Crocuses In The Airport Tarmac

Ofnelxo

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Hello everyone and welcome to my very first attempt at a story :D! Just some small notes before we begin:
  • I know the forum says "Erotic stories", and I will try my best to keep it spicy, but the vast majority of what I'll write is romance-oriented.
  • Any feedback 100% welcome all the time, including questions and ideas!! :party::party:
  • This story is a work of fiction in its entirety, and any similarities with names, events or incidents is entirely coincidental.
  • Just doing this cause I'm bored and locked down =)
  • I don't have a schedule for posting, so if you're keen in reading more, check your alerts or unread threads. With luck, I will eventually post once a week :).
 

Ofnelxo

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Synopsis:
Dyroj "Dyr" Cassworth is constantly travelling throughout the world with absolutely zero fucks to give about life or anyone. Apparently. Maybe. It's very hard to tell. He started off as an amazing AUT student, but he quickly rose to influencer fame in Muggly and people say it really got to his head. When you first meet him, he looks and acts like an idiot and will most likely say some things out of line; despite that, he cares for those around him, is always sober at every party, and will even apologise to you every Monday exactly before breakfast. That's probably why most people look at him weird in dinners. Rumour has it that he has a boyfriend, although I highly doubt it, since he always goes to the same hotel room with that bald, not too ugly 50 year old over there in the suit and the orange tie. He's Finney English, a recognised business dude from the UK, but to you, his name is Olivier, works for Citi and you didn't hear any of this from me, understood?

Alright, Mr. Shoulder Eyes is here, remember to keep the perfection. Oh and don't forget he made the Zuck cry with that $400 billion valuation of Muggly. Anything he asks, goes, OK? You ready to dance?
 
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Ofnelxo

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Backpack in the over-head compartment, small bag under the seat in front, seat belt, and off we all go. Only things my brain could manage, knowing that the next week was about to be as disastrous as milk splattered all over a highway. At least it was a bit late at night, and the adorable flight crew couldn't see my horrid face with the dimmed purple lights across business class providing a safe cover. Once in privacy, I put my completely gross and ugly Versace shoes in the floor. My head wanted to paint them with my sharpie, break them, rip them to absolute shreds, throw them out the airplane window and be brave enough to walk out of the plane with plastic, useless sandals. Useless Versace f*cks!
Oh god, spiralling again... Breathe you bastard, breathe...
Like the ones I always keep in my smaller bag. A gift from my grandma. Despite all the drama over some $2000 shoes, I decided to just place them side by side, next to the seat, facing forward and removing that little stain in the left one. F*cking soda dude.
Since they were a lovely gift from Mr. Retirement, they were somehow worth the excruciating task of keeping them. After all, why not turn heads in an airport? The ding warning us to not smoke and fasten the seat belts crawled up my legs, the same way a cold breeze does when you step outside in the Utah mountains in your underwear. The plane began to move towards the tarmac, although there was a bit of a wait time. The fact that there was traffic at 11 pm at night was in itself astounding, so I decided to look out the window into the black hole that is Georgia at night. All those stars, resisting dead and dancing forever in doubt. But they're only lights. How lame.
Then, just before the clouds started to pull us in, I noticed the sign for a little motel in the distance: Dandelion Motel. And I hit a wall in that instant. I rested my hand against the freezing window, full force ahead as the air restrained me in my seat. But I resisted and kept looking, absorbing all the emotions from that place: the long talk by the window with that ripped wall paper piece, a beautiful printed painting with a doodly man, the Mickey stain in the bathtub. And him. I could sense the tires leaving the tarmac. My memories, heightened by the drowning sound from liftoff. I looked out once again and just stared senselessly. Before I could even manage a single thought, the bathroom sign turned green. And I whispered to the window on the edge of a pool of tears, as lights turned to clouds: "Where did you go, Juan?"

:emoji_black_circle::emoji_black_circle::emoji_black_circle:
 

Ofnelxo

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Having slept for only an hour after all that drama, the bathroom suddenly felt as relieving as a lemonade by a Cabo beach. And the fact that I drank too much orange juice in the airport. I walked some 6 seats behind me to the nearest bathroom which... was occupied. Hoping the wait time was not much, I just hung out with the emergency door, crew members sometimes passing by. Suddenly, one of them stopped, looked at me, and says "Hi!". His voice was a bit excited for some reason, which honestly is not very uncommon in this side of the atmosphere. "Yes, uh... hi there....... Kee... Keilar." I muttered without a care, my iron walls not rising fast enough. He waits for a minute, filling his eyes with stardust or some shit like that; "You're @Dycas in Instagram, right?! Oh my goooood I absolutely loooooove your posts!". This time he said it in a very distinct dramatic hush, which only made slightly more defensive. Remember the lesson: be a Ken doll to the lower class: "Yes, haha that's me. And I'm glad you enjoy them! Always the best for my followers!" Using a plastic voice is always the worst in these situations. Then, out literal fucking thin air, the six words I dread the most: "Mind if we take a selfieeee?" In the middle of that sentence, the bathroom door slammed open, increasing my urgency to go. Then, no more iron walls, just privacy. Trying to be moderately polite, I said to K: "Sure thing! Just let me quickly go and then the photo. Sorry!" I closed it with urgency, almost in his face. And I'm glad I did. No way I want a sel-- picture in this state. Goddamnit, the lock! I looked into myself and saw the slight mess I was in that second; "No photos today, you bitch".
I stepped outside, looking at both ends of the alley. Perhaps that creepy selfie dude was serving coffees in economy. A middle aged woman looked at me, trying to use her laser eyes against me: "Well, are you gettin ooeht ahr lettin me in?" I moved silently, trying to express regret with my body as the other two people in line stared at me. Eesh, stupid adults. I stepped back in my seat, checked the flight status and noticed that breakfast was due to be served in the time it takes to watch 'Call Me By Your Name', my mind making the obvious choice of watching it. During the film, a bug kept crawling all around my scalp from earlier... "Juan" it said, circling like the spatial audio in a movie theatre. Happened some 3 times, especially in the sex scenes; certainly odd, but it did make the movie a tidsy-bit more emotional. Better keep it together. I usually never order alcohol while eating, or even drink at all, but breakfast was a great opportunity to sedate the bug, at least until I got to the hotel. At last, the end credits, and with them, gourmet breakfast. At parties or dinners, I always ask for vegan stuff because it's what everyone always gets. But at least I was alone, so I asked for a meat-y breakfast from..... "Oh, Keilar. Hello... can I please have the eggs breakfast?" He kindly gave it to me in a slight hurry, but the passenger on the other side had trouble deciding, so I chose to be the nice celebrity for once, despite being bored: "So, you asked for a selfie, but obviously that's not quite an option now, therefore what do you want? Autograph? Dedicated note?" Keilar looked at me. Anyone could see he was thinking. Innocently, he uttered his idea, "Can you please like 2 of my pleets and comment in my Ink.tyr account?". "Sure, will do that. Take care", I said in my modest composure. I saw him deliver meals to other passengers, continuing into Premium Economy. I closed the curtains facing the alley, thinking first, what the f*ck is 'Ink.tyr', second, no way in the hell that I'm answering to DMs, and thirdly: I forgot the alcohol.