight attendant collected the trash and she put up the tray table. She returned to her gaze out the window, watching the miles creep by and the ground creep closer as the 737 approached for landing. Landmarks familiar from memorizing Google Maps came to her as she found his house from above. She knew he wasn't there at the moment, because he was waiting for her at the airport. The plane touched down with a bump and taxied to the terminal. Mentally she reviewed her next steps, and as she walked up the jetway with the other passengers from the half-full flight, pulling her carry-on bag, her lone luggage, with her, she shivered. Maybe it was the cold air in the jetway, maybe it was anticipation, but she was glad she was wearing the button-up denim dress she had on now for the warmth it provided. Still she stayed silent.
She entered the concourse and headed to the nearest restroom. Entering a stall, she pulled in her carry-on behind her and latched the door. First she unbuttoned the bottom of her dress up past the mid-calf she had set it at to much higher, so that the lowest button was just below mid-thigh. She lowered her panties and relieved herself since the 3 rum and cokes was letting her know her bladder was full, but when she was done, she slipped her panties off all the way and put them into the outer pocket of her bag. She stowed her reading glasses in her purse and removed the barrettes in her hair, letting it cascade down from the tight bun she had done it up in for the flight to its full auburn length to her waist. Then she unbuttoned the top of the dress to her navel and removed her bra, putting it with the panties in the bag. She buttoned the dress back up to just below her breasts, so that her cleavage was visible but nothing would fall out until she wanted it to. It was liberating, wearing nothing but her dress, pentacle, and her lone piercing. She let out another shiver. She was slightly buzzed, but still, she had not let this part of her come out in a long time—too long.
Out of the purse came a compact and she checked her minimal makeup, finding no smudges. Next came the strawberry lip gloss. Last, the perfume, from a bottle he had sent her the previous Yule, and she applied it to her neck, running a line down her cleavage, and another up the inside of each thigh. She gave herself a quick touch of the piercing between her legs to create even more anticipation, but she stopped, and she stowed the makeup back in her purse and left the stall, heading out of the restroom and towards the security gate. She had been silent since she had boarded the plane.
He stood there, outside the security area, silently waiting. He had been there only a few minutes, timing his arrival to minimize the parking costs. To the casual observer, he was just another man, patiently awaiting a passenger arrival, but on closer inspection they would have found it odd to see him wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket indoors over his loose white t-shirt and leather chaps over his loose sweat pants—until they saw the helmet in his hand. He looked completely the part of a biker, and he was. Except for the bulge in his pants hidden by his fanny pack, and the fact that the only thing between that bulge and the fanny pack was the sweat pants.
He thought back to times past with her, the talks, the times when she really needed a long hug, a good shoulder rub, or a chest to bury her face into and cry, yet there was no one there in person to provide it for her. He had seen this woman at her best and worst, seen her most vulnerable and most vicious. She had bared her soul and body to him, and he had taken that gift and made the most of it, and this trip was the final act in a long play that would lead who-knows-where.
And he wanted her. And she wanted him, else she would not have come.
And she was there, coming down the escalator, looking around nervously, then seeing him and breaking into a smile. She stepped off and came to him, dropping her bag beside them, throwing her arms around him and kissing him deeply. No words were said. None were needed. He returned her kiss with fervor as she pressed herself into him. They broke the kiss and he grabbed her carry-on. He motioned for her to follow, and she did, hooking her arm in his as they made their way out the door into the parking garage. He stopped at a Harley with a sidecar. He retrieved a spare helmet from the sidecar and placed her carry-on in and strapped it in, then removed the fanny pack and placed it in a saddle bag. He set the helmet, along with his own, on the seat of the bike. They embraced again, and this time the kiss was more insistent, and she opened her mouth to admit his tongue, and they reveled in the taste of rum, coke, and strawberries. His hand reached inside her dress and cupped her right breast, feeling it weight in his hand, and his fingers tweaked the nipple softly. Her hands reached around and ducked into his pants and squeezed the cool flesh of his behind, pulling him into her, and she felt his arousal against her.
Then the kiss was broken again, and he helped her into her helmet, her long hair billowing out underneath, blending right in with the red flames on the black helmet. He put on his own helmet, with blue flames in a custom job that matched the bike perfectly, zipped up his jacket, and mounted the bike. She lifted up a leg and swung on behind him, feeling the cool leather on her piercing, and the slight push back gave her another shudder. He started the motor as she slipped her arms around his waist, and she leaned into him, partly to keep the wind off her breasts but also because whatever cologne he was wearing was intoxicating. They left the parking garage and headed out of the airport for the drive home, and she decided to play some more. He hands moved lower and into the front of his pants, finding his still-erect self. She began a gentle stroking of it, reveling in the feel of him, trying to entice but not distract. For his part, he had decided to take city streets home and no freeways the moment he had seen her swing a creamy leg over the bike behind him, giving him a peek at her bareness beyond. Now her hands were definitely enticing as he tried to focus on the road ore than his raging hard-on and her merciless teasing.
They hit a bump and she felt the bike, already vibrating on her piercing, lurch into her, sending her a jolt of unexpected pleasure, and she gripped him tighter. She noticed more and each one began to build within her a wave of pleasure that she knew would soon break, and all that was in question was how and when. She stopped her stroking but left her hands there and let the bike and the road do the work.
After what seemed like an eternity of bump-induced pleasure but in reality was only ten minutes, he pulled into the garage, shut off the bike, and put down the door. She released her grip on him and withdrew her hands from his pants and dismounted, he following and removing his fanny pack from the saddle bag and her carry-on from the sidecar. They both removed their helmets and placed them in the sidecar, then entered the house. He removed his sunglasses and put them in his jacket, then removed the jacket and chaps and shoes and put them in the coat closet.
He went straight away to the bedroom with her bag, and she followed to the doorway. She slipped off her shoes and kicked them aside. He placed the bag in the corner and turned to face her. She ran to him and threw herself onto him, and he fell backwards onto the bed, her on top of him. Her hands ripped at his t-shirt, tearing it off, and her hands frantically pulled down his pants, and she quickly, almost frantically got them off of him. She hiked her own dress and moved onto him, getting him into her at last. She began to move up and down on him as she worked the buttons of her dress, one button for each thrust, until there were no more buttons and she removed it completely and cast it aside. He started to reach for her but she grabbed his wrists and pushed him back. This was her time. She moved up and down on him faster, feeling him inside her, reveling in the feel of what she needed and had lacked for so long. Her hand found her piercing and she began stroking herself, and the other found her breast and began to stroke her nipple. She continued this way, humping like a beast possessed, until she came with a silent roar, mouth open with no sound coming out, stopping her thrusts to clench him in her shuddering and twitching throes, then feeling him come inside her as well. She was a woman again, sexy, confident, and utterly feminine, restored the way that only trust and unrestrained passion can do. When she had subsided enough to think, she moved off of him, then curled up next to him. They drifted off to sleep.
The first thing he noticed as he woke was touch. More specifically, the lack of hers. She was gone, but as his other senses came into wakefulness, he heard water running in the shower and saw a waft of steam curling along the ceiling from the bathroom. He got up and went into the bathroom. She was there, in the shower, letting the water wash over her. He opened the door and stepped inside, then closed the door behind himself. She took the washcloth and soap, and turned to face him. She kissed him tenderly, and then began to wash him, working down his chest and back, then going down his arms and up his legs, exploring every inch of him, caressing him, stroking him, and cleaning him. At last she found herself kneeling at his crotch, and she gently washed him there, taking extra care of the sensitive areas that were already responding to her touch. She followed up the rinse with her own special ministrations, taking him in her mouth and sucking and licking him under the warm spray, until he could stand it no more and he let loose, but she would not relinquish, and took all of him in. He took her hand and helped her to her feet, took the washcloth, and began to wash her, and he did exactly the same thing to her she did to him—exploring every inch, caressing, stroking, and cleaning her. He slipped the washcloth between her legs and washed her there gently, but then at last he finished with washing her breasts, taking extra care on them, and he followed up with his own mouth, first sucking on one, then the other, then the first again, enjoying her nipples as they grew ever so taut under his tongue and teeth. He reached behind and turned off the water, then opened the door. They stepped out of the shower, and she reached for a towel, and began to dry him in the same way she had washed him, and when she finished he did the same.
But then he dropped the towel and scooped her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. He laid her on the bed and then kneeled before her. He spread her legs wide and move down to her, and his mouth closed in on her piercing and he began to lick and suck on her womanhood. She draped her legs over his shoulders and her hands found the back of his head, her eyes closed, as she twitched and shook with orgasm after orgasm from his relentless assault on her. He refused to stop, and she refused to let him, until finally he disengaged and replaced his mouth with his manhood. He thrust into her, first slow and shallow, then deeper and faster as she accepted him in, until he was pounding away on her and she was arching her back in pleasure. He pulled out and turned her over and began again, from behind, getting even deeper, her mouth chewing the pillow to keep from crying out, her hands clenching the sheets as waves of orgasms washed over her yet more. Finally with one deep thrust he came deep inside her, and then he slowly pulled out. They collapsed together.
They continued like this all weekend long, with no words between them, making love with a passion and intensity that was beyond words anyway. When they weren't in bed they were elsewhere in the house, and no words were exchanged at all, even when eating meals.
She sat in seat 15-G, looking out the window at the lights on the ground slowly moving by 35,000 feet below her, occasionally interrupted by a soft cloud passing by on the Sunday evening. Her drink sat half-finished on the tray table dropped down from the seat back in front of her.
She was finally healed. She was a woman again. The debt was repaid.
She would return soon, to share in the passionate silence again. But when that comes, she knows she will not leave. And that time, when the silence breaks, the woman will remain, whole and complete.