Chapter Five
Juliet
“I’m good, I’m good,” I say to myself like a mantra.
Marcel, the smoldering hot divorcee who is about to take my virginity stops then curses in French.
“Juliet, you’re not ... are you?” he looks at me and asks with urgency.
“I’m sorry,” I don’t know why, but I burst into tears.
“I’m sorry. I should have said something.
I was going to say no, but it felt so good and you’re good, I mean you’re not a mean guy and I know it’s just airplane sex and we’ll never see each other again and you don’t date and are a Grinch .
..” I am full on babbling through my tears.
“Woah, woah ... okay. Hey, slow down.” He wipes my tears away and pulls away from me.
“No, I mean I’m okay. I can do this. I want to. I'm ... just, it’s a thing is all. Just a stupid thing.” I try and shake off the fear.
“No, chère. It’s not a stupid thing, it is a sacred thing,” he corrects me.
“But, I don’t want to wait until marriage. I’m fine, really I am.” Fuck, why am I still crying?
“I’m sure you are and we can continue if you want, but a woman’s first time with a man needs a little more finesse.
I’m okay that this is your first time. I’m a little curious how you’re still fully intact at twenty-four?
I mean there’s tampons and horseback riding .
.. and none of the clothingless men got to you before me? ” He’s laughing, that’s good right?
“You’re the only one who, I don’t know, felt right I guess. I haven’t wanted to ...” I could not sound or feel more pathetic right now.
“I mean, I kind of thought I’d do this with Mr. Right.
I really did, but Mr. Right ghosted me, another Mr. Right was a little bit of a misogynist, and then Mr. Right was gay, but a good friend .
.. and then I discovered that Mr. Right was .
.. well, Mr. Wrong it turns out, so ...” I wipe my eyes.
“Here I am in a bedroom on an airplane with Mr. Dubois. And honestly, I have rarely felt a spark this strong to do it.” God, just kill me now.
“And Monsieur Dubois knows how to make a woman feel amazing. So, you and I will both have a memory of tonight. For me you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with and for you, I’m your first. I think that works out nicely.
Or you can turn over and go to sleep and I’ll hold you or let you be. You still have that option.”
Why is he being so understanding?
“Can I ask you something?” I know it’s a risk, but I need to know.
“But of course, what do you want to know?” His smile could melt me to the ground.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” One last tear escapes.
“You don’t want my money. You haven’t asked me even once what I do or how much I make.
You’re sweet, you deserve to be around people who treat you like you treat them.
You’re beautiful, that’s a well-established fact, but you don’t know it and, worse, don’t believe it.
I think there may only be one person exactly like you on this earth.
I’m being nice because the nicer I am, the longer you’ll tolerate me.
And I genuinely like you, ma chérie. I want to be your first so I can make sure that the first time you have sex, you are worshipped, adored, and pleasured to the height of ecstasy. I hope you give me that chance.”
Wow. Who could say no?
“When I have sex with you, will you still respect me?”
“To me, sex is like eating. We all need to eat. I don’t respect you any more if you eat or any less if you don’t.
I respect you if you treat people well, are smart and interesting, and add value to our world.
And Juliet, I respect you very much. If you have sex with me, I’ll still respect you.
If you don’t, my respect doesn’t change.
If you bend over and take it up the ass, choke me down to the balls and swallow, I’d respect you just as much as if you get up, get dressed and walk away.
Sex will never change the way I respect you. ”
“Thank you,” I say and relax in his arms. “Then I’d very much like you to ... worship me.”
“Bravo.” He kisses my lips and he’s back to doing wicked things with his mouth.
Not only does he kiss me all over, he does it so slowly and with expert skill.
I shiver and quake with anticipation when he reaches my vagina again.
This time he playfully kisses my inner thighs, my knees, the tops of my legs, my belly, and finally, me.
He takes his time lapping at my center focusing his attention on my clit until I am blind with desire.
“Okay, I think I'm ready,” I say, ready to no longer be a virgin.
“Relax, chérie, now that you’re more comfortable, I want you to climax first.” He gives me a flirty grin and tickles his fingers over my belly and before I know it, they are raking over the heated and sensitive skin on my pussy.
“Okay.” I smile because an orgasm sounds fun, I've never had one with anyone else before.
He dips one finger into me and rolls the pad of his thumb over my clit.
He then kisses and sucks on my nipple until I'm dripping with need.
He slips a second finger in and starts pumping slowly at first then with expert fervor until I'm so wound up I feel like I'm about to explode.
One more finger joins the first two and I detonate, panting.
My pussy clenches around his fingers and I shiver and shake with the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced.
“Now, you're ready,” he tells me.
Without fanfare or more conversation he lays on top of me as I spread my legs wide for him and gently he presses into my body. At first he feels heavy and my tightness makes it difficult for him to enter.
“What do I do?” I ask. “How do I make this easier for you?”
“You don't,” is his answer. “I've got this,” he says rubbing the head of his cock over my wet opening several times until it starts to relax for him.
Soon he’s able to get most of his head in.
As he gently pumps in and out of me, he kisses my lips again as if he’s trying to memorize my mouth.
As his hips dance against mine he slowly enters me until he reaches the barrier of my virginity.
I’ve never put anything inside of me including a tampon, so I’m still intact and with one sharp thrust he is fully seated.
It doesn’t hurt, but I do feel very full of him.
Suddenly Marcel is all I think about, his cologne, his size, the way he holds me close to his body.
Everything at that moment is Marcel Dubois.
“How are you?” he asks and all I can do is breathe.
I’m not bad, I’m fine, it’s just very overwhelming. I know this is supposed to be fun and it is fun, just it’s also a lot. I don’t want to cry, I don’t mean to because I’m not sad, but I’m overstimulated.
“Did I hurt you?” His concern worries me because suddenly he stops and looks at me with horror on his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ...”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt him, “in fact I’m great, it’s just this is a lot. You are ... wow, big. And ...” another tear drips down my cheek.
“Okay, I get it,” he tells me and kisses me again. “I’ve got this.” He holds me close and slowly rocks into me deeper and deeper as his hand finds my center and the soft bundle of nerves that he’s now driving wild with his fingers.
I climax again with him inside of me and he groans with pleasure.
“Ah mon dieu,” he says in ecstasy and soon he’s moving faster, my hips are thrusting up to meet his and we are in a frenzy of movement.
I’m chasing another orgasm and he is driving this boat into a storm as we are frantically grinding, humping, and fucking each other all while our tongues tango with zealous excitement.
And then he cries out, I’m in the middle of my third mind-blowing orgasm and Marcel quickly pulls his cock from me.
Just before he’s out, I cramp up a little, not used to the sensation and the loss of his warmth.
Then, well ... he does his thing with a high-pitched gasp as he comes inside of me.
His cock is twitching and jerking and boy is he delivering a pretty mighty load as he breathes through it, his hips bucking and quaking as he does.
“Oh, holy fuck,” he says as he flops down beside me.
“Wow,” is all I can muster.
He rolls over to me and stares into my eyes.
“How are you? Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough? Are you in pain?”
Wow again, so many questions, too many for my overwhelmed mind to process.
“I’m good,” I’m able to eek out. “Thank you,” I add because, yeah, being polite is good right?
He swirls his fingers around my tit and I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
My head is kind of all over the place. I’m just about to ask him what’s next and there’s a knock at the door and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I look over at the monitor on the wall at the end of the bed and the flight says it still has an hour and forty-five minutes left.
Maybe I’m not supposed to be in here with him?
Regardless, I freak out and get up, but his hand stops me.
“Mr. Dubois,” a male attendant says. “I’m sorry to disturb you but the captain has ordered that everyone sit in their seats. We’re heading into a pretty big storm. Please hurry as the seatbelt sign has already been turned on.” He then moves on and knocks on the next door.
“What does that mean?” I ask as he lets me get up and I go to the bathroom to find my clothes in a neat pile.
He slips on his lounge pants and I put my airplane issue PJ top on with my jeans and my hoodie.
I’m not looking great I notice as I stare at my well-fucked hair in the mirror.
It sounds like we might be in the middle of an emergency.
Marcel is dressed and out of the suite in minutes, grabbing two water bottles and handing me one.
“Drink it at your seat,” he instructs.
I follow him down the stairs and we are back to being seatmates again.
I don’t really have the bandwidth to dissect the fact that this guy just took my virginity a million miles up in the air, because apparently we are all gonna die.
At least that seems to be the sentiment when we return to our seats.
I notice that my chair is no longer in bed mode and we are ushered into our places as the plane starts to pitch and dip.
Fuck ... this might be it. At least I got boned before the big finale, that’s good right?
I still feel Marcel in me, because everything is sore and achy, and just a little damp down there.
It’s a kind of gross and comforting and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.
But right now, I’m a little more panicky about the prospect of dying. I buckle into my seat and start crying like an idiot. At least I’m not really sobbing, just sniffling.
Marcel reaches over and takes my hand. “Everything is fine. Planes fly in bad weather all the time.”
And we bottom out.
He squeezes my hand a little tighter. That helps, I tell myself it helps, but really I need to just sit and cry.
And a hug, I could use a hug. For him, I’m just one of many women he’s had sex with, and some of them may have had their big moment with him on a plane.
But for me he is my first and now the plane is driving like a drunk pigeon.
“Okay,” I whisper and he opens my water.
“You have to drink a little of this.” He brings it up to my lips like I’m a child.
“I can do it,” I complain a little too intensely.
“Of course you can,” he says quietly, “but at the moment you’re thinking you’re one of many women I’ve had sex with and just threw away.”
I take the bottle from him and cry a little more because he’s not wrong.
“It’s okay, I’m a grown up. I know what I was getting into,” I say dismissively and the plane swerves again.
I legitimately feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Everyone please buckle up and prepare for landing. Flight crew stay in your seats, no final sweep.”
Fuck that’s not good right?
The flight crew can serve and pick up through every single kind of turbulence, they are super human. Fuck. If the pilot is telling the super humans to sit down, we really are all gonna die.