It was dusk on a Sunday night in July, when my eyes and soul encountered Ms. Arkell. She was sitting in a corner of the Air France lounge at JFK, intermittently looking up from her writing to gaze deeply into the colored sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Upon returning from an almost trance-like state, she would diligently put her pencil back to the paper and write with passion, tilting her head and moving her lips subtly as if in conversation with an imaginary person – or maybe herself – all the while languorously downing red wine.
She was an elegant, early-forties brunette: fit with shiny hair, minimal makeup, and glowing skin. Compared to the rest of the international travelers in the lounge, she was dressed carefree and loose. It was almost as if she had never left home, or not realized she wasn’t at home?
Watching someone so comfortable in their element, my curiosity got the best of me. Unable to resist, I poured myself a glass of wine and changed seats to be closer. After maybe five minutes and a similar number of diary pages, my subject raised her head and noticed she had a new neighbor. She smiled pleasantly, but with knowing apprehension. Perhaps I needed to be more direct with her kind, less of a sleuth or stalker. So I got up and approached her.
“May I refill your glass?” I asked. “Looks like you could use a break from your writing.” She closed her journal, it’s pencil temporarily holding the place, and responded. “Sure, thank you.”
Being a connoisseur of beautiful women, approaching them has never got easier. Yet this woman was somehow welcoming. I was intensely curious to start the interrogation and get into the mind of this non-elusive creature; sensual world traveler that she was, all alone but not lonely. I decided to bring over a fresh bottle of the red I had seen her drinking. It was the least a married man with a ring on could offer in friendship.
“I’m Steve, where are you flying to? Seems like the 8 pm to Paris is already boarding,” I pronounced in the lowest voice I could muster without sounding corny.
“I actually came here a bit early for the amazing light and the snacks. I’m on the 10 pm. Hi, I’m Vivienne. And thanks for noticing which red I prefer,” she said with a flirtatious grin, accepting my pour and raising it in salutation.
Seemingly relieved for some company, she asked if I was traveling alone. She had noticed my ring and was perhaps comforted by that, along with my silver hair and golfer’s attire. “I’m on my way back home,” I said. It was the easiest way out without losing any cool factor that I might achieved with my charms.
“What do you do Ms. Vivienne? What were you writing about so intently?” I queried.
“Oh call me Vivi, Steve. We are in that travel zone where we will both know too much about each other before we catch our flights… And then never see each other again,” she replied in a low, soothing voice with a chuckle.
“Are you still sexy with your wife, Steve?” She asked. “I started reading the Anais Nin diaries. Do you know of them? I’m trying to relate her tales to my new life being single.”
It was not the opening question I expected, but neither was our entire encounter. Our spicy conversation continued with Vivi handing over many less details than I did. She was very skilled at asking challenging questions, and tossing out tidbits that made me think. Smiling warmly, and spoken with the depth of a sage, she explained how she wished every person and couple could be free, openly sensual, and erotically excited as Anais was. It was a beautiful dream.
I found out that my new friend Vivi loved olives, shrimp, and cashews. So as the sun set I made her little plates, while we slid deep into conversation. Getting even more comfortable, she curled her legs and feet up onto the oversized chair. Her thin, skin tone socklets exposed every one of her impeccably perfect toes.
I hadn’t been this smitten in a long time. Every moment that went by I became more fascinated by the richness of her facial expressions and body language.
How did she do that to me? She was so comfortable with herself and her body. She owned her sexuality. Sometimes a tiny flush came over her when she seemed to be reliving deeply passionate or emotional moments. But the revelation that she followed with filled her with joy, as she was back on cloud nine and relaxed again. Even with a stranger in her presence, she wasn’t flustered at all. Was it only me who felt her subtle changes in mood? Were they my dream, only in my head, and not her reality?
The openness of our traveler’s chat was nothing like I had ever encountered. As Vivienne noted early on, there’s often a sharing that happens when sitting next to a person you will never see again, but her perceptive and analytical search for clarity and insight was beyond any woman I had ever met.
She spun me into a spell.
As much as I wanted to explore Vivienne, I was most eager about exploring my wife again. When I arrived home, I would seduce her as I would a stranger found in the airport, who shared erotic thoughts with me.
Thank you Vivienne, for opening me to understanding my own natural sensuality and sexual urges, and enhancing my life.
