by Whitney G.
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
PRESENT DAY...
I’M TYPING THIS POST while I’m on a rainy layover in Dallas, while I wait to head to Paris.
My life is now a montage of cities and countries that blend into a never-ending day. I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up hours later in Hawaii. I order a cup of coffee in Madrid and buy crepes for lunch in Paris. I watch the rain fall over Seattle’s grey afternoons and catch a bright, bloody sunset in Phoenix.
And somewhere in between all of this traveling—in half-constructed bathrooms, parking garages, and last-minute hotel rooms, I break my airline’s number one rule: I have sex with fuck a pilot.
I give him every piece of me—letting his sex set my skin on fire, listening to him whisper words in my ear that continuously wet my pussy as he pounds into me from behind. And then I let him go.
Or at least I try to...
I think I’m starting to like him, and when I say “him,” I’m only saying that halfheartedly. I don’t really know who the hell he is because he’s so damn guarded, and for every two questions I ask, he only gives me one answer.
He also disappears every three weeks, never answers his phone in front of me, and for some strange reason, I can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from me.
(I’ve somewhat missed this writing on this abandoned blog. Somewhat.)
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
2 COMMENTS POSTED:
KayTROLL: Welcome back. Again.
KayTROLL: Now, please go away again and find some inspiration so you can post about something other than your sex life. No one cares about who you’re fucking (especially since you’re being dumb and breaking the rules) and as your only reader, I deserve something more than porn to read. #thankyou #dobetter
GATE B16
GILLIAN
Atlanta (ATL)—> Denver (DEN)—> New York (JFK)
“THIS IS THE FINAL BOARDING call for Elite Airways Flight 1297 with service to San Francisco.” A voice floated through the Hartsfield-Atlanta restroom speakers. “If you are scheduled to be on this flight, please make your way to gate E13 now. Also...”
The remainder of the words came muted as Jake gripped my thighs and moved me up and down his cock. My fingers dug into his skin, his lips covered mine, and just as we’d done so many times before, we fought for control until our bodies finally gave in.
Briefly shutting my eyes, I collapsed in his arms—feeling him softly kiss my lips as I struggled to catch my breath. I didn’t want to admit it, but we were getting reckless. Beyond reckless.
Whenever we were in the same city, we met. Same hotel, we met. And God forbid if we ended up in the same airport for more than thirty minutes at a time.
My body now lusted for his touches, my mouth yearned for his tongue, and my pussy throbbed nightly in need for his cock. Sex with him was becoming wild addiction and I never wanted to be cured.
And even now, knowing that we wouldn’t see each other again until Sunday when we crossed paths in Dallas, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: Longing. Genuine longing.
“Gillian?” He suddenly looked down at me, his fingers still pressed into the skin of my thighs, his cock still buried deep inside of me. “Can I put you down now?”
I nodded and he slowly pulled me off of him, setting me down onto the floor.
He handed me my skirt and I handed him his tie. I slipped into my blazer and spotted a new, silver and black Audemars Piguet adorning his wrist. My count was now up to eight.
Knowing he was probably going to leave me in seconds, I walked over to the mirror and quickly reapplied my makeup and fixed my blazer. I took out a few wipes and attempted to soak up the scent of sex and sweat from my skin, adding a few sprays of perfume, and then, when I realized he was still staring at me, I turned around to face him.
“Did you know that the average Audemars Piguet watch costs ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Gillian...” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m just stating a random fact I thought you should know.” I stepped back and he walked over to me. “Would you like to know another random fact?”
“Does this fact involve going over our rules again? The one about not asking about shit outside of sex?”
“Every now and then you’ll have to talk to me, Jake,” I said. “It’s what you agreed to give me, so you’ll need to start answering my questions.”
“I have no problem with talking to you.” He pressed me against the sink. “And I’ll answer all of your questions, as long as they’re within reason.”
“And...” I hated how his being so close to me turned me on instantly, how I almost forgot what I wanted to say. “And it wouldn’t kill you to continue trying to be civil, to ask me questions for yourself every now and then since you never seem to ask me any.”
“I ask you plenty of questions.” He looked into my eyes, his gaze heated and dark.
“I ask you if you want me to fuck you against the sink or the wall. I ask you to stop screaming when I bend you over, and I ask you if you’re okay after we’re done so I can move you off my cock... That’s more than civil.”
He stepped back and grabbed the handle of his luggage, heading for the door. “See you in Dallas Sunday. C5.”
A week and a half later...
I STOOD HIM UP IN DALLAS. Then I stood him up again in Atlanta. I didn’t answer his emails when he asked why I wasn’t where we agreed to be, and now, as I sat alone in my Denver hotel room, I was regretting not taking advantage of the stress relief.
My mom and sisters were back at it, calling me every hour on the hour—sending me annoying little reminders about that stupid proposal I didn’t give a damn about, and Miss Connors had just written me up for the second time. My offense? My lipstick wasn’t “red enough” and looked like “someone literally kissed it off of [you].”
Hitting ignore on my mother’s tenth call, I noticed she and Brian had sent me a few text messages.
Mom: Ben called me a few weeks ago and said you dumped him...
Mom: Gillian, we need to talk about this. Didn’t you say his Dad is a force to be reckoned with on Wall Street? We both know someone like you needs to marry well...
Brian: Hey, Gill-doll. Quick question...I’m bringing Samantha’s parents up for the celebration, too, so I need you to be completely honest with me...Is your apartment good enough for the family to stay in? I can’t afford for the mayor to think our family is nothing less than the best.
Brian: Oh, and Mom said you dumped Ben? Bad move, Gillian. Bad move.
HURT AND ANNOYED, I immediately called Meredith, in need of someone to vent to, but there was no answer. I called her two more times, just to make sure, and it went to her voicemail both times.
I scrolled through my list of contacts—not feeling as if any of the flight attendants I simply shared small talk with would be willing to listen, and my finger paused as I reached Jake’s name.
Not giving it a second thought, I hit “call.” It rang once. It rang twice, and before I could come to my senses and hang up, he answered.
“Hello, Gillian.” The deep, sexy sound of his voice caught me completely off guard. “Hello? Gillian?”
“Yes?”
“I believe you called me.” There was a smile in his voice. “May I help you with something?”
“I’m having a bad day and I really need someone to talk to.”
Silence.
“Don’t worry, you’re my absolute last resort and you technically don’t have to respond to anything,” I said. “I just need to get a few things off my chest and then you can hang up. Are you there?”
“I shouldn’t be.”
I took that as a yes.
“Well, first—” I adjusted my pillows and lay back. “I’m sorry for standing you up in Dallas the other day.”
He laughed. “Surely that’s not o
ne of the things you need to get off your chest, Gillian.” He sounded as if he was in bed, too. “And I would be more inclined to believe that you were sorry if you weren’t continuing to text me, “Fuck you and your lack of talking,” every couple of days since.”
I smiled and held back a laugh.
“I have a flight in six hours,” he said. “Hurry up and spit out all of your unnecessary words so I can hang up and go to sleep in peace.”
“Okay...Wait. Can I ask you something minor first?”
“No.”
“Who in your family was it?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure the word ‘no’ has a pretty standard definition...”
“Who in your family, or who close to you, was an English teacher?”
He was silent for a few seconds. “What makes you ask that?”
“The way you talk, your obsession with grammar in simple emails and texts. Not to mention the fact that you clearly have a thing for definitions. I wanted to ask you on Wednesday but—”
“You stood me up.” He cut me off, sounding slightly upset, but then his tone changed. “It was my mother.”
“Are the two of you close?”
“I’m hanging up in ten minutes, Gillian. Say whatever you have to say about your day.”
“Right...” I let out a breath. “I hate my family. Every single one of them. I literally cringe when they call me, and I wish I’d been born to anyone else, anyone else with the semblance of a soul.” I heard the soft sound of TV conversations in his background and continued. “They only call me when they want to feel better about themselves, when they want to remind me that I could’ve done something more with my life. And I hate that I wasted my first few years in New York trying to accomplish something in spite of them, all to end up being the same disappointment they first marked me to be...” I stopped right there, remembering all my hopeful blog posts from years ago, how they came to a sudden, necessary end.
“Are you finished now?” Jake asked.
“Yes. You can hang up now. I actually feel somewhat better. Thank you for listening.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I wasn’t going to hang up, though.”
“Were you going to give me some advice?”
“You don’t need advice,” he said. “I think you’re well aware that some families are simply poison and there’s nothing you can do about it. Although, I think you’re being slightly overdramatic and you don’t really hate them. I don’t think you have any idea what true hatred of someone could mean.”
“You got all that from that story? Would you like me to tell you another one?”
“No...” His voice was a demanding whisper. “I’d rather hear the story about why you didn’t show up to fuck me, why you think I’m going to continue to put up with that shit.”
“I was upset with you...I was trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Was the lesson how to piss me off? How to leave my cock hard and waiting for pussy I never got?”
“No...” I felt my cheeks reddening. “I was just angry with you.”
“Then you ‘just’ really should’ve showed up.” His voice was low. “I waited for you for an hour because I though you were playing games like before. I was looking forward to burying my face in your pussy, tasting your clit with my tongue.”
I was silent, but my fingers were tracing the hem of my soaked panties.
“You can’t decide to randomly break our rules when you want to—especially not when it gets between me having you.”
“You say that as if you really like me.”
“I really like your pussy,” he said. “But seeing as though I have yet to experience your mouth around my cock, that may be subject to change in the future.”
I bit my lip as he breathed heavily over the line, as he sounded even angrier.
“You’re not going to say shit about fucking up my entire weekend for the second week in a row?” he asked. “Making it so I have to wait another full week for you?”
“I won’t stand you up again...”
“I’m aware,” he said. “Because I’m going to make sure that thought never crosses your mind again when I see you. I don’t care how dripping wet your pussy gets or how loudly you scream when you beg me to let you come because I won’t show you any mercy whatsoever, and I won’t hold back like I normally do.”
“Jake, I said I was—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you said.” He was speaking slowly. “I don’t care how mad with me you are again. You can ride my cock until you’re not mad anymore, and I can tongue your pussy until you can’t think anymore.”
“Jake...”
“I’ll be seeing you in Atlanta next Tuesday, correct?”
“Correct...” My clit swelled beneath my fingertips.
“Good. Glad we could have this conversation.”
I nodded as if he could actually see me.
“Oh, and Gillian?”
“Yes?’
“This counts as a late night phone call.”
“Okay. And?”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
GATE B17
JAKE
New York (JFK)
SHE CAN’T FOLLOW RULES for shit...
“Are you there, Jake?” Gillian asked me on the phone, a full week and a half later. “Are you still there?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Why am I still on the phone with this woman? “You said your brother seems to be acting like a bride-zilla and his girlfriend isn’t even aware of his plan to propose yet.” I paused. “And then, you said you realized that it’s nine o’clock at night, you’ve been talking to me for over an hour, and you need to let me return to my life where late-night phone calls don’t exist.”
She laughed her infectious laughter. “I think you like my late night phone calls.”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop picking up the phone.”
“Stop calling me five times in a row.”
She laughed again, and then continued talking as if she hadn’t heard me say that we’d been on the phone for over an hour. For the tenth night in a row she’d decided that “no late phone calls” meant call me anyway, and as much as I wanted to hang up and tell her that I didn’t want to hear about her life outside of the bedroom, I couldn’t do it. For one, the sound of her light and sultry voice—even though she rambled and asked one too many questions, was somewhat calming for my fraying nerves. For two, she was the only woman who could intrigue and enrage me all at once—the only woman who could literally piss me off one second and have me laughing at her the next.
“And that was it,” she said, finally done talking. “Thank you for listening to me again.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You could make things even with me, if it makes you feel better.”
“Make things even? How so?”
“Well, I’ve bombarded you with my family drama for the past few days—”
“Past ten days.” I corrected her.
“Okay, okay.” Her laughter came again. “Past ten days. You could tell me something about your family.”
“I don’t have a family.”
“Everyone has a family, Jake. But you know, I bet I could fill in some of the blanks of yours myself, actually.”
I rolled my eyes, but instead of ending this call like I should’ve, I let my intrigue get the best of me. “Try me.”
“Well, you said you were from Missouri on the first night we met and unfortunately back in New York so...I’m willing to bet the ‘unfortunate’ part means either: A) Your family also lives in New York. B) You left your family in Missouri and New York is the only place they won’t come bother you, or C) You’re attempting to repair an estranged relationship with your New York family but it’s harder than what you expected. Which one is it?”
“D. None of the above.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” There was a sm
ile in her voice. “Can I guess again?”
“You can do whatever you like. I’m about to hang up.”
“Wait,” she said. “I only have one more question.”
“Somehow I doubt that...”
“Are you going to the airline’s gala tonight? Since my flight was cancelled, I’m considering going with my roommate.”
“Gillian...” I sighed. “Is this the last late night phone call we’re going to have? It really needs to be.”
“Yes.” She sounded somewhat offended. “I won’t call you again after tonight unless it’s about sex.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You could at least answer my question before you go, though...”
“I’m not sure if I’m going to the gala,” I said finally. “I’m leaning towards no, though.”
“Well, if you don’t go, would you like me to tell you all about it?”
“That’s another question. See you in Atlanta Monday.” I ended the call and leaned back—half annoyed, half aroused. I wasn’t sure if I actually liked her incessant rule breaking or not.
Not wanting to think about it for any longer, I looked outside my rearview mirror. Contrary to what I’d told Gillian, I was already at the gala, watching attendees guard their designer clothes against the light rain.
I considered driving away and acting like this event wasn’t really happening, because I could do without seeing the promised commemoration of Flight 1872 or witnessing the unveiling of a new plane, but I couldn’t get my key to turn in the ignition.
For another hour, I watched more attendees slip inside, watched the rain fall harder against my windows, and as a round of thunder roared in the distance, I stepped out of my car. I walked to the front of the line, and handing my ticket to the security guard, not even attempting to give an apology.
Inside the hangar, grand and glimmering chandeliers hung from the ceiling’s exposed pipes—drenching the room in a blinding white. Ivory clothed tables surrounded the massive stage at the center of the room, and miniature ice sculptures in the shape of aircrafts lined the back wall.
