a preppy man in his 30s

A man in a blue blazer stopped just ahead of Abbie's row. He was eying the numbers on the rows, looking for which was his. He smiled at Abbie, then stood in the aisle to remove his blazer. As he reached into the overhead to stow his jacket, he leaned slightly over Abbie.

Still a little groggy from the early morning, Abbie wasn't fully attentive. But as she turned her head slowly to her right where the man was reaching over her, she realized that the front of his pants was barely inches from her face. It was unintentional, of course, and Abbie thought for a moment that perhaps she ought to have leaned out of the way. She had never considered it before, but giggled to herself when she silently recognized just how incidentally intimate complete strangers were on a small plane like this.

Maybe it was the morning, maybe it was the vague fantasy Abbie had in her mind, but when the man was done stowing his jacket and needed to move into his seat (the window next to Abbie), her imagination grew active. He slid past her with his front to her, which meant another several seconds of her staring at the front of his pants. He wore khaki pants and a light blue oxford shirt. In fact, Abbie had noticed only the small range of his body from about mid-thigh to his abdomen, and hadn't even registered what he looked like. But he was thin, and his clothes were clean and new. She giggled again when she imagined a reality in which she only ever knew the middle of someone's body, and never their face.

That image faded as the man sat down next to Abbie. He lifted the armrest between the seats to make it a little easier for him to get in. She turned to look at him as he sat. He was probably in his late 30s, dark hair, a bit of morning stubble, dark glasses, mildly handsome. As he sat, he glanced back at her, and smiled. "Hi. I'm Colin."

Abbie's smile grew a little. "Abbie. I guess we're stuck together for a few minutes here."

Colin chuckled. "Guess so." As he fumbled between the seats for his seatbelt, Abbie's attention went back to the aisle as she watched the last few passengers looking for their seats. "Excuse me," Colin said, "but I think you're sitting on my seatbelt."

Abbie looked between them where he was trying to find the buckle. She leaned a little to her right, which allowed her to lift her butt of her own seat a bit.

"Do you mind if I ...?" Colin asked, indicating that he was going to reach onto her seat."

"Go ahead, of course," Abbie replied casually.

Colin reached onto Abbie's seat for the seatbelt. She had been sitting on it, and although she had leaned away, Colin made contact with her as he took the belt from under her, the back of his hand grazing the underside of her ass.

Abbie glanced down, first at his hand, then her eyes followed up his arm, and to his face. He retracted his hand from her seat, but not quickly. And when Abbie's eyes reached his, he looked at her. "Thank you," he said calmly, buckling his seat belt. Abbie smiled, and lowered the arm rest between them.

They settled back and had no further interaction as the doors closed and the plane taxied. As it lined up on the runway and prepared for takeoff, Abbie took hold of the arm rest in her left hand, clutching it tightly.

"You okay?" asked Colin. He had noticed her hand, white-knuckled, on the arm rest.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"It's just -- you look nervous. Do you fly often?"

Abbie shook her head. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, if you need to talk or take my hand or anything to distract you, I'm happy to help," offered Colin.

Abbie nodded. "Thank you." She kept looking at him as the plane rolled forward.

He looked a little confused. "Do you ... want to take my hand?"

Abbie nodded slowly at first, and then quickly. Colin brought his arm up next to hers on the armrest, and slid his hand, palm up, under hers. She laced her fingers between his, and they held hands together.

"This armrest is probably awkward. Would it be okay if I moved it?"

Abbie nodded again. The plan continued rolling forward, and was getting in line on the runway. Colin lifted their linked arms into the air, and then moved the armrest. Without releasing his grasp on Abbie's hand, he lowered their arms down to the seat, resting on the small space between them.

As the plane lurched forward toward takeoff, Abbie took hold of Colin's arm with her right hand. She felt his strong bicep through his shirt. As she touched his upper arm, she seemed less like a woman clinging for comfort during a flight, and more like a woman eager to touch a man's muscles.

The plane picked up speed, but Abbie was no longer thinking about the plane. Her one hand was on Colin's arm, and her other hand released its grasp on his on the seat.

Just as the plane lifted off, Colin moved his right hand (recently released by Abbie's grasp) closer to her. Then closer again, and then close enough that he was pressed against the outside of her left hip.

"Are you comfortable now?" he asked.

"Yes," Abbie replied, nodding.

Colin pressed his hand against the outside of her hip. He rotated his wrist so that instead of the back of his hand, it was now the palm that rested against her hip. By now Abbie had let go of his arm, and had moved her hand to rest on top of his right leg.

Colin looked at her hand on his leg, and then at his own hand on hers. He squeezed the side of her upper thigh a little bit, and felt her body push against him. At the same time, her hand clamped down on his leg.

He admired her hand for a moment. She had small, thin fingers, clear nail polish, and a simple silver ring with a blue stone on her left index finger. He liked the ring, and wondered what thought process went into choosing it. He watched her hand squeeze and then slightly release as she gripped his leg. He listened to her breathing.

He brought his right hand onto the top of her left thigh, and became something of a mirror image to her -- her left hand on his right leg, and his right hand on her left leg. Describing it sounded a little like a game of Twister, but in the moment, his mind shifted back and forth from the thought of touching her to the thought of being touched.