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It was Greg’s turn to blush slightly as he took the slip of paper. He paused, measuring, a question on his face, but he left, unasked. He would come, of that she was certain. She would demonstrate her control, even as her knees shook under her desk now. To anyone outside looking in, she was engrossed, lost in concentration, and she was, even as she slid her hand slowly up her thigh, delicately between her legs, slowly applying pressure to her clit, exhaling. Greg showed up early, but waited. Joyce watched him at the window, waiting for him as he waited. Inscrutable at this distance, in his car across the street, Joyce imagined his thoughts. She knew he had a girlfriend, serious or not? Was he feeling guilt? Was it outweighed by his curiosity? Desire? Watching him, her hands drifted, fingers teasing her nipples, searched for the warmth within her, let it out, kneading her clit slowly as it washed over her, building. Is he thinking, imagining me right now? Her thoughts continued,. Green corrosion preventive paint covered the inside surfaces of the wing, spars and strings full of holes appeared like the skeleton of an animal. Some type of purple fluid was still visible against the wing root where it was attached to what remained of the fuselage, making me wonder how it could have been there after all those years, let alone after the torrential downpour of the previous day. Grabbing the edge of the cockpit to steady myself, I peered into the cockpit, amazed at how small it was. My remembrance of peering into a cockpit like this at an air show when I was just a youngster was that it was huge, this — I would have a hard time being comfortable in. Inside the cockpit the leather seat, now exposed totally to the elements, appeared to be brand new. The smell of airplane — aviation fuel, oil, leather, whatever it is that makes an airplane smell like it does, was still present. The instruments, what few there were, had gleaming white stripes and numbers, totally unlike.
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