Fear of Flying

By

Fear of Flying
The fear comes with it. You need to conquer it.

Hannah sipped her second glass of Malbec and gazed out at the the people strolling on the High Line. The Hudson was aglow in bright read streaks from the setting sun. Great swirls of orange and red filled the Jersey sky.

"I’m glad we came here instead of your apartment," she said.

 "Me too," Ellie answered.

"The last time I felt this way was three years ago. We were on a family vacation in Paris. It was a hot summer day and I managed to escape Don and my parents for a Monet exhibition at the Musée Marmottan. I stood in the cool basement feeling relieved from the heat, gazing at a series of grain stacks. One of them, bathed in red, orange and soft earth tones, seemed to leap out at me. I suddenly started crying. It must have been the softness and warmth of the light, like now." Ellie looked at Hannah wanting desperately to touch her but restrained herself. "The month before we left for Paris, my cat died. I found her at Bidawee when she was a kitten. I named her Therese. She was so simple and sweet and trusting. She became my treasure. She was only 15 when she died, not that old. I wanted her to live to at least 22 which would be a record for cats. Don treated her correctly but I knew he didn't love her. When I lost Therese, I realized she was the only creature I ever truly loved."

Ellie forced herself not to reach for Hannah's hands. "Whenever I walk down Bleecker Street or West Broadway, I sneak looks at the couples strolling or seated at outdoor tables; the way their eyes cross, how close their hands are, how one sometimes shares food with the other. I make up stories about them. The couple sitting next to me, new lovers still devouring each other with their eyes; that couple over there glaring at each other, still angry from their morning fight; and the one further down, exhausted with three kids in tow, yet content, knowing deep in their hearts they're lucky to be there with those kids. And me on the outside imagining what it’s like for them, making up their stories."

"I've been fantasizing about you," Hannah said, "Ever since I first laid eyes on you at Victoria’s Secret. But I know it’ll never be the way I imagine it."

"Why would it be? Nothing should happen the way you imagine it. If it does, it's not real. When I saw you half heartedly fingering those thongs, you looked so beautiful and sad. I just wanted to be near you, kiss you. I never thought beyond that. Lovers should make it up as they go."

Hannah, suddenly in great need of comic relief, smiled facetiously at Ellie. "Like Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson?"

"Christ, an inspiration to us all!" Ellie retorted, laughing.

"Okay, Susan Sontag & Annie Leibovitz."

"Nah, the former too precious, the latter too crazy, even for me, although she makes wonderful pictures."

"Alright, Charlie Rose and Maureen Dowd."

 "I love it! Picture him on his knees before her, clutching her book for dear life. 'Is this man necessary!?' he pleads."

"Seriously, Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas."

"Hmm, dated but still a grand, lovely story."

"Okay, Thelma and Louise."

"Certainly not! I will never condone violence. And they're not even gay."

"What’s that got to do with anything? Alright then, Ellen DeGeneres & Portia de Rossi."

 "Absolutely superbly imperfect! You may now kiss my hand, for starters."

They rented a room at The Standard with great picture windows that looked out over the Hudson. They undressed each other slowly. Ellie held Hannah from behind and gently cupped her breasts as they looked out at the Hudson now flecked with light from the city. Ellie slipped her finger between her buttocks and slowly, insistently moved it back and forth from her vagina to her anus which thrilled Hannah in spite of Don’s earlier aborted attempts to take her anally. Then Ellie lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked it. "Yes, gooseberries and herbs," she said with a self-satisfied grin. "But requires a bit more jalapeňo."

Hannah spun Ellie around, pushed her down on the bed and buried her face between her legs. Ellie came almost instantly. After a long moment, Hannah, relishing her timing, raised her head. "Hmm, a tolerable Malbec but clearly in need of more bottle aging," she said barely able to stifle her laughter. Ellie grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at Hannah who quickly retaliated. They engaged in a tenacious pillow fight until collapsing, sweaty and exhausted in each others arms. "I want you to come. I want to ravish you," Ellie said breathing heavily. She kissed Hannah aggressively on her lips and nipples which hardened quickly. "I love the way you taste all salty and sweaty," she whispered. Then she moved to her pubic hair. "And I love your scent, she murmured as her mouth found Hannah’s clitoris and her finger moved to her g-spot. Hannah cried out as she came, springing upward uncontrollably as Ellie gripped her thighs and swallowed every drop of her. Later as she lay in Ellie’s arms Hannah whispered, "I feel like I’m 20 again making love for the first time."

Andre Moore, Director of Marriage Couples Counseling and Life Coaching in New York City

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