In It for the Long Haul

      Izzy French

      Watching the aircraft leave as she sat in the airport lounge usually lulled Suzanna into a slumber. But not today. Today her response was unusually meditative. Yesterday’s encounter had touched more than a nerve. And seeing the aircraft arrive, leave, not touching or connecting, was stirring something. She thought she saw his plane taxi along the runway, taking him off into the distance, away from her. The comfort and anonymity business travel gave her had been disturbed. Some emotion was rising to the surface – an emotion she’d prefer to leave dormant. It messed around with her idea of freedom.

      It was his parting shot that had really troubled her.

      ‘See you again?’ he’d asked as they left the hotel.

      She’d heard that line often enough before. Even with that same, common twinge of hope. Post-coital hope. She was used to it. Men who thought with their dicks. Who’d just enjoyed mind-fuckingly good sex and wanted to repeat it.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she’d usually say. She was polite, brought up to respect good manners. She’d hand them a card with a false name and number printed on it. She’d smile as they tucked it carefully into their wallets, between the photos of their wife and kids. Easy enough to explain away possession of a medical sales rep’s card if you’re a doctor.

      And, sometimes, she had seen them again. Just by chance. She’d shrug off the false name and address, make up some excuse.

      ‘Busy, these conferences, eh?’ she’d ask. ‘Mistakes are easily made.’

      It would be in another time, another country, another conference. And she’d fucked them again too. But that had been it. No attachment. No romance. No strings. Nothing. Just fucking for pleasure, and moving on. That was her life.

      And that’s what was bothering her now. She’d managed life so far without touching the sides. The only child of a tough, remote army family, she’d lost count of the times they’d moved. The friends she’d almost made, then left behind. It toughened you up. Made you remote from emotion. Enabled you to develop a patina of steeliness. She was able to project a ‘who gives a shit what people think?’ persona. But it made you remote from love too.

      Not that your sexual needs didn’t need fulfilling. Quite the opposite. Suzanna had a constant desire for sexual adventures.

      She’d first indulged this desire at university, when studying medicine. That first day, week, month, she had felt afraid. For the first time in her life she was out of her depth. It had been an academic stretch to get there, and it didn’t feel right. Not least that she’d now be expected to stay in one place for a number of years. Put down roots. She didn’t fancy that – making connections. She didn’t know how to do it. It was so much easier to just keep moving on. Be an explorer.

      Her sexuality confused her too. She was drawn to both men and women, watching them cross campus, wondering, in more than a merely anatomical way, what their bodies were capable of. Examining their curves, their sharp edges, wanting to feel their touch, their warmth, their hardness.

      She started with her roommate, Melanie. Or, at least, Melanie started with her. Melanie was rooted, certain, living 50 miles from the town she had been born and brought up in. Bolting the door one evening after a drinking and flirting session with a gang in the student union, Melanie demanded that she strip.

      Suzanna was too taken aback to refuse. It was a request that brooked little argument. She stripped slowly and shyly, standing before Melanie, who appraised her, touched her, stroked her.

      And so her sexual awakening had been quick and intense. And it had all felt very natural. Going down on her roommate soon became second nature. Taking it in turns to stand bare-breasted at the window whilst the football team ran past in training became an often-practised dare. A dare with the added thrill of having a girl’s tongue pressed between your thighs. That way Suzanna discovered how much her breasts, and those of other women, delighted her. Melanie’s were full, with big, dark nipples. Her own were smaller, pert, her nipples pink. She would pinch each of them, press them against the cold glass to make them harden, squirming with delight as Melanie’s tongue slid across her clit.

      For the first time in her life Suzanna thought she was beginning to feel something approaching love. Melanie offered her more than just sex. She offered affection too, and Suzanna was under her spell. She would do anything for Melanie, who listened and responded to Suzanna’s doubts. Encouraged her.

      Some nights they would lie together, limbs entangled, in a post-coital glow, whispering, sharing dreams, intimacies, hopes. Things she had never shared with anyone before. But it was not to last.

      Their discovery was apparently accidental. Melanie’s boyfriend, Jake, walked in on them, in flagrante.

      ‘So, that’s what you two do when I’m in football training. I’d heard rumours. There have been sightings. Not good for training, hard cocks.’

      He was still in his kit, although he was pulling his shirt off over his head.

      Would he be joining them? Suzanna wondered, pulling a sheet around herself. Melanie lay back on the bed, her thighs raised and parted, her cunt shining from the mingling of her own juices and Suzanna’s saliva.

      ‘It’s fucking rude to interrupt, Jake.’ Melanie’s tone was lazy. Suzanna was astonished to see her right hand feel between her lips, parting them, giving him a full-on view.

      Her own cunt tightened with desire, and surreptitiously her fingers found her nipples.

      ‘It’s rude to cheat on your boyfriend, Melanie.’

      His tone was lazy too. His hands were in his shorts. Suzanna could see the outline of his erection. Again her cunt tightened.

      ‘And with another woman. What do you think my mates will think?’

      Melanie had shrugged.

      ‘Who cares what your mates think? And if you’re that bothered, join us. I bet they would.’

      Her tone