Two days ago I was sitting in the airport, waiting to board a flight. The night before I'd had an incredibly strange dream. It was so sick, so perverse, so questionable that I'm not even comfortable talking about it here. All I'll say is that it was sexual in nature and I couldn't get it out of my head. I pulled out my notebook and started jotting notes, dream fragments, questions, details.
Someone took the seat two spots to my left. I consciously made certain to obscure his line of sight so he couldn't make out all the perverted things I was writing. My handwriting is clean and girly. Pretty.
As I was writing about stroking a certain cock, the man to my left bent down to open his bag. I looked over and noticed that he was wearing a cassock and collar.
It's one of my oldest fantasies ever since I was a preteen watching "The Thorn Birds" on television. Damn, I wanted to seduce a priest. And not a priest on vacation like Father Ralph- sans collar. Oh, no. I want a full-out man of the cloth. Preferably in a confessional. Am I Catholic? Does it matter?
I found myself adjusting my posture, my legs, checking my cleavage (not too much, but just intriguing enough). At this point, I didn't worry about the priest reading what I'd written. My mind started working overtime and I began writing on a new page my priest fantasy, letting the knowledge that he was so close (young, cute) be my guide.
Sanguis Christi, pretium nostrae salutis...
It was enough that he was there, occasionally leaning toward my chair to speak to someone in the row of seats behind us. The hairs on my neck were raised and my clit was begging to be ground into something hard. Preferably his knee.
We sat nowhere near each other on the flight. I read my book, keeping my glances at the curt lesbian sitting next to me to a minimum. The man two rows up in the aisle seat was munching on his third tiny bag of pretzels. I watched his ears move as he chewed.
I looked out the window once I'd finished reading Part I of my book. There was the brightest red spot on the window which I mistook for the reflection of something inside the plane. I looked closer, turning off the overhead reading light to minimize glare. I think I gasped.
It was the moon.
The fucking moon was blood-red as it rose. It was so gorgeous; a waning gibbous, full only two days ago. I could feel its pull.
For the last six months I've been on a full-moon cycle with my period. Meaning, I bleed on the full moon and ovulate on the new moon. Before then it was the opposite. That actually worked out much better for me, because the full moon always affects my libido. I'm just so horny when the moon is full.
As the plane descended, I squeeze my legs together, thinking about how tough it was for us to find a weekend free of children and responsibilities, wherein we could just relax and let go. This was the only weekend between the end of September and the end of December. Blood or no blood, I intended to make it work. Goddamned bloody moon. And that priest didn't help matters any...
I'm waiting at the baggage carousel. Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure moving quickly to jump over the metal railing which separates the baggage claim area from the exit. As I look up, my breath catches in my throat. That fucking smile.
I clap my hands, laugh fiendishly and throw my arms around him. We kiss in the middle of Baggage Claim 9, my fellow travelers looking on. He hugs me close. I wink over his shoulder to the guy who'd been flirting with me a minute earlier. He blushes and looks away.
The belt starts moving and my bag is the first to appear. I take it off, pull up the handle and we walk out to the garage. We kiss again, before he starts the car.
"I can't believe you're here, Maddie. I'm so happy."
"Baby, I'm here for the next five days. Get used to it!"
Marcus smiles and puts the car into gear.