Aiport Bar

Old story

When we fly together we usually drink a bit and enjoy each other’s company quite a lot, and she is usually dressed the way that I like. Once in an airport, on an extended layover, we sat at the bar and got to chatting with a fellow that I could tell she was taking a liking to. Through the first drink we were just chatting with no thought of anything more than the conversation. With the second drink I could tell that my wife was becoming somewhat flirtatious – something that she does not do easily. With the third drink I put my hand on her thigh. She had on a rather conservative looking knee length wrap around skirt. She was also wearing a blazer with a very sheer camisole under it. To this point the blazer was buttoned and though the camisole could be seen, it was rather more professional than sexy looking. About halfway through the third drink (and it should be noted that usually my wife stops at one drink, with a pretty good buzz, as she only weighs 110 lb) I decided to try to work the top flap of my wife’s skirt off of her knee, which would have exposed her thigh on his side. Normally such a move on my part would have resulted in my wife removing my hand from her leg. But in this airport far from home with her inebriated and flirting with a good looking man who was also a good conversationalist paying the sort of attention that makes a woman feel good, my wife gave no resistance. My maneuver worked much better than I had expected, as the flap of the skirt slid, not just off of her knee, but most of the way down her thigh. My wife’s very shapely legs (the woman runs 4 miles a day) came starkly into view as if her skirt had been a Broadway curtain. I think we were all a bit shocked but my wife, adding to my shock, made no move to adjust the scene. Although, extremely turned on by this, I was also a little self-conscious. My wife was seated between the two of us and we each had our bar stool canted toward her. She really was center stage and, much to my surprise and enjoyment, she was taking a good deal of pleasure from her leading role. Looking down the bar I noticed that we had caught the attention of an elderly man sitting alone. I was pretty certain that his view of my wife’s exposed legs was at least partially blocked, but the attention he was paying made me also doubt that. By the end of our third drink our new friend and I were not trying to hide our gaze at my wife’s slender legs crossed so ladylike but exposed nearly to her panties that I knew to be gossamer thin and sheer. By this time too, my hand had returned to her leg. As my hand began to slide slowly up her leg my wife gave me a you-naughty-boy-look, but made no attempt to remove it. Long before I got to the perilous edge of her shirt she stood up to go to the restroom. In her absence, the fellow, also feeling the affects of, I did not know how many drinks, as he was at the bar before we arrived, was more than a little complementary of my wife’s beauty and her incredible legs. This of course is the sort of thing that really added to my already aroused state and I confessed to him that she was not always so bold but that I was really enjoying it. He pointed out that perhaps I had grown familiar with her beauty and so the treat for him was all the more rare and special. If this guy’s intention was to gain liberty with my wife, he certainly had the right script. As she was returning, he hurriedly asked if I though she would mind if he put his hand on her leg. Not wanting her to hear what we were talking about, I shrugged my response. I noted that he had not asked me if I would allow it. I assumed that he had correctly gathered from our short private conversation that I would be thrilled with it.

I was now less a part of the conversation as they chatted, which was probably just as well, because I’m not sure that I could have been coherent in my aroused state. As he spoke to her he was reaching out and occasionally touching her arm that rested on the bar. She made no move to discourage this. At some point I interjected something into the conversation and my wife turned to me with the most loving and aroused smile. She put her hand on my leg. There was a lot of subtle communication in this gesture. The look of love on her face definitely included a huge amount of arousal, through it was the unmistakable message that her love for me, though contained in this heightened state of arousal, was much more encompassing than that alone. She communicated gratitude for this indulgence, and a desire to continue this erotic dance with another partner, but to also stay connected in the moment to me. Implicit was my wife’s tacit and tactile consent for us to touch. As she turned back to flirt with her friend, she pulled my hand to her leg. My wife is much more capable of drawn-out tension and subtle communication than am I. Within a few minutes of my hand being placed on her leg it had slid to where her skirt flared. And again she gave me the naughty boy look, at which time her friend took the opportunity to further his own agenda by saying, “you can’t blame the man, and besides I am thoroughly enjoying what I see.” With that she gave him a coy sideways grin, and my hand slid over her hip to the side of her bottom, fully exposing her panties to this stranger. Again she gave a bit of a protest but made no move to cover herself.

The bartender, had become much more attentive, even though he could not see her skirt below the bar. This may have been because she returned from the restroom with her blazer connected by only one button. Her attire, though still professional, looked more like that of a woman who is willing to use any means to succeed, for now it was apparent that her camisole was sheer and it could be guessed that she was not wearing a bra.

I tried to uncross her legs but they were locked with the force of the moment’s anxiety. I was disappointed because I knew that her sheer panties were likely becoming wet. Not one to be easily defeated in matters of such extreme passion, I began to move up hill, under her blazer to her pert breast. This of course seemed to draw our circle of admirers even closer.

Her excitement was becoming more evident as the conversation was slow and forced. When our friend moved his hand to her knee, she gave a start and her eyes got big. She recovered by lifting her hand to order another drink, but she did not discourage what was happening.

He began to slowly caress her knee and she drew deeply on her new drink for the medication it would provide to her anxiety. As his hand moved slowly up her thigh she looked to me for permission and strength. I gave her an affectionate squeeze and smiled broadly at her. With this I slid back in my bar stool to enjoy the show. Though unintentional, my manipulation under her blazer had loosened its last button, and it slid open revealing her supple breast in all their glory beneath the sheer fabric of the camisole. Though she had been significantly naked below the bar to her friend, perhaps the old fellow and to me, she was now more publicly exposed, as the camisole did little to obscure her beautiful breast.

Now it seemed that she had the attention of the other half dozen people sitting around the horseshoe bar, who were trying to obsequiously gather what was happening. I could tell that the blazer coming open had made my wife much more uncomfortable, and I was sorry that it had happened. But it also seemed that her attention was most directly on the hand that was caressing her leg and not on the eyes that were watching her.

His ascent up my wife’s leg was slow and purposeful. As he neared the confluence of her beautiful legs she sighed and moved her hips slightly forward. The legs that had been clenched to my touch, now fell open revealing her soft patch of desire. And again she moved to meet his touch.

Soon her panties were in a small, soggy wad pushed to the side as he made skin-to-skin contact with her well-trimmed mound. She was losing the battle to stifle her whimpers. When he reached with his other hand to touch her breasts, she convulsed and moaned rather loudly.

There was no longer any conversations at the bar as all eyes were intently on my wife. The bartender had actually moved a couple of steps back, for fear of implication in this indecent display. My wife continued to writhe under his manipulations until, with his thumb on her clit, he pushed his finger inside of her. She usually responds much more to clitoral stimulation than to penetration. But with the penetration of this stranger’s finger, she erupted with a seismic orgasm. Gasping loudly she rolled back and lifted her hips and pushed them to the bar, to give this lover better access.

At that point I would have been happy for this man to put my wife on the bar and completely have his way with her. I’m pretty sure that she would not have stopped him. What did stop us was the last boarding call for our flight. As my wife straightened herself on obviously wobbly legs, I reach to pay the tab. He waved me off and said that buying our drinks was the least he could do. I hurriedly shook his hand still wet with my wife’s nectar and thanked him. My wife shocked me again by placing her hands on his face and kissing him deeply. She then turned and exited without saying a word.

Luckily our gate was right across from the bar. They closed the doors behind us as we boarded. We were too much in shock to say much other than “did that really just happen?” As is usually the case when she drinks, my wife was soon sound asleep. And I was left to ponder this strange event alone.

We did not speak about it for three weeks after that. When we did finally broach the subject, we had each processed it enough to have a lot to say. We knew the man’s first name, what city he lived in and where he worked, which would have been enough to easily track him down. But somehow it did not seem right. Nor did he make an effort to contact us.

Nonetheless, he and the experience had a profound affect on our lives. For about three years he was the center of our rich fantasy life. He was my wife’s lover, who knew exactly what she wanted and how to please her. Through him I learned how to better please her. The experience also gave us a strong since of our own ability to go outside the box of convention to seek what pleases us, not just sexually but in all aspects of our lives. Because we had this experience, we have also had many great adventures that probably would not have occurred to us if we had not learned to abandon convention at times. This is not to say that we have become wild bohemians. We continue to be rather conventional professionals, with two kids and nice neighbors. We are also people who are not afraid to reach for life’s gusto with both hands.