Sitting in the airport bar, Grayson gave in to the extra-shot-for-a-dollar-more pitch from the bartender. It was time to give in to that sort of thing. Another road trip soon to be underway made it so. Time to shift from loving husband and father to lust-meister and road warrior extraordinaire – and all the fantasy frolic attached to those self-imposed monikers. God knows, he spent enough time in the air traveling from place to place; he should derive some measure of lustful relief even if it is only based in fantasy. Being a faithful husband for nearly 20 years, what harm is there in a fantasy that lasts mere seconds? What does a small, private pleasure have to do with anything? It was time to give in.

Successfully upgraded to first-class seating, a sure sign of traveling way too much, his eyes scanned the boarding area. There she stood, pulling carry-on luggage and then some. She was breaking the rules just as he was about to do. They were both attempting to board carrying computers and other bags containing basic road warrior supplies. As she looked in his direction, his eyes fell away in an effort to hide the lust that had to be showing. He fumbled with his ticket in an effort to busy himself with something less invasive than thoughts a lust-meister conjured up so readily.

Glancing up from his efforts to confirm flight time and seat assignment hidden in microscopic print on his boarding pass, he permitted his eyes to linger upon this totally anonymous woman who stood there looking so fine in her crisply tailored business suit. Selecting a seat one row across from his, she sat down. It was impossible to prevent his eyes from lingering on outstanding legs sheathed in very sheer hose. As she crossed them, he could not help but devour the visual display of subtle curves defining edges of perfection. Grayson could only guess what was hidden much higher beneath that crisply tailored business suit.

The gate attendant announced boarding for their flight as he noticed her thigh muscles flex as she uncrossed those perfect legs. Pre-boarding commenced as he walked down the jet-way on autopilot, his mind's eye still gazing on her incredible legs. Shortly, the rest of the flight boarded as he relaxed, tucked comfortably in 6-E, his first-class-upgrade, fulfilling the role of designated monitor of all those who boarded subsequently. As she approached, he queued up a smile embedded with a healthy trace of I’d-love-to-make-you-quiver perched on his lips. Making eye contact, he made a successful delivery of his silent message as she glided toward his seat.

Grayson’s smile was perfectly scripted with subliminal messages of very naughty unspoken things, things way beyond what she possibly could be thinking. Returning my smile, she paused by his seat as some idiot a dozen rows aft tried to stuff 30-inches of luggage into a 26-inch hole. The only thing he could do at that point was breathe in the scent her body offered as it hovered inches from his face. Simply scrumptious was the result. His mind screamed for him to stand up, introduce himself, and confess full extent of his lustful intentions. Courage surged forward, assisted by an elevated blood-alcohol level, and he drew a breath to speak his bold confession. Simultaneously, the more reserved part of who-he-really-was snatched breath away and pushed him down into 6E, mute with reality significantly less lustful than what he considered only moments before.

Once again reality prevailed. He decided right then it was all a secret – one big, fucking, wasteful secret. What a shame to waste such delicious, lustful thoughts, to have them slip away, cast off unused, un-acted upon, discarded as though there never was any value attached to them. He shook his head in silence and sat back in his seat waiting to fly off to who-knows-where. At this point, it really didn’t matter where.

He guessed he was one man of many - a member of a secret society of men who lust after secrets held by inner thighs; the mystery of perfect legs left unseen, shrouded by skirt, dress, or slacks. He often wondered how many women could read his thoughts, knowing he carried a desire to deliver sweetest of oral attentions. He wondered if it was obvious to them he imagined such delights behind an innocent smile. He wondered if women thought about those kinds of things too – if they walked around with an embedded lust for personal pleasures that stole their breath away like a petty thief.

The fantasy that peaked in those few seconds was over. His thoughts persisted as imagination ran delinquent. Sadly, he dwelled upon increments of time he’d never spend between her thighs. He tried to dismiss the persistent desire to do what his lust insisted despite what proper protocol demanded.

Wheels came up. Another flight was underway. He reclined his seat and drew a deep breath, resigned to the prospects of living a life of proper protocol. Fuck protocol.