Flight 638 is Ready to Depart Ch. 01

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Author’s note: The first part of the story mainly sets the background. More are about to come. Please do not forget to vote and comment. Some grammar and syntax errors could be found as I’m not a native English Speaker.


I sat on my seat and closed my eyes. My tiring three-day trip had come to an end but I had a four-hour flight to get home. I made sure no-one else sat behind me and reclined my seat. My earphones isolated me from the rest of the aircraft; I opened my eyes once or twice just to check out if the flight hostesses offered us drinks; I could definitely use a beer.

The alcohol helped me relax a bit and the music almost made me fall asleep. But then I flinched; my heart rate elevated and my knees weakened. The unmistakable scent of her. Silently, I took a deep breath and confirmed my suspicion. Reluctantly I opened my eyes; I didn’t know if it was her and if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to ruin my dream. But it was, she was sitting on the aisle seat and she was typing on a MacBook. Her hair was shorter than I remembered; it looked even better on her. She was dressed in a pantsuit, something I had never witnessed her wearing. She looked professional and classy.

“Alex.” I said and she immediately turned her head my way; no one called her Alex, everyone used her full name, except for me.

“Wow, I couldn’t tell it was you.” she told me and her eyes shone, “Clean shaven, a suit.”

“I didn’t have such problems, you haven’t changed much.” I chuckled, “Except for the suit, obviously.”

“We’re both pros now, aren’t we? Let me finish my essay and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I turned off the music and packed my earphones; my stomach still had butterflies but I tried not to show it.

“So, why do I find you in a flight to Manchester?” she asked when she closed her laptop.

“I could ask you the same thing. Last update I had on you was when you lived in Dusseldorf.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Explain first.” She smirked.

“At first I went to Berlin, my sister lives there and we shared a flat for a year because I had a low-paying job. But it’s been four and a half years now that I live in the North-West.”

“I assume you now have a job that pays better.”

“That would be a correct assumption.”

“My turn then. I did my Master’s in Dusseldorf. Worked there for a year but I didn’t like the job. I started looking for a doctorate and that’s how I ended up in this grey city.”

“You’re ankarakazan.com being too harsh, it’s not bad at all.”

“At least I can watch BBC. I don’t have to download British series.”

“I think we should add it to expat guides about Manchester.”

“Stop being sarcastic.” She laughed.

“How was life in Germany? Why did you leave?”

We could have reached New York without knowing it; we got carried away with our conversation. We had so much to tell each other; we had been apart for over six years and there was no single day that I didn’t think about her. She was the first woman I really loved and only after I lost her I understood how much I wanted her in my life.

We got off the plane and then headed for the car park to pick up my car; I offered her a lift home. On our way, she asked to stop at a local Italian place to pick dinner to go and so we did but when she came back I noticed the bag had significantly more food than she could eat.

“Were you starving in Athens?”

“Funny, but you’re a gaffer now and had I asked you to go out and eat, you would be all “no I can’t, I’m too tired”. So, I bought dinner for you without asking you.”

“I think you sometimes forget that you’re a year older than me.”

“I’m forever young.”

“Very well then. At least I hope you didn’t get me anything too extreme.”

“Trust me, I know you.”

She did and so she had chosen a pasta dish with cream, beef and mushrooms which was heavenly. She also brought a bottle of fine white wine, also one of my favourites.

“How long?” she asked at some point.

“How long what?” I counter asked and she pointed at my left hand with her head. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t play dumb. How long have you been divorced? You still rub your thumb over the wedding ring spot.”

“Eight months.”


“You can say so.”

“Who’s fault?”



“No, not at all.”


I took a deep breath before speaking.

“I just realised my mistake. It was kind of thoughtless of me that I married in the first place.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“We met in Southern Italy. I had arranged to go on holiday with a friend of mine and his sister. She brought Alice along. We started dating when we got back in Britain. I worked long hours and I liked stability in my personal life. You know, I didn’t have the time or the desire to go out hunting. Soon, she moved in with me and the thing became serious before I knew it. At first everything seemed fine, I had someone who cared for me, who was waiting for me when I got home, who was there for me to talk when I wanted to. Less than a year after we married, I felt that I had lost my passion, my desire for her. We were more of housemates than lovers. I tried to keep it alive, I took her for ten days to the States, her childhood dream. No work, no phone calls, only us two. It didn’t work out.”

“But she was in love with you, wasn’t she?”

“She was and I felt bad when I made the decision to end it, although I had to. I felt that it might evolve into something toxic for both of us, and she didn’t deserve that.”

“I agree, when you feel that it’s over, you leave no matter the initial consequences.”

“She wanted us to have kids and thank god I wasn’t carried away by my desire to have a daughter. I used it as an excuse to end our relationship. I told her that I wanted to focus on my career and a family wasn’t in my plans. She was crying for four days straight and she was calling me telling me to reconsider. It was the worst period of my life. Really, I’ve never felt worse. I was responsible for this, I had to stop it before it got serious.”

“Has she tried to contact you again?”

“No and a mutual friend told me that she moved to Aberdeen, her home town.”

“I have a question, may I?”


“You weren’t in love with her, why did you marry her?”

“I told you, I got used to this relationship and we had been on holidays together, we had a good time and I didn’t put much thought in it.”

“Alright. I want an answer, hand on heart. Do you miss her?”

“As a friend, yes, as a lover, no, not at all.”

“Are you going to marry again?”

“I don’t know, if I do, it’ll be after much thought and consideration. If I ever find a bitch and we can tolerate each other.”

“Do you like bitches?”

“Yes, you can say that I’m a masochist, I want to put more trouble in my head. But on the other hand, good girls are boring. Bitches are interesting.”

“What kind of woman am I?” she smirked and took a sip of her drink.

“It would have been easier for me to pick the red or the blue cable to defuse a bomb.”

“Come on.”

“Think. It’s sexier this way.”

“We dated for one and a half years and you claimed that you were in love with me. I assume I’m a bitch.”

“I didn’t tell that.”

We shared a moment of silence; we smirked at each other and my heart was pounding so hard like it was trying to escape. The moment was stopped when she emptied her glass and picked up the dishes; before she moved away she came close to me and I felt her breath near my ear.

“I am indeed.” She whispered and left.

She walked to the kitchen, put on an apron and began to do the dishes. I took my glass and went to join her.

“I don’t believe you.” I teased her by whispering in her ear as well.

“Very well.” She murmured and turned around.

She grabbed my glass and threw on the floor, breaking it. Then she pushed me to the wall, put her hands on my ass and buried her tongue in my mouth. I was caught by surprise and froze but after a few seconds I responded; I grabbed her magnificent butt and lifted her up. She climbed on me and locked her legs behind me.

“Fuck the dishes.” She said as I was carrying her to the living room which thankfully was nearby.

The taste of her mouth, even after so many years, was familiar. It was like we had travelled back in time, like we had a second chance to fix our mistakes. Her nails were scratching the back of her neck as she was hungrily kissing me; I thought I’d never felt her so excited. Our hearts were almost synchronised, both throbbing at a very high rate; normally we should have been out of breath.

I freed up some space on her couch and let her body lie down. Our mouths didn’t lost contact and her legs were still crossed, keeping me in place. With her eyes closed and her lips occupied, her hands moved from my neck to my chest; she unbuttoned my shirt and helped me taking it off; I did the same for her and I slid downwards as I was trying to undo her bra at the same time. Her body was not as firm as I remembered but it was more mature and I loved it even more. Our lifestyles had changed and so had our appearance but the hunger and the lust hadn’t and frankly that was all that mattered.

Her nipples were hard and I began sucking them as I knew she loved; she was now moaning and pulling my hair.

“Bite them, please.”

I was hesitant at first because I knew it would cause her pain but I did as she asked and bit her right nipple rather hard. She let a scream come out of her mouth, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“You like bitches, don’t you?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Let’s see how you can handle one.”

I lifted my body and pulled her hair so that she had to move her head back; my other hand was pinching her right nipple.

“I think I’ll do just fine.”

“We’ll see about that.” She smirked. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” She added and I nodded in approval.

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