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I didn’t say anything else to her. I simply took one last look at her, hit the lights, and walked away. I walked into the kitchen, put away the shot glasses and bourbon, and retreated to my own room where her previous strawberry scent was just now beginning to fade away.

Laying back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell we’d once again gone from arguing to fucking to cordial conversation.

Every other woman I’d argued with in the past—no matter the discussion, instantly landed on my ‘never speak to again’ list. Our ties were immediately cut, our communication forever frozen to that one particular moment in time. Yet, multiple arguments later, and I wasn’t feeling the need to block Gillian’s number or replace her with someone else.

When I finally shut my eyes hours later, I drifted into the easiest sleep I’d had in months. But when I woke up, I realized that I wasn’t in my own bedroom anymore. I was laying next to Gillian and she was wrapped in my arms.



Present Day

I don’t want to get my hopes up, and I don’t want to forget how quickly he’s capable of switching the hot and cold switch, but I really like him. A lot more than I probably should...And regardless of the nonchalant tone he sometimes takes with me, the way he now kisses me, and the way he takes his time fucking me, only reveal he likes me, too.

That said, I think this man is going to get me fired...

The discretion we shared before—the perfectly weighted “Meet me here” at this time, is now replaced with “The second I see you, we’re fucking.”

He takes my hand in public—leading me away with no regard for our hundreds of coworkers or whoever else may see. Each time, I attempt to play it off as some type of silly game, but I always lose because he only fucks me harder every time I do that. And the day he fucked me in an abandoned food court stock room in Minneapolis/St. Paul International, I started looking up new jobs.

It’s only a matter of time.

Write later,

**Taylor G.**

1 comment posted:

KayTROLL: You’ll be getting yourself fired. Just like before. At least this time you won’t have anyone else to blame but yourself...



Present Day

There are now nightly phone calls, endless emails as we fly overseas, and text messages that never fail to make me wet. And yet, despite the fact that we are talking more than ever, that he only occasionally sends me those “This message is not about fucking” lines, he only lets our conversations skim the surface.

Questions about his past or his family are still abruptly cut short, any mention of ‘us’ is quickly dissolved into other safe topics, and when he can’t find another distraction, he ends our discussion with sex.

And last night, after he took me against the door of my hotel room closet, he kissed me so long and deeply that I could’ve sworn I heard him say, “You’re not good for me...But I like you anyway...”

At least, I think that’s what he said...

Write later,

**Taylor G.**

1 comment posted:

KAYTROLL: The only reason I haven’t unfollowed your blog yet is because I pity you and your life. And your train-wreck posts make me feel ten times better about myself.



Orlando (MCO)—> Hawaii (HNL)—> New York (JFK)

The taste of Gillian’s pussy was still on my lips from a tryst hours ago in Orlando, providing enough of a distraction from another long week. It was also a mental diversion that kept me from paying too much attention to this morning’s current pilots’ meeting. Almost.

“So...” A man in a badly tailored blue suit stood in front of the small conference room, addressing me and twenty other pilots. “As you all know, we at Elite have the best benefits packages out of all commercial airlines, the best planes in the sky, and we also have the best track record for safety.”

“Did you really call us in here to read the company brochure aloud?” I asked. This meeting had gone on for half an hour too long already. “I have far better things to do in Hawaii.”

“Of course, you do, Captain Weston.” He rolled his eyes and hit the lights, forcing a screen to fall down over the wall. “I called this meeting to discuss our non-fraternization policy.”

All of a sudden, a grainy image appeared on the screen. A pilot in uniform tugging the hand of a flight attendant past an “Under Construction Zone.”

“Now, the airports don’t typically install the high grade cameras in the construction zones because, well...What would be the point of that since they’re practically off limits, but a passenger caught this happening weeks ago and posted it on social media with the caption: Bet the pilot is about to fly his cock up her runway.”

There were a few laughs from the other pilots.

“There was also this clip.” He clicked the remote, and a far clearer picture began playing. A video of a pilot in uniform kissing a woman against a wall in a closed and empty food court at Seattle International.

“Now,” he said. “This is only a formality, as we’re simply speaking to all Elite pilots who have flown routes to these particular airports during the times that the videos were taken. Needless to say, although what goes on in your personal bedrooms is none of our business, the idea of two employees blatantly breaking our non-fraternization rule when we so adamantly market our rules to the public is a bit...” He tapped his chin. “It’s a bit shameful. No, another ‘s’ word...Shocking? Staggering? No... Scandalous.”