I first met Columbiana while on a flight to Miami for business. She's a Latina flight stewardess with an amazing body. Every guy, single or not, tried talking to her. In fact, I still think to this day that the only reason why she spoke with me is because I had a seat next to the aisle and was reading a book.
Anyway, we talked and flirted the whole way down from New York. After a little while, she told me that she was born and raised in Columbia (the country, not the city), married a guy a number of years ago, and settled out in Denver. She said that she had a layover in Miami and was staying in a hotel on South Beach. I was staying at a hotel on the other end of South Beach, so I said that if she wanted to hang out, go to dinner, or maybe a club, to give me a call. I wrote my cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her, not thinking much more of it. I figured I just met someone cool for a little while and that was that. We landed, I said my goodbyes, and headed for South Beach.
A little while after I checked into my hotel, I got a call. It was Columbiana wanting to know if the invite for dinner was still good. I said sure and suggested a place I knew. We met, shared some good food and conversation, and decided to walk on the beach before going to a nightclub. As we walked, she finally cut right to the chase. She said that she wasn't looking for a relationship but just wanted to feel good for a night. As long as I was ok with that, then we could have a good night. I told her that I could keep things on the down low, so off to my room we went.
Once we were there, we were all over each other. It was dirty hotel room sex. It felt dangerous and she loved it. She rode me like a jockey rides a horse, grinding and bouncing up and down on my cock. I took her from behind, grabbed her hair, and slammed her. She backed her hips into me with every thrust. We fucked in the shower, on the couch, floor, and eventually the bed. Furniture was knocked over and the sheets were on the floor well within the fourth round. We fucked for hours on end.
As she left early in the morning to do the walk of shame (which I've always called the walk of pride), she had a proposition. She wanted to know if I wanted to get together anytime she was in New York. We worked out a system of email addresses and phone numbers so that neither her husband nor the other flight attendants she worked with would ever know. We've been at it ever since when the both of us are in town at the same time.
Anyway, we talked and flirted the whole way down from New York. After a little while, she told me that she was born and raised in Columbia (the country, not the city), married a guy a number of years ago, and settled out in Denver. She said that she had a layover in Miami and was staying in a hotel on South Beach. I was staying at a hotel on the other end of South Beach, so I said that if she wanted to hang out, go to dinner, or maybe a club, to give me a call. I wrote my cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her, not thinking much more of it. I figured I just met someone cool for a little while and that was that. We landed, I said my goodbyes, and headed for South Beach.
A little while after I checked into my hotel, I got a call. It was Columbiana wanting to know if the invite for dinner was still good. I said sure and suggested a place I knew. We met, shared some good food and conversation, and decided to walk on the beach before going to a nightclub. As we walked, she finally cut right to the chase. She said that she wasn't looking for a relationship but just wanted to feel good for a night. As long as I was ok with that, then we could have a good night. I told her that I could keep things on the down low, so off to my room we went.
Once we were there, we were all over each other. It was dirty hotel room sex. It felt dangerous and she loved it. She rode me like a jockey rides a horse, grinding and bouncing up and down on my cock. I took her from behind, grabbed her hair, and slammed her. She backed her hips into me with every thrust. We fucked in the shower, on the couch, floor, and eventually the bed. Furniture was knocked over and the sheets were on the floor well within the fourth round. We fucked for hours on end.
As she left early in the morning to do the walk of shame (which I've always called the walk of pride), she had a proposition. She wanted to know if I wanted to get together anytime she was in New York. We worked out a system of email addresses and phone numbers so that neither her husband nor the other flight attendants she worked with would ever know. We've been at it ever since when the both of us are in town at the same time.
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