He glanced down at the illuminated dial of his watch, adjusting the brown leather band with his right hand. Eight o’clock. It had been a long day, and his flight was late. Boarding was tension-filled, passengers crowding onto the plane, anxious to leave the runway. An experienced traveler accustomed to delays, he considered the high levels of anxiety to be an unnecessary nuisance and quickly located his window seat on the wing.
He slipped his black briefcase down into the forward space provided for such things. The stewardesses ushered other passengers into seats, trying to expedite the boarding process and get the plane in the air. He buckled the safety belt, and sat back to wait.
She always sat on the wing – it seemed to minimize any possibility of motion sickness, a malady that plagued her since childhood. Reaching up to place her carry-on into the luggage compartment, she visually appraised her seatmate. An impeccably dressed businessman, slender but not thin, in a finely tailored black suit. He was looking out the window, so she sat down and opened her book.
He felt a chill – a subtle breeze – and turned around. The stewardesses were strapping on their seatbelts; the familiar jet engine roar began and the plane its move toward the runway. The strange feeling persisted, and his eyes were inexplicably drawn to the woman next to him.
She was unremarkable, except an invisible shield-like aura seemed to surround her. A softly sculpted figure wearing a classic black mid-length silk dress and a matching cashmere sweater, hair pulled up, hidden under a black beret. Shapely legs in silk hosiery, black leather pumps without decoration. No jewelry, except for a delicate braided gold choker. Manicured fingers, unpolished. Her fair face was not tainted with makeup; her lips a glossy natural rose. Long dark lashes behind blue-tinted eyeglasses. He thought she looked mysterious and serene at once – concealing and revealing, angel and vixen.
Cool air brushed his right cheek, and he looked up to check the flow vent; it wasn’t even open. The lights were off in the cabin; everyone had settled in for the trip. He attributed the unsettling events to his own exhaustion, and closed his eyes.
He felt it again – this time, a sweep across the top of his hand as if someone touched him. His eyes snapped open – the woman next to him appeared oblivious, intently reading. Nothing was amiss. He felt a little foolish, and studied her for a few minutes, tempted to say something. Instead, he turned to the window.
The pilot announced the altitude, weather and expected time of landing. He had heard the speech a hundred times – it was simply part of his life soundtrack. In fact, he was occupied with something out on the wing… a silhouette?
He stared out into the darkness, peering through the window. A shadowy figure danced an airy ballet back and forth on the wings. He blinked his eyes – it was still there. He wondered if anyone else noticed, but everyone seemed otherwise occupied. It must be an optical illusion, he decided; it wasn’t real.
He couldn’t avoid the window; the image had come closer. A diminutive, feminine creature spread dark feathery wings, wrapped them around her lithe body. Long layers of black chiffon flowed around the enticing dancer, seemingly undisturbed by the speed of the jet, until she perched just outside the window, knees folded under her beautiful wings, blue eyes gazing in at him, a gentle smile on her lips. He watched, mesmerized.
She looked like an angel – or maybe a fairy nymphe – delicate innocence seeking guidance, long dark curls spilling over bare shoulders, the silky gown poured around her feet. She placed a hand on the window.
Usually reserved, he had the urge to nudge his seatmate and ask if she saw this unusual sight out the window. His logical side told him to keep it to himself.
He placed his hand over hers, leaving his print on the glass. He felt warmth flow into his fingers, as if she touched him. An exquisite wing spirit, he thought.
“Did You call for me?” It was a melodic voice, evenly pitched, clear and true. He heard it perfectly. Apparently no one else did.
The whole situation defied his conservative position on paranormal experiences. He couldn’t count how many times he had professed science and factual evidence was the sole support for realism – there simply was no basis for what he witnessed now.
It had to be his imagination. Maybe he was dreaming… this almost made him laugh out loud, trying to reason with himself over what was obviously a hallucination of some sort – attributed to excessive stress and sleep deprivation.
He felt breath blow on the back of his neck – warmer than before, as if he had been kissed softly. He didn’t react this time, remaining still. If he told anyone about this, they would insist he had been working too hard.
He couldn’t resist and turned to the window. Her palm was still pressed against it, and she smiled at him.
“I heard You call me, Master.” This was not a question, nor did she sound uncertain. He matched his palm to hers. Heat blazed through him; though separated by the thick glass, he felt a fiery connection, as if they shared the same lightning rod during an electrical storm.
Suddenly, he felt swept into a swirling wind – an illusory tornado that paralyzed him. The aircraft cabin seemed far away, ethereal. She was holding his hands, seductively weaving her fingers into his. Black chiffon wrapped around his legs, imprisoning him in long, sheer layers.
He looked into beautiful sapphire eyes, and felt indescribable yearning in the pit of his stomach. Who was this eloquent wing spirit that belied his practical reasoning?
Her smile was genuine, admiring and affectionate. His loins ached – suddenly aware that his heavy balls throbbed. His erection pressed hard against his zipper: how long had his mortal maleness been so evident? Her wings embraced him… and he inhaled her intoxicating fragrance.
