Laid Over

A long concert tour starts with an erotic evening on the plane

After everyone had managed to find their seats and all luggage was stowed overhead, it became clear the day’s flight from Munich to New York was less than half full. Fortunately, I had been given my requested spot by the window in the bulkhead seating just behind first class. This was my favorite part of the plane – no one reclining into my leg space, no fidgety children in front of me. Add to that the completely empty seats across the aisle. And ten minutes before take-off, no one was sitting on the two seats to my left. Perfect. It was a long flight, and I stood a chance of being able to sleep, perhaps even to stretch out across all three seats. A rare luxury.

I got up and pulled out two blankets and a pillow from the overhead bin, setting them next to me in the middle seat. I then stowed my flute case and music under the same seat, keeping them nearby for security. I had a wickedly difficult performance schedule ahead and couldn’t take any chances on getting an instrument stolen or music misplaced. All settled in, I buckled my seatbelt, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to drift off.

Then, the ping of the overhead intercom – an announcement was made that we were preparing for take-off, followed by a flurry of activity at the plane’s entrance. A last-minute passenger, a handsome man with thick salt and pepper hair and a close-cropped beard, was boarding. He was ushered in and directed to the aisle seat on my row. He quickly stowed away his carry-ons, then plopped down and proceeded to get buckled in. Only after he’d caught up with the take-off protocol did he acknowledge my presence. With a warm smile, he extended his hand to me, introducing himself as Liam. The hand was muscular, yet soft and graceful. The hand of a musician. Could this be the man who was to be my accompanist on the West Coast tour? Quite a surprise that would be - to find us on the same flight out of Munich, of all places, and then in the same row. Likely, this was no coincidence. So, I asked. Indeed, Liam was my pianist, and he was equally surprised at our meeting this way, as he’d been given no indication I would be on the flight. He’d not recognized me, likely because I looked markedly different in person than in my promo shots.

Clearly, all of this was the doing of my agent. She had arranged for us to be together.

Carole was clever in that way. She knew I was shy and often created scenarios that, at first glance, seemed like happy coincidences when, in reality, they were thoughtfully choreographed social encounters. And in all things, Carole had a knack for getting the chemistry right. This was one of the reasons I employed her – she knew what I needed and the best ways to deliver the goods, people, or experiences. These days, I needed social interactions and, truth be told, a bit of romance.

Liam’s dark brown eyes were inquiring and kind, his half smile sexy as all get-out. And then his voice when he said my name - it sent me over the top, “Katrina – great to finally meet you in person. I’m excited to be your accompanist for the tour.” He indicated that Carole had arranged a meet-up with our cellist, Jonathan, at Los Angeles International tomorrow afternoon. The meeting was to dovetail with an early morning flight after an overnight layover at JFK. “You must have this layover, too, do you not?” Liam inquired.

Sparks were already flying, on both sides, mine ignited by this curious liaison, Liam’s engaging smile and flirtatious banter, and by his intense expression. Carole – what have you done? My stomach was doing backflips, and my ability to speak coherently dissolving. Why does nature do this to us when we engage in this primitive dance? It seems to force us to express ourselves physically – by turning off our ability to communicate verbally. Quite clever, that.

I’d been too busy to date for the last five years as a result of my non-stop performance schedule. I longed for a break in the action, wanting greatly to enjoy some male attention and romance. I was absolutely primed for it, this despite being completely rusty in all things related to mating rituals. My daily beauty routines had become bare bones, basically whatever was needed to look presentable on stage and nothing more. Celebrity and celibacy had dulled my performing and my appearance. My goal had been to avoid the messiness of a relationship, the distraction, and the copious amount of time one ends up spending on hair, makeup, clothes, and the like. Unfortunately, abstaining from all of this cost me my creative edge and my confidence, the very things that brought people to the concert hall, even on a snowy evening.

Add to this the fact that my last two accompanists had been women, and incredibly talented ones at that. The problem? The romantic tension was not there, and as a result, things were expressively flat. There was just something about performing with a man - my performances were invariably better, nearly effortless, in fact. I felt I was floating on air and could do anything.

The consequence of syncing artistically and musically with a man was that it often led to my getting involved both romantically and sexually. This emotional dynamic did not go unnoticed by my agent, and Carole adjusted things accordingly, knowing I was at my best when on these emotional highs. There is nothing better than coming off of a performance charged with sexual energy, a performance that leaves your audience in awe. Post-concert, musical lovers cannot get back to the green room quickly enough.

After the plane was in the air, I unbuckled my seat belt, took the blankets and pillow from the center seat, and stuffed them in the pouch on the wall. I then invited Liam to sit next to me, under the pretext of reviewing the concert programming and to consider the order of our music selections. Making these critical creative decisions turned out to be a breeze, as Liam and I were on the same page as to the arc of the program – start with a delectable assortment of French Impressionistic miniatures, followed by a collection of English folk melodies arranged by Percy Grainger. After intermission, the concert’s second half would be filled with the darkly expressive movements of Carl Reinecke’s Concerto in D.

After a couple of hours, our programming tasks were buttoned up satisfactorily and I sent the results off to Carole via email. With the distraction of the work I hadn’t noticed I was both famished and tired. My day had started at 4:00 a.m., and I’d lost nearly four hours of sleep. I’d also failed to pack food, and what the airline provided for vegetarians was seriously lacking. Fortunately, Liam came prepared with two falafel sandwiches and fresh fruit, which he was all too happy to share.

After devouring the lunch, I collected up the pillow and blankets and asked Liam if he would mind sitting on the aisle seat so I could stretch out on the two other seats to sleep. “Sure, but why don’t you put your head on my lap,” he offered gently. I felt the blood rush to my face - the thought of my head on his leg – right there, so close. He was wearing soft gray cords and a navy cashmere V-neck pullover - like soft and luxurious bed linens, but on a man. I took a slow, deep breath, then responded in a half whisper, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” I handed him the airline’s tiny pillow, which he placed on his lap, and then I laid on my left side, resting my head on his right thigh while boldly putting my right hand just above his knee. His leg was slim and athletically solid. I let my fingers drape onto his inner thigh just above the knee, a very sensual spot, even with the thick corduroy between my hand and his leg. I gently rubbed him there, yes, taking a chance this was an inappropriate move. And I could smell him. He’d obviously worn these pants a few times. It was a lovely, warm, musky scent. I drifted off to sleep while these sensations populated my mind.

Partway through my slumber, I felt long fingers gently combing back the hair around my face, then stroking my forehead. With his index finger, Liam traced the side of my face, working his way to the velvety spot behind my right ear, which he delicately caressed. Then, his warm hand explored my neck, fingers reaching up into my hair. With the tips of his fingers, Liam gingerly traced the low-cut neckline of my knit tunic, lingering at my cleavage and then tenderly caressing the exposed parts of my breasts.

I gradually moved to my back during these ministrations, making myself more accessible, and in doing so, I could discreetly look upward at Liam’s face through my half-opened eyes. I witnessed his eyes grazing my entire body, lingering where my oversized tunic met my leggings. The tunic was raised up, exposing all of my pelvic region; the smooth-as-silk leggings left little to the imagination.

I then reached down to pull the fleece blanket off the floor. I shook it out from my reclining position, and proceeded to cover myself. As it was small, the length reached only to my knees when pulled up to my chin. Liam’s warm hand abandoned my bare shoulder briefly to reach upward and turn off the lights, after which it slipped back underneath the blanket, though more boldly than previously, and onto my full breasts.

Now I was on fire, the sensations overwhelming. I closed my eyes and let Liam do whatever he wished. His hand slipped into the neckline of my tunic, then into my soft sports bra, where his large hand enveloped my breast, fingertips spread, then resting in the crease between my breast and ribs as he squeezed gently the whole of my breast. Beneath my head, I could feel him pulsing, an erection blossoming. As the erection grew, Liam’s fingers anxiously made their way to my nipple, which he gently explored with his thumb and two fingers. As I became aroused and my nipple hardened, his fingers began a bit of light pinching and tugging, then went on to a similar exploration of my other breast, all of this as his erection noticeably filled out the front of his trousers. I reached over and grabbed the other blanket from the floor, and handed it to him. He draped it over his lap.

The fondling continued, though I returned to laying on my side, where I had better access to Liam’s zipper and what lay beneath. I scrunched into a fetal position and slipped my leggings down to my knees, putting my vulva and vagina within striking range of Liam’s hand, and taking the first steps toward more intense petting.

Adeptly, I released the button on Liam’s cords and carefully unzipped them over his abundant erection, slipping my fingers through the fly of his boxers to enjoy the wetness at the tip of his penis. With that slickness, I delicately slid thumb and middle finger up and down his shaft and then over his glans and frenulum, softly circling the tip with my fingers, like a trill, then applying the most gentle but relentless pressure on his shaft until he could stand it no longer. Liam glanced around to ensure there were no voyeurs, then lifted up his ass to shove his boxers well down into his pants, freeing his penis and balls.

I then wet my fingers and palm amply with saliva and wrapped my hand around his shaft, letting my fingers more vigorously glide the full length of his penis, then releasing the pressure and doing feathery hand work at the sensitive tip. This continued for a good quarter of an hour until Liam worked toward a total release, spewing out all into the blanket, which I bunched up to prevent a mess on his pants. He then raised up once again, pulling up his boxers and quickly zipping up. Most of the plane’s lights had been dimmed as passengers were attempting to sleep through the long transatlantic flight. Liam’s riveting orgasm had thankfully gone unnoticed. He bunched up his soiled blanket and stowed it under the seat.

As I had been working on Liam, he had been softly working on me, his fingers slipping between the folds of my vulva, touching on my vaginal vestibule, and gathering up my slick secretions, which he then used to perk up my clitoris. Though rendered unable to give me his full attention as I did my hand job, he quickly rectified the situation by turning his focus on me as soon as he recovered from his orgasm.

Before putting his hand back under my blanket, I pulled my leggings even further down, then stuck my booty out so that he could access me from my backside. He leaned in, his fingers finding their way into my vagina from behind as I fingered my clit. He managed to squeeze in only two fingers, as his hands were large, and I could not fully open my legs, as that would have made our shenanigans all too obvious. But no matter, the pianist made due, starting off with an adagio, gentle pumping at pianissimo - then ever so discreetly, bringing the tempo to a riveting and relentless presto, at which point I gushed. Another airplane blanket ruined.

Post-coital, I did my best to restore my previously dignified appearance, brushing my hair, straightening up my clothing, checking for telltale signs of wetness, and then sitting upright. Liam signaled to the flight attendant that we needed coffee, after which we shared an inflight movie, though we both promptly drifted off to sleep within minutes of it starting.

Upon landing in New York and before disembarking, the flight attendant stopped at our row and handed Liam an envelope. Enclosed was a pass for a two-person airport sleeping capsule, a gift certificate for dinner for two at a posh restaurant in the JFK terminal, and a note that read: “Katrina and Liam - enjoy your night at JFK. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow in Los Angeles. xo, Carole.”

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Enjoy the 2nd movement of Reinecke’s Flute Concerto in D as you read “Laid Over.”