I fall in love on the airplane home.
No, too easy.
I would have fallen in love on the airplane home, maybe, if that’s what love is.
I got the middle seat. He was on my right.
Things like this never happen to me. I’m always two rows up next to the obese lady who shoves my arm off the rest and breathes heavier than the engines. I’m always right in front of kicking children or right behind that baby who won’t stop screaming.
So, imagine my surprise when this time, on the flight from Toronto to Halifax I plop down next to a warm smile and crinkled eyes.
There are a hundred stories that can be told in quick and easy banter. 40 days and 40 nights of Arabian tales. Fingers that find skin under armrests.
Tray tables and whispered conversation.
His lips by my ear.
A shared crossword.
A hand, caught.
The electricity jumping between hairs, the silent dance of forearms.
Playing out a year’s worth of sweaty fantasies between our seats.
I want this:
Ripped at the seams, bruised. Teeth imprints at my neck. Thumb marks blossoming on my throat. Make my body your canvas. I’ll fight back, hard, struggle for each kiss. Rough. Forced against a door or a wall. My thighs tight. My fingers tearing your hair back, exposing your soft underbelly. My tongue tasting, claiming.
Burning my scent into your skin.
Signing my name with nails.
I fold the finished crossword, tuck it in his pocket.
No number, no name.
Next time, maybe.
If you find me in the sky.
Chromeo – Night by Night
*Unrelated note: if you can move like the guy in this video, call me.