ELIZABETH ROSE

I awaken to touch, and then confusion.

I feel the ghost of a caress on my neck and my breath catchs in my throat.

My eyes are still closed, and in the darkness I reach out to you.

My hand finds the arm of my chair. My eyes open.

I feel your touch again, and my body sinks into it.

My shoulder pressing firmly against the chair.

I look over, you are not you. You are a stranger sleeping next to me on the plane.

Your touch is not your touch; it is the hot breath of the form sleeping next to me.

Disappointed, I close my eyes to sleep again.

But the caress continues.

I feel the lightest touch against my throat from this stranger’s breath.

My pulse quickens.

I lean my body in towards the stranger.

His breath plays across my exposed flesh.

I feel goose bumps form across the bare skin of my chest.

With my eyes closed – each of his breaths are your fingertips, tracing from my ear lobe towards the swell of my breasts.

I feel my nipples harden.

I lift my hand to trace the line of your touch.

And as if I was physically struck, suddenly I miss you.

I remember our last night together, and wonder why am I flying away from you.

My hand hovers over my heart while the breath of the stranger dances over my skin.

The memory of you fills my senses.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

With a sideward glance I check to make sure stranger is still sleeping.

I undo the top two buttons of my blouse.

I turn away from the aisle and towards the sleeping stranger.

As his breath sweeps across my chest, I manoeuvre my hand  beneath my blouse to gently cup my breast, freeing it from the lace of my bra.

The stranger’s breath now rushes over my erect nipple.

I check again.

The stranger sleeps and my flesh is hidden from other passengers.

I slide my hand under the fabric of the aeroplane blanket.

I am surprised to feel the wetness between my legs.

I close my eyes.

I let visions you fill my mind.

The stranger’s breath is your mouth, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your mouth.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

My fingers are not yours, but they play out the same path.

I arch my back as the sensation builds.

I am lost in the moment.

I am lost in you.

Your hand joins mine.

Your fingers take over. Reaching deeper, rubbing faster.

I gasp, but the sound is lost as your lips cover mine.

Your kiss lifts me, and as you move your mouth to my exposed nipple, I bite my lip to stifle my moan.

I lift my hips to your hand to take you deeper, to take all of you.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

Your teeth draw out my nipple; your other hand massages my breast exquisitely.

My breath stops.

I crest, deliciously, marvellously, exhilaratingly; I crest and ride a wave of you.

As I reach the shallows of you, I exhale.

Your hand slows and stills.

Your mouth leaves my chest, and you rearrange my bra and blouse to cover me.

I sigh into your mouth as you gently kiss me good night.

Without opening my eyes, I draw up the blanket, and turn away from the stranger.

My body is spent, and begging for rest.

“Sweet dreams” a voice says in my ear that is not yours.

I feel the stranger shift in his seat and lean back into his chair.

I close my eyes and smile.

I sleep and I dream of you.

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