Champagne and Parlor Games

NOTE: Following this week’s prompt of “Revisiting,” I am going back to a story I started for a Wicked Wednesday challenge last year. June 21, 2014 to be exact (better late than never, right?). Prompt #108: Flight Attendant. What story can you come up with using this premise: a flight attendant drinking champagne in first class.


The city was beautiful and although she would miss it she would miss the man she was leaving in it more. They had met her first year on the job. Some local hot spot one of the other girls knew about. They had met up many times over the years though not as often as she would have liked. Her layovers were too short for them to make arrangements to even meet at times, let alone anything more involved. She was getting tired of it now, the travelling and the casualness of her relationships. She was always surrounded by people yet somehow she always managed to feel alone. Travelling the world was no fun without being able to appreciate the destinations, and great destinations were no fun without someone special to share them with.

Lara sat in her spacious seat sipping a glass if champagne. After back to back transatlantic flights, and a far too short layover at the end, she was finally able to sit back and relax. This would be the first flight she has taken in more than four years that wasn’t for work. Well to be fair, this was to return from work but no matter, she was going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Rather than the usual itchy uniform and hair pulled back in a bun so tight her skin hurt, tonight she was wearing comfortable clothes and her hair was down. Nobody needed to know she was a flight attendant. She could be anyone she wanted to be. What role should she play this evening? Lonely divorcee? Spoiled sorority girl? Call girl? It had to be something worthy of the first class seating. Maybe it could be a rags to riches story, from living in a double wide to multi-million dollar lottery winner. Hmmm…

As she gazed out the window contemplating her role in the evenings production of Passenger 2A someone took their place in the seat next to her. When Lara turned to welcome her travel companion she came face to face with Marco, the man she thought she was leaving behind.

“Good evening, Ma’am.”

“Um, good evening,” she stammered back as she shook his hand.

“My name is Alfred, but my friends call me Alfie.”

Catching the playfulness in his tone she responded, “Hi. My name is Katarina, but my friends call me Kat.” Lara extended her hand for a handshake.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kat.” Marco raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently.  “I do believe I would quite enjoy being your friend.”

“Oh, I never said you could call me Kat, Alfred.”

“My apologies. Katarina it is.” He smiled that warm, sexy smile she loved so much. “I did not mean to offend madam.”

“And how do you know I am a madam, sir? Have you been to my parlor? I am sure I would remember such a handsome smile.” Lara was enjoying the banter, the game with Marco. She couldn’t help but smile warmly back at him.

“We have met, but once. I attended a masquerade at your establishment earlier this year.”

“You did? Surely I would remember had we met.”

“Maybe you do. You just do not realize.”

The attendant interrupted then. He refilled their drinks, her champagne, him scotch, and took their meal orders. First class was nice when you were the one in the seat, Lara thought. Once he finished and continued on with the other passengers she turned her attention back to her companion,  “Do tell me more about this meeting. Help me to remember.”

Marco leaned in and began, “As I said, it was a masquerade at your place earlier this year.”

“Yes, that was in May. Cinco de Mayo.”

“My buddy Brad wanted to go and talked me into joining him. I wasn’t really into it at first but your ladies are very friendly and persuasive.”

“Did they push you or pressure you in some way?”

“Oh no, never. They were all very beautiful and accommodating. All of them.”

“All of them,” she questioned in feigned disbelief. “How many did you see during the masquerade?”

“I saw all of one. Felt her and tasted her too. She was delightful. A petite brunette. I’m not sure of her name. Paulina maybe, something like that. She had a cute little accent on her. A cute little ass as well.”

“Polina. She is Russian.”

“Russian. Of course. I should have known.”

“I’m sure you were preoccupied by her other attributes.”

“Indeed I was. I was preoccupied by her luscious body, by her perky breasts with the palest of pink nipples. They were delightful to pinch and tease, becoming hard little bullets under my touch. I then moved my hands down her body, along her thigh until I reached the hem of her skirt. Then up, up along the inside of her thigh, my rough hands against her soft tender skin. She mewed and moaned. She was used to the usual men, the soft handed ones with the wicked touch. I do not have soft hands Katarina. I have worn hands. Rough and scarred from years of manual labor. They are rough, don’t you think?”

Marco ran his hand up her arm. He felt her quiver and thought of all the times he’s felt that quiver, that first blush showing her desire. He wanted to feel all of her, naked and snuggled up tight next to him in bed. He was lost in that thought for a moment. Wishing that instead of sitting next to her on a crowded plane they were alone, just the two of them with a bottle of wine and Dave Matthews Band on the stereo.

He let his Alfie persona fall away and told Lara what he should have told her long before now. “I love you Lara. I don’t ever want to be without you again.”





2 thoughts on “Champagne and Parlor Games

  1. I still remember that story and am so glad you added a part to it. Lovely!

    Rebel xox

  2. So romantic!! xM

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