Tag Archives: the co-pilot

Fear of flying

If you haven’t read it you should. At least, that is what my vague recollections tell me. I read it many years ago – Erica Jong’s ‘Fear of flying’. At the time, I’d just left my heated affair with my original lover to live abroad and pursue my dreams. That was a heady time. Heat, lust, touch, sensations. The book seemed so relevant then. It is funny how certain books strike a chord at particular times in your life. I remember reading ‘Nausea’ by Jean-Paul Sartre when I was 17. It felt as if that book had been written for me.

Where is the book I need to read now? I feel so distant from everything. I want to feel. I want to feel alive. I feel removed, behind a wall of muslin, unable to really see or feel anything. In that frame of mind, I ‘confessed’ some of my most inner thoughts to the pilot today. It felt good.

I told him how I have only had sex once with the husband in the last 6+ months. I told him how I feel so much better when we are living separately, in different countries. I told him that I have been trying to find a way to ‘separate’ without really ‘separating’. I crave independence. I long to remember who I am. I long to not be married.

It was a conversation shared with someone I have merely flirted with. In an underground car park (of all places!). Yet it meant a lot. For once, I felt a connection. I wanted to tell him so many things. I longed for a quiet corner table in a cafe (in Paris or Berlin). A bottle of wine, anonymity as we talked. For hours. That open, honest conversation one has so very rarely.

If I had been sitting in that corner of that cafe, I would have told him about the drunken sex had with the co-pilot last week. The anal sex with him on the wooden floorboards of my living room. Of digging my nails into his back until he bled. Sex that was searching, but not fulfilling.

For a few moments, I opened up. He could see that. We had a discourse, a direct and honest conversation. I trusted him implicitly. I’ve emailed him tonight, asking him to dinner. Time to overcome my fear of flying with the pilot.

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Brinkmanship

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon in the company of the pilot, his wife, child and their friends. A mutual colleague (and yes, another serial adulterer) had invited us over to his place to ‘work’. No one told me it would be a family event. I genuinely thought we were going spend Saturday afternoon working at his place. 

A strange afternoon, with three children playing and running around, two wives, distant, unsociable, watching TV, whilst the three of us poured over laptops, working and cooking dinner for everyone. The pilot would brush past me in the kitchen, tackling me to the floor, playfully. We stepped out together to pick up some missing ingredients and beers. He drove. We talked about sex. He told me about a 3 year affair he’d had at his last job. Apparently, no one knows about it. Not even the co-pilot. I told him about my little bondage fun with the co-pilot. He said he was jealous.

Then he asked me a question that’s been playing, tantalisingly on my mind ever since: “Have you ever had aggressive sex?” I racked my brains, various images, memories flitted across my eyes. Animal, yes. Instinctual, raw. But not aggressive.

Now I am curious. I imagine what he would be like. I think he knows me better than I know myself. I long for this brinkmanship to climax. 

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Flying with the co-pilot

Insomnia. It is a good state to be in when you want to write. Dark outside, husband asleep, brain racing.

Last week was that start of an adventure. It has been six months of build up – looks at work, touching under the table in bars and conversations full of innuendo and promise. The co-pilot is someone I’ve had my eye on for some time.

He is the pilot’s best friend and partner in crime. The pilot has instigated a role change for me at work, so that I now work directly with the co-pilot. I can tell he fully expects something to happen between us. It has brought about a delicious dynamic between the three of us – meetings, lunches, drinks – we all know what will eventually happen. You see they are both like me. They are serial adulterers.

Last week the co-pilot and I travelled on business together. We stayed in the same hotel, taking the local teams out for dinner and drinks – a double act of charm and hard work. There is an unsaid understanding between us. We work well together. We play even better together. As the evening drew to a close and we regaled the remaining stragglers with stories of the London office, we fondled one another’s legs under the table. That familiar heady heat began to course through my veins. It was time to leave. A short taxi ride later, we stepped out of the lift and walked calmly to his room.

I had decided not to give myself to him yet. I wanted to retain control over him, so I undressed him, not allowing him to remove my clothing. Blindfolding him and tying his wrists together with his leather belt, I pushed him to the bed. It has been such a long time since I had touched a man. I reveled in his pale, naked skin, his beautiful body and fully erect cock. He has a cock to admire – both aesthetically and proportionally. My objective: to give him the best blow job he could have hoped for. And to leave him wanting more.

Taking him in my mouth, I slid his shaft in until his tip touched the back of my throat, clasped his girth with my lips and pressed my tongue against the underside of his cock. I began to massage that throbbing vein with my tongue as I masturbated him with my mouth and hands.

The first time you bring someone to orgasm is like a sketch for a painting. You are looking, watching, reading, interpreting. It is the first stage of a process. Every sigh, exhale, shudder and gesture hints at how you need to capture the person. The co-pilot promises to be an interesting subject for a longer term project. The first studies are done, I begin to plan my masterpiece.

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