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o                                                                   o
o  The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories.  o
o  They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o  from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order  o
o  other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories.     o
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o  Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors.                                 o
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Love in the Air (MF, affiar) 
by Molly Finnegan 


 
A short redhead carrying a briefcase boarded a plane and took a seat next
to a distinguished gentleman who did not look up from The Wall Street 
Journal.
 
"I prefer a window seat," the woman said.
 
"How interesting," said the gentleman, finally glancing at his seat-mate.
"So do I.  And I was here first."
 
"Whatever," she grumbled, putting on her glasses, taking an overflowing 
file from her briefcase and beginning to read. Soon she slammed the file 
down on her lap and looked at him with immense irritation.  "All right!  
All right!  I need a window seat!"
 
"How interesting," the man repeated.  "Why?"
 
"It's none of your business and stop saying, 'How interesting.' "
 
"How interesting that you should ask me to do something for a rude woman 
for no reason!"
 
"Whatever," she grumbled and began to read again.  
 
The man watched her from the corner of his paper as the plane began to 
take off.  She was pretending to read her file, but he noticed the veins 
in her hands turn purple as she  gripped the arm of her seat.  
 
Unconsciously to rid herself of her phobia, she nervously unpinned her 
hair and a glorious red flame flipped over her face then, with a toss of 
her head, it landed gently on her shoulder.  
 
And some landed on his.
 
"Damn!"  he thought.  "She would have to be a redhead!" 
 
"Oh all right!" he said with mock irritation.  "You can have the seat.  
Since you're a redh.....I mean, since you're phobic.  Stand up and move 
over."
 
"I am NOT phobic!.....but thank you," she said and stood up.
 
As they fumbled and scrunched, she over him and he beneath her to change 
seats, her hair swished across his face and the magnificent scent of fresh 
peaches wafted to him.
 
They finally landed into their respective seats, his tie and shirt all askew.
The clumsy movement forced her short, tight skirt up above one black garter. 
One of her shoes fell to the tiny space beneath his feet.
 
"What type of shampoo do you use?" he asked, handing her the shoe.
 
"I beg your pardon?" she said, suddenly noticing his wonderful eyes.
 
"The shampoo," he repeated.  "It reminds me of something."
 
"It's whatever they had in the hotel.  Peach Something, I believe."
 
"So that's what it reminds me of," he said. "Peaches."
 
"Hmmmmmm."  She pretended to study her file again, but found herself strangely 
aroused by this unusual man with a classic New York accent.
 
A flight attendant appeared and asked if they needed anything.  "Yes," she 
said. "It's getting dark and a little cold.  A blanket would be very nice."  
She felt a sudden and rare need to be polite.   
 
"She brought only one blanket," the woman noticed, more or less to herself.
 
"Well....yes."  He grinned inside and noticed the slight smile on her face.
 
He spread the blanket over his lap and threw the other half over hers.  He
was aware that in doing so he had to cover up that part of her gartered leg 
he'd been enjoying, but perhaps there would be other things to enjoy.
 
"Why are you going to the City?" she asked, trying to appear nonchalant.
 
"I live there.  I work there.  Stock broker. What about you?  What is your 
work?"
 
"I'm a song and dance gal, a paid gladiator, a strain on the national debt,
a prostitute, a chamelion,  a lizard, a shark......"
 
"I see.  You're a lawyer," he says blandly.
 
For the first time, she laughed.  "Yes."
 
"And your business in New York?"
 
"I have to try a case Tuesday."
 
"You are licensed in our fair state?"  As he asked, he raised one eyebrow.
Just one and not the other.  She felt herself getting a little too warm under
the blanket.  She could never resist a man who could raise just one eyebrow.
 
"Uh...uh....no.  I'm not.  An associate has to motion me in."
 
"I see," he said, moving his arm on the arm rest, barely touching her shoulder.
 
Suddenly the plane hit an air pocket and jerked to a sudden, short drop. She 
gasped, her hands automatically gripping the arm rests.  She realized she had 
grabbed her partner's hand,  her fingernails nearly drawing blood.
 
"Oh, I am sorry."  She began to move her hand when his suddenly held onto it, 
holding it warmly.
 
She tried but failed to resist the little shudder of desire that waved through her 
body.  She responded to his warm hand with a small squeeze of encouragement.
 
She began to speak - small talk of her work, her home.  It was nervous chatter 
and he was barely listening.  He noticed, though, that as she spoke, she inched 
closer to him. 
 
   He could not see that garter under the blanket, but he concentrated, trying to 
calculate where it would be from where his hand now rested.  When she loosened 
her grip, he reached to the spot he believed the garter to be.  He found instead 
the wool of her skirt.
 
"Lower or higher?" he wondered to himself and ventured a bit lower, finding at last 
the little nap he sought.  She startled a bit, but did not resist.  She stopped 
talking in mid-sentence as he expertly moved the nub up and out, releasing the 
black stocking from it's restraint.
 
A sudden, "Oh!" escaped her lips and he smiled warmly.  His hand moved down 
her partially-stockinged leg as far as he could reach, then up again to the garter, 
past it to the soft crease of her inner thigh.. Surprise showed on his face as he 
moved his hand inward to find, not the cotton panties he'd expected, but a small 
tuft of soft hair, drenched in sticky liquid.
 
Looking directly into her fixed eyes now, he played in her juices, his finger 
dancing in her soft folds.  He removed his finger and put it in his mouth,
savoring the sweet, salty taste.
 
She sat as though in a trance, not knowing what to do.  He took her hand gently 
and put it to his zipper.  She felt his erection, smiled warmly at him and began
a slow stroking with her hand, delighting in the growth it produced.
 
An old lady with the blue hair from across the aisle looked at them with 
disapproval over her chained bifocals.
 
He slipped his finger inside her again, this time with the palm forward and rotated 
his fingertip, drenched, searching.  She squeezed her talking muscle, sucking his 
finger in deeper, until he finally found it.  He stroked the oval with calm, circular 
motions, causing an involuntary low moan, "My spot...mmmm...my spo........."  Her 
whole body tensed, rejecting, inviting him.
 
Then she remembered his need and her hand again found him, fabric 
encarcerated and bursting.  "I have to think," she said to herself.  "How best to do 
this?  Will I call more attention to us by unzipping slowly?....or fast, like a band 
aid?"  She did not want to cause Bertha Bluehair any more angst than necessary.  
Finally, she opted for the band aid approach and the zzziiiiiippp roared in her ears, 
sounding like a baseball rattling around a metal room.  Nearly everyone was 
asleep, but a few stirred uneasily before rolling their heads back on their pillows.  
 
Bertha jumped, startled, and roughly nudged her disinterested, sleeping husband.  
 
Embarrassed, the phobic lover moved her hand quickly back to the arm rest.  His 
free hand cupped her chin in its palm.  Lifting her head to him he smiled broadly, 
relaxing her.  She grinned and returned her hand to the scene of the crime to find 
her mission complete. With no underwear in the way, his growing shaft was free.
 
"You were expecting me!" she whispered.
 
"And you me!" he said, tugging lightly on her body hair to call attention to her own 
lack of underwear.
 
Emboldened, she dipped her finger into herself and used her juice as lubrication 
for the continued stroking of the protruding vein in her hand. She realized her 
expression was changing with his finger's every movement and was amazed that 
he kept a steady, straight face.  
 
She increased the speed of her stroking.   
 
His finger accelerated.
 
She felt it approaching eons before it appeared. Beginning at her feet and 
shuddering up to her scalp, the glorious spasms grabbed her.  He held her hand 
tightly and she dug her fingernails into his palm as wave after orgasmic wave 
crashed through her. "ohmygodohmygodohmyg........" she moaned, her head 
thrashing.
 
"Oh my God," he said, "We must leave these seats and move to a more... 
accessible place!"
 
"But wha.........?"
 
"Come with me," he said, taking her hand and standing.  "It's dark.  We'll just slip 
into a restroom........."
 
Looking around anxiously, she followed him to the rear of the plane to the little 
metal rooms.  Dismayed at the "occupied" sign on the men's room, he slipped 
across the hall into the women's.  
 
Without speaking, he lifted her by the waist to the sink counter.  She shivered a 
little as his agile hands unbuttoned each button of her blouse and moved it over 
her shoulders, revealing a black and lacey push-up bra.  He kissed her deeply.  
Her hungry tongue met his as his hands reached around her to unsnap the bra and 
free her ample breasts.
 
He gazed at her nipples, erect as though standing at attention for him.  Her head 
fell forward and she smiled as he pinched each nipple gently between thumb and 
forefinger.  
 
He helped her down by the waist and unzipped her skirt, pulling it down to the 
floor.  She stepped out of it and stood before him.  She was wearing nothing but 
high heels, a black garter belt and black silk stockings, one of which was held by 
one garter only.  
 
Her hands went to his shirt where she nimbly unbuttoned him.  She pulled off the 
starched garment a bit roughly, then moved to his zipper.  He smiled, moved her 
hands and unzipped himself noiselessly.  "How did you do that without making a 
sound?" she whispered.  He just smiled and removed his pants, shoes and socks.
 
Almost automatically, she went to her knees and began bathing his hardened shaft 
with her hair and tongue.  
 
"Ahhh," he murmered. 
 
Then suddenly he lifted her, whirled her around and, grabbing both her wrists
 
with one hand, slammed her against the low metal door.  He secured her wrists 
above her head with one palm and separated her legs with his knees.
 
He used his other hand to enter her.
 
"Oh!" she cried, startled, and then threw her head back in joy as he pumped her, 
pinning her to the door.
 
   Both were startled by a knock at the door.  "I know what you two are doing in 
there!  Get out!  Come out of there at once!"  It was a woman's voice in a very 
loud whisper.
 
   "Oh no," the redhead grinned.  "It's Bertha Bluehair!" 
 
The man kept slamming into the inner rain enveloping him.  "Let her get her own"  
He nibbled at her ear lobe.
 
"Get out of there at once or I shall report you to the Captain!"
 
This time the man spoke louder.  "Let him get his own, too!"  Only slightly 
nonplussed, he resumed his feast in the redhead's juices.
 
The woman forgot Bertha and gasped at his forceful entry, filling her a second 
time.  She could feel her own juices flowing around him and, with no hands free, 
used body language to urge his body to her, until he crushed his chest against her.
 
   The old woman was not to be disuaded.  ""Well!  I never!"  She rapped more 
loudly and angrily.
 
It was the voice of a gentle man this time.  "Come away, Maude.  Let's sit down.  
You are bothering people."
 
   "Harold, do you know what is going on in there?  It's shamef...."
 
   "I know, my dear.  Leave them alone.  It's none of your business."
 
   "None of my business!?  Why, it is this sort of thing that contributes to the 
downfa..."
 
"Maude, I will give you two choices," the man said with a little fear in his voice. 
"You either come back to your seat or join me in the men's room."
 
   "Wha.....! How dare you speak to me like that!  Harold, you have never made 
such a lewd........Harold!!"
 
   The pair continued their rapid and rapidly-increasing coupling, smiling and 
listening to the conversation outside.  Their hips movedn perfect synchrinocity.  
They grinned as Harold lead his wife away, her sputterings becoming more and 
more distant.  The woman giggled and buried her head in her lover's chest hair.
 
   He smiled and moved his free hand down her body, caressing every inch until he 
reached her nub.  She swooned a little feeling his increasing pressure on the little 
hood.  For the first time he spoke, "Come to me."  
 
   He removed his finger and placed it in her mouth where she savored her own 
nectar,  "Come to me."
 
   This time it was quick.  She reveled in the twitching of every muscle in her body.  
She rotated her hips and her spasms tightened, as if to pull his whole body into 
her.
 
   "I feel you talking to me," he moaned, letting go of her hands and holding her 
tightly until her throbbing weakened and her pulse returned to near-normal.  
 
   He meant to wait, but his groin tightened involuntarily.  A feeling of ice on fire 
consumed him as he pumped his warm cum into her three times, four, six, beyond 
counting.  
 
   Decades later, they relaxed in a fine, but cramped heap on the floor.  
 
   With little time for after-glow, he found himself dreading the practicalities of 
clean-up, dressing, leaving.  But she made even that erotic when she stood, 
caught the combined juices flowing down her inner thigh and rubbed them into her 
belly, her breasts, her throat.  
 
   They dressed quickly, bumping into one another in the little jail and laughing at 
their cumbersome plight.  
 
Finally put back together, she looked at him with a question mark on her face.  
"You look fine," he smiled. "Let's go."
 
They opened the door and didn't stop to look at Bertha Bluehair nor her husband 
with his new-found spine.
 
What timing!  They sat again on the blanket just as the captain announced the 
landing and the attendant gave her memorized directions.
 
They were among the first to leave the plane, he gallantly carrying her heavy 
briefcase to the ramp.   Neither said a word until they reached the lobby where 
each declared there would be no one there to meet them.  
 
"I don't know what to say," she said, turning to him.
 
He took his billfold from his back pocket.
 
"Oh my god, no!" she protested, but he just smiled and removed one of his calling 
cards.
 
"Where will you be staying?" he asked.  Embarrassed, she told him.
 
She handed him her card as well.  He stared at it.  "Well,"  he said. "I have 
certainly enjoyed my flight....uh.....'Elizabeth.' "
 
"Jim.....a nice name, Jim," she stuttered.
 
He bent and kissed her gently, then turned to leave.  
 
Nothing was said of future meetings, but she felt certain he would call.
 
So did he.
 
THE END    

