Jack let out a sigh as the plane gained altitude. It had been an incredible trip. The hiking, skiing on a glacier, beach combing, and, good heavens. the sex, had all been magnificent. It might well have been the perfect trip, and Ellen might be as close to the perfect woman as any he could imagine.

Yet, with every foot of altitude and mile west of Portland the wide-body gained, Jack drifted back to his normal life in New York. Work crossed his mind. He drove it out. He wasn’t ready to end his vacation, yet. He thought of Ellen, and in particular, how they had made love in front of the fireplace in her apartment, and how she has sucked him on the curvy drive to the beach, and how they had fucked at sunset in view of the majestic Haystack Rock.

Somehow that last thought triggered Jack to think of Paula back in New York. They, too, had fucked at the beach, at her place on Long Island. I wonder if her husband will be out of town this week? He asked himself. He made a mental list of things to do upon arrival. He should send Ellen flowers, he should check to see if Paula was free next weekend, and he should make plans for a weekend in Boston to see Natalie, the hot little marketing intern. Need to keep that cutie in the fold.

Jack’s friends, when they had enough drinks in them to level with him, told Jack he had commitment issues. And if he had enough drinks in him, he would admit that they might be right.

In college he opted for exchange students and seniors — relationships that had an inevitable sunset. Easy to get into; even easier to get out of. In grad school, exchange students were still a delightful alternative, but he added adjunct professors to the mix. An especially rich vein of time-limited sexual opportunity proved to be anthropology Phd. candidates about to leave for their field work. It turns out that there is little hornier in the world than a woman about to head to the jungle for the next nine months.

Now that he was out in the real world, Jack’s safety-hatch relationship patterns hadn’t evolved all that much. He went for married women, former interns who were back in college, and women he met on vacation. Long distance was safe distance. Easy to get into; easy to get out of.

Ellen fit the mold. She had worked at his firm, briefly, and then moved out to Portland. They reconnected on social media and things had heated up from there. An overlapping business trip to Chicago proved electric. So electric, in fact, that they planned their next get-together in O’Hare Terminal D as they waited for their respective planes going in opposite directions. She was so his type: outdoorsy, fit, funny, well read, and delightfully orgasmic. And, she was three thousand miles away.

Jack closed his eyes as the plane approached cruising altitude. He thought of Natalie. Mmm, that little gymnast body. But, his mind quickly wandered back to Ellen. He thought of her sweet, sexy smile, and her sparkling green eyes. He thought of the feel of her in his arms as she came. He chuckled as he recalled her witty critique of a film they had seen. He salivated as he remembered her standing in the kitchen, making the most delicious coq au vin he had ever had. The feel of her kiss goodbye lingered on his lips, and the warmth of her voice saying, “I can’t wait until next time,” echoed pleasantly in his ears. He began to doze with the hint of a smile on his face.

PING! PING! PING!

Jack shot awake from his brief and shallow slumber to see an oxygen mask hanging in front of his face. He looked around. Everyone was in disbelief. There was an almost comic hesitation, before all moved in slow motion unison to reach for the little yellow cups. Once the alarm stopped, it was remarkably quiet. There were one or two dings from people hitting their assistance button. A child cried, but only for a moment. A flight attendant suddenly appeared to help an old woman with her mask, and then quickly moved back to his jump seat.

Jack was calm. Or, he thought he was, until he noticed the walls of the yellow cup flexing with his deep breaths. At the same time he realized the woman next to him was digging her nails into his forearm. He made eye contact and saw the woman’s fear. Jack smiled with his eyes and patted the woman’s hand until she relaxed her death grip.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen. This is the co-pilot,” a nervous and breathless voice said over the PA. “We are safe. We are safe. Remain calm and breathe normally. We will communicate again, shortly.”

At that point. calm was fraying and no one was breathing normally. The plane took a sudden, hard bank to the right, and shuddered. There were no screams, but there were groans and some muffled conversations among seat mates.

Jack felt like there was a good chance they would all die. He wasn’t sure he bought the nervous attempt at reassurance made by the co-pilot. To Jack, it seemed like he was watching a movie. Ah, so this is what it’s like to die in a plane crash. He was remarkably at peace. He had an odd feeling of elation. He wouldn’t fully understand why, until much later.

The plane banked back to the left and the strained aluminum shivered. The groans of the passengers were louder this time. The woman’s nails returned to digging into his arm. They took another hard bank to the right. This can’t be good. Why don’t they tell us anything?! And, then, suddenly, it was over. The plane leveled out.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a deep, Texas-accented voice came over the PA. “At times like this it’s good to hear the reassuring voice of the pilot. Well, that’s me. I’m awful sorry for what ya’ll just had to go through. And I’m doubly sorry that we left you in the dark, but we had our hands full of airplane.”

He went on to explain, with astronaut cool, that a sensor had gone off, indicating that they were losing cabin pressure. “We needed to get under ten thousand feet lickity-split.” All the hard turns had been to accomplish that as safely and quickly as possible. “When we drop a wing like we did, we fall fast, but not so fast that we have to scrape ya’ll off the luggage bins,” the pilot explained in his deadpan way.

“Ya’ll can take your masks off, now. We are going to limp back to Portland at nine thousand feet. I’ll miss Mt. Hood, I promise. We’ll have you back on the ground in thirty minutes.”

Somehow the relaxed and flippant attitude of the pilot reassured the passengers. If this guy can be so confidently humorous, maybe we won’t die, after all. There was some laughter and conversation, but most rode in silence. The woman apologized to Jack for her treatment of his arm, which he dismissed with a smile. Thereafter they joined the rest in quiet. Jack could only think of one thing: Ellen. He called her as soon as he got off the plane.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, before he even finished explaining.

Jack and Ellen treated the day like what it was, a gift of fate. Jack had a profound sense of happiness. Having stared straight at the possibility of death, every sense was heightened, and every moment mattered. They went on a trail run in Portland’s vast Forest Park. Inhaling forest air, surrounded by fertile, growing life was the perfect anecdote to being inside a malfunctioning metal tube. When they came across a tiny meadow, they rested on a log, and watched dragonflies dance through the high grass. Some were joined together in flight.

“Those are some horny bugs,” Jack joked.

“Yeah,” Ellen laughed. “They only live a short time.. I guess they have to get busy.”

They walked back to Ellen’s apartment, hand in hand. Jack was quiet, thinking about yellow cups and dragonflies.

“We are going to shake things up!” Ellen announced. “Enough of this Northwest aesthetic! Let's get a little Manhattan tonight, shall we? You need to see me in something other than Goretex and hiking boots.”

Jack stepped into the hot spray of the shower. As he scrubbed the sweat and mud away, he felt Ellen’s nude body embrace him from behind. She stroked his chest and abs with soapy hands, and then went lower, grasping his cock. She quickly brought him to full timber with her artful touch. He returned the favor, running a sudsy hand along and between the cheeks of her shapely ass, while the other pulled one of her nipples through his slick fingers. They kissed. Ellen teasingly bit Jack’s lower lip.

“That’s enough for now, my horny bug. I want you at full strength tonight,” she said as Jack groaned in frustration.

They talked their way into the crowded bar at a relatively new restaurant on the East Side. It was very “new” Portland, with a sleek modern space, artisan cocktails, and a New York City chef. It was all the things they had avoided the previous week. Jack was moderately presentable in dark slacks and a cashmere sweater, whereas Ellen was in a delicious little black dress. It had a scoop front and a plunging back, and she completed the package with sheer black stockings and velvet pumps.

“I might be a little over dressed,” Ellen said, “I feel like everyone is looking at me.”

“Oh, they are. But, that’s not the reason,” Jack said, as he planted a kiss on Ellen’s neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

They each had an absurd twenty dollar, smoking cocktail. “To you not dying,” Ellen toasted.

“To living and to enjoying the good things,” Jack toasted in return.

They followed with perfectly enjoyable, but grossly overpriced, small plates.

“Yep, this was, very much, a Manhattan kind of meal,” Jack joked. “Except the women are much better looking,” he continued, laying another public display smack on her lips.

“Mmm. You have been extra sweet since you dropped from the sky,” Ellen said, providing her own, more provocative public display, running a hand high up Jack’s thigh until she reached his stiffening cock.

“Let’s cap this with a Portland dessert, shall we? Come on. Let’s get out of her,” Ellen said assertively.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked as Ellen drove in her aggressive fashion back over the Willamette River.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Ellen said as she weaved her sport sedan through residential, curvy roads. Eventually, a few things started to look familiar to Jack as they entered the sprawling Washington Park.

“Are we going back to the Japanese Garden?” He asked.

“Different garden. Similar view. We will have to walk a bit,” she answered.

Their progress was stopped by a large yellow gate. Ellen parked the car as if she had done this many times before, and jumped out. She took four or five strides on her fluted heels and turned toward Jack, who was still in the passenger seat, confused.

“Well, come on, then,” she beckoned.

Jack caught up to her. He wrapped an arm around her narrow waist and they walked together along the road way. There was a light, intermittent fog, and the sparse amber lamps gave off a warm glow.

“Here,” Ellen said suddenly, and pulled him in a space between two towering hedges. She led them to a flagstone stairway that carried them up to an amphitheater. “Almost there,” she said. They walked along a brick covered terrace, and then up another set of flagstone stairs.

“And here we are,” she announced, spinning in her charming, sexy dress with her arms outstretched. Jack looked at her, still unclear.

“It’s the Rose Garden, silly. And we have it to ourselves,” Ellen said.

Jack blinked a few times and realized she spoke the truth. Row upon row of two foot bushes stretched out in front of them. Jack could barely see the blossoms unless he got very close, and even then he couldn’t differentiate their colors. But, he could smell them. A heady mixture of rose perfume hung in the air.

They meandered through the rows, embracing and kissing as they went. At this hour the real show, even with the thin fog glowing in the yellow lamps of the garden, were the city lights of Portland spread out before them. Jack and Ellen stood at the stone wall taking in the view.

“It’s better with the mountain. With the fog and no moon we can’t see the volcano. But, still…” Ellen said, clearly proud of her town. “I know you could never leave New York, but I think it’s pretty perfect,”

“I think you’re pretty perfect,” Jack said as he stroked Ellen’s back. She turned into his arms and they kissed. They shared their mouths and pressed their bodies together as if they would melt into one.

They wandered on until the roses ended. They passed through a hedge row.

“This is my favorite part,” Ellen said. “It’s called the Shakespeare Garden.”

This section of the park was arranged like an outdoor chapel. A brass sun dial sat where the holy water font would be. A brick aisle way divided patches of grass instead of pews. At the end of the aisle was an alter of sorts, but instead of Jesus on the cross, a fresco of the Old Bard blessed the scene,

Hand in hand, they walked down the aisle. They sat on one of two marble benches and necked like teenagers. Jack slipped a hand along Ellen’s thigh, higher and higher. She did not resist. He felt the smooth silk give way to lace trim, then to the softness of her skin. He anticipated returning to lace when he reached her panties. They both gasped when, instead, he felt her wet, naked lips. He played with her, gently, then withdrew his hand and tasted his fingers. He shared her flavor with Ellen, via his tongue.

Jack dropped to his knees. Ellen opened her legs without inhibition. He nuzzled her lips apart, then flicked his tongue between them, enjoying her salty tang. Ellen moaned and inched closer to him. He pressed in, more firmly.

“Yessss,” Ellen gasped. And then, suddenly, she pushed him away.

“No. No. I love your mouth, but I want your cock. I want you to fill me,” Ellen said.

She twisted away from him and stood, leaning against the fresco.

“Fuck me.”

Jack raised the short skirt of her dress and stood between her spread legs. He opened his trousers and filled her as she had demanded. Excitement overtook him. He grasped her hips and thrust into her with long, firm strokes.

“Yes, babyyyy,” Ellen cried as his pace and force built. She braced herself with one hand against the wall, while she worked her clit with the other. It wasn’t long until they were both on the brink.

“Aaah!” Ellen squealed as Jack pulled her from the wall and lay her down on the cold marble bench. He threw her fit legs over his shoulders and drove into her. She wrapped him to her as she came, holding him tight, as he groaned to his own finish.

When he could finally breathe, he whispered, “I feel love for you right now.”

Ellen laughed. “You ‘feel love for me, right now’? Sounds pretty temporary.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” Jack stammered. It had been so long since he had proclaimed his love for someone, he had forgotten how.

“It’s ok. It’s ok,” Ellen reassured him, laughing as she kissed his cheek. “I feel love for you, right now, too.”

They gathered themselves and headed back the way they had come in. The next morning he would return to New York on a smooth, uneventful flight. When he arrived, he ordered flowers. He didn’t call Paula, or Natalie.

Sixteen months later, Jack and Ellen would marry, under a bright blue sky, in front of friends and family, in the Shakespeare Garden.