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“Why did you do that?” I ask her.
“Do what?” She asks sullenly.
“Touch me, well any stranger, like that?” I ask, incredulous that I have to spell it out.
I don’t miss the slight flinch of her shoulders but she meets my eyes now, her chin titled up in indignation. “I told you already. I’m drunk, you’re hot. End of story.” She says, her loud hiccup ruining her forcibly calm and dignified demeanor.
“You don’t need to throw yourself at men.” I say gently.
She leans toward me, her eyes clear, her voice full of asperity when she says, “I did not throw myself at you. You were convenient.”
That stings, but I scoff, “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”
“I’m not worried about your feelings.” She says dryly. “I just want you to know that your attempt at slut shaming won’t work.” She says affecting a bored tone that is betrayed by her furrowed brow and clenched hands.
This is getting out of hand.
“You’re putting words in my mouth. I just don’t understand why you’re up for it. I mean, if this what liquor does for you, maybe you should lay off when you’re in situations—“
“For God’s sake,” she exclaims, her eyes wide with exasperation. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I really am.” Her hands rake her hair and she holds her head as if it’s aching.
Instinctively, I put a hand on her shoulder, “You don’t need to apologize, I’m sure when you’re sober you’ll feel better.”
She jerks her shoulder from under my hand and hisses, “Do not fucking touch me.” I pull my hand away and lean back.
Her seat suddenly pulls up and she rummages around in the backpack on the floor at her feet and pulls a black rubber band out. She starts gathering her huge mass of hair up into a messy bun. Then she turns her angry eyes back to me.
“You have no idea how I’ll feel when I’m sober. I was not apologizing. I was just trying to get you to stop talking. I’m an adult. I own my choices. Own yours,” she says angrily.
“I own my choices,” I say.
“Good, now can I go back to sleep?”
She’s right. She’s an adult. I don’t know her. Just because I’ve never done it, doesn’t mean people hooking up on planes is a weird or even uncommon occurrence.
Her hands fidget with the corner of the blanket and the movement draws my eyes. I can still feel the heat of them on my cock. Was I too hasty? I do want to be impulsive, but not reckless. No. I know right from wrong. And this has wrong written all over it.
/> “Felt nice, right? Having second thoughts?” Her taunting tone pulls my eyes to her face. She’s watching me through hooded lids. Her eyebrows are raised in mocking appraisal.
Embarrassment, sends a flush of heat up my neck and face. Her eyes widen and she claps her hands in delight as she takes in my reddening face. But it’s my anger that takes the lead as I turn and adopt the same sarcastic smile she’s been wearing for half the night.
“I wasn’t having second thoughts,” my jaw is clenched so tight that it’s starting to give me a headache. “I was just wondering if you were going to wash my cum off your hand.” I deadpan.
Her eyes widen in horror and she looks from my lap to her hand and then back at my face. “Did you really just say that?”
“Is your listening comprehension as compromised as your judgement?” I say, even though I think I’ve probably gone too far.
Her eyes nearly bug out of her head and “You are a --," a gag cuts off her words. Her hand clamps over her mouth and she squeezes eyes shut. Her body jerks with another gag.
She throws the blanket off and fumbles frantically with her seat belt. She scurries past me, one hand still covering her mouth and runs down the aisle. I hear her retching before the bathroom door slides shut with a bang.
I stare at the back of the seat in front of me. I can’t believe any of this. I let a strange woman put her hands on my cock — and enjoyed it. I ogled said strange woman while she slept. I’ve also insulted, and been insulted by, her. My mother would disown me. One glance around the first-class cabin confirms my suspicion that finding another seat wasn’t an option. So, I start formulating an apology.
After nearly twenty minutes, she stumbles back toward our row. I stand so she can slide in without having to squeeze past me.
Her face is pale, her eyes are glassy and when I start to speak, she just shakes her head miserably.
“We’ve both said enough.” She says and presses her lips together. “I’m going to try to sleep some of this off. Have a good rest of your flight.” And then she turns over, pulls that stupid eye mask down, and tucks herself in again.
