Scene Fifteen
The next morning, sometime before dawn Gil awoke and before he even opened his eyes he realized that he must have kicked off his blankets. The air around him was felt chilled against his exposed skin. The next thing that caught his attention was the fact that he had a very firm erection. He groaned and without giving it any thought at all, he reached out for Heather, and was surprised when his left hand made contact with the cool sheets instead of her warm body. He frowned and was about to open his eyes when he literally felt her presence. She was close; he could feel her warm breath on his flesh; his aroused flesh.
He felt himself tense as he licked his lips; about to speak, when she whispered, "Relax Gil."
Her words danced over his skin making him twitch with desire. The thought occurred to him that he must be dreaming. Heather had never…She wouldn't…commit such an act of submission…would she? His mind argued with itself … no…yes … maybe…oh hell! Heather would do whatever she damn well wanted. But, would she want this?
Her voice reached out to him again in the darkness, "Gil, stop thinking…just feel."
Feeling wasn't any problem. He felt…just fine, but his mind continued to whirl until the feather-light caress of her hand against his balls brought all thought to a grinding halt. His hips arched of the bed, and he groaned as he pressed himself more firmly against her touch.
When she spoke again he could hear an approving smile in her voice; his response pleased her. "Do you like this Gil?" She massaged him gently; slowly.
He nodded quickly; emphatically and although she did not stop caressing him, he felt her shift her position and knew after a moment that she was looking at his face. He felt her breath on his mouth.
"Can't you speak?" He gave no response and she quietly demanded "Open your eyes Gil. Look at me." He complied and she smiled as she lightened her touch still more. Again she asked him, "Can't you speak for me?"
He tried to, but was too overcome by the frustration that her touch was less firm than before. He vigorously shook his head in a negative response and groaned again as he attempted once more to intensify their contact.
She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Very well, you don't have to speak if you don't want to Gil. You're quite capable of expressing your desires without words. Shall I continue?"
In reply, he cupped her face softly with his right hand, and used the left to grasp the hand that was stroking him.
She allowed him to move her hand, and complied willing when he attempted to indicate by touch that she should wrap her fingers around his shaft. Again he arched his hips, pressing himself roughly against the inside of her closed fist and growled deeply when she tightened her grip and stroked his full length; base to tip. Heather slowly repeated this process a few more times and then she loosened her fist and lightly ran her fingernails along the underside of him, pausing at his tip, firmly stroking it with her thumb and index finger. He could feel his own wet heat against her fingers, and found that he could do no more than grunt, out of both satisfaction and frustration, at the slow pace she was taking. While she teased him, she moved again; returning to her original position. This time, when he felt her warm breath against him, he felt a lightning bolt of desire pass through him, that was so strong he thought for one moment he might go mad trying to restrain himself.
"Heather…Please!" He panted, finally finding his voice, but those were the only two words she would hear. They were the only two that his pleasure-drugged mind could produce, since every cell in his body was screaming them.
She placed one tiny flutter of a kiss against his engorged manhood before closing her mouth around his tip and drawing him in. The inside of her mouth was a hot sultry paradise that he'd never expected to visit; one that left him capable of only animal-like noises and behaviors. He grunted one second, allowed his body to relax the next, and in the one following that, he fisted his hands in her long dark hair, and fantasized about pulling her mouth free, forcing her body beneath his and taking her with brutal force. The only reason that he flung the thought away was because it meant that he would no longer feel her tongue against him, and he wanted as much of that as he could get. God, how he wanted it. So he stayed where he was; grunting and groaning in ecstasy with each oral caress; each flick of her tongue against him. Her sweet mouth worked, and he willed himself to hold on… to make it last as long as he could.
He wondered how he could have ever questioned her willingness to commit this act. This was no act of submission. It didn't matter what any textbook or behavioral specialist said. Freud himself could have said that Heather was submitting to him, but Gil would have accused the man of lying. Her consent to this may have implied submission, but she was in total control. Then it hit him… This was finally the moment that he came to truly understand the tentative balance between submission and domination all the way down in his soul.
He'd read the books; even heard Heather, herself, say the words. –"The Submissive is the one with the true power." He'd thought he understood. He hadn't really understood at all…but he did now. They'd found their own delicate balance. His natural tendency was to submit; hers was to dominate, but they each were willing to surrender those tendencies when it pleased the other. He was hers, and…she was his.
He felt the heated pressure of her mouth increase to a point he knew he could not withstand. Her teeth flirtatiously, gently, raked against his flesh encouraging him just enough, and as he lost control; the words of one of their first conversations floated into his mind, "She wants the dominate male to choose her so she can stop being dominate."
Moments later, when they lay side by side and he struggled to catch his breath, she heard a ragged whisper come from him; "Damn" and she couldn't help but smile.
A few minutes after that, when he felt that he could breathe normally again, he turned onto his side and brushed her hair away from her face. "Hi."
"Hi, yourself" she said; her pretty mouth stretching into an easy smile.
"Thank you." He said lightly brushing her mouth with his.
"Your welcome!" she declared cheerful as she snuggled closer to his body.
He pulled the sheet and quilt up tightly around both of them. "It's cold in here."
"Yes, I woke up hot last night, but I can't sleep without a blanket covering me. So I got up and adjusted the thermostat. I guess I set it too low."
"Well I bet I can find a way to express my gratitude that will warm us both up."
"Hmm… as tempting as that thought is Gil; you'll have to do it later."
"Why is that?"
"It's time for us to get up."
Gil looked toward the window and could see no trace of light seeping in from behind the drapes, then said with a pout in his voice. "It's still dark out Heather. I'm always up when it's dark. I'm on vacation. I don't wanna get up. I wanna stay here under the covers and play with you."
Heather pouted too. "Please get up…please. I promise you'll like today if you do. You'll regret it if you don't…and…you'll be left here alone in bed to entertain yourself, because I'm going with or without you, but I don't really wanna go without you; so please come! I'll let you sleep in tomorrow."
He looked down at her up-turned face and felt the desire to resist ebb. The look she was giving him was the same one Allison used when begging for an ice cream cone. He sat up in bed and groaned when he saw the digital readout on the clock on the desk.
"Heather, that clock says it's 5:06 AM."
She sat up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She kissed his ear and whispered, "That clock is fast," the instant before he watched her literally bounce out of bed.
She moved so quickly that by the time he asked, "Oh, then what time is it?" she was clear across the room and closing the bathroom door behind her.
Turning, and peering around the edge of the door she winked at him. "It's 5:03."
In response, he picked up a pillow and tossed it at her, but she was too quick for him. The door closed with a soft click a full second before the pillow hit it with a soft thud and slid to the floor. He switched on the bedside lamp and chuckled when Hank trotted away from his large green dog pillow, picked up the one Gil had tossed and brought it back to him. He reached out with both of his hands, taking the pillow in one and rubbing the dog's head with the other. "Good job Buddy."
Hank whined, he wanted more than just a verbal reward and a head rub.
"You want me to get up too; huh? Do you want some breakfast?"
Hank barked loudly once.
"Shhh…Boy, you'll wake everybody on this floor."
The bathroom door opened a crack and Heather peeked out holding her toothbrush in one hand. Her gaze slid from Grissom to Hank, "Is something wrong?"
"No, I just made the mistake of asking him if he wanted some…" Gil eyed the dog and thought better of repeating the word that had most likely made Hank bark. "…B-R-E-A-K-F-A-S-T."
Hank barked louder; as if to ask, "Didn't you hear me the first time?"
Heather giggled. "That's one smart dog Gil. He can spell. You better feed him before he wakes the whole house." She closed the door again as he got out of bed. He found and slipped into his boxes; fed Hank and went to brush his own teeth.
Thirty minutes later he had showered and dressed, and found himself staring at Heather's denim-clad backside as she placed one foot in the seat of the desk chair, and leaned over to tie the laces of the walking shoes she'd selected to go with her attire.
"Will we be doing a lot of walking today?"
"Maybe." She smiled secretively. "
He shrugged and went to the armoire to get both their jackets and Hank's leash.
When Gil had one hand on the end of Hank's leash and the other on the door knob Heather was right behind him, but as he stepped out into the hall, she seemed to suddenly change her mind about leaving and held up a finger silently to indicate that he should wait one moment. She quickly extracted her suitcase from a little niche in the wall that was intended to serve as closet space, tossed it on the bed, unzipped it and rummaged through it until she lifted out a small camera case. She checked the case to be certain it had everything it should, and then put away her suitcase again as Gil watched her quietly.
Several minutes later, after they had taken Hank out for a morning walk, Heather doubled back and returned to the lobby instead of continuing on to the parking, to Gil's surprise, they were met by a rather sleepy looking Miss Lily, who greeted them with a warm smile as she took the end of Hank's leash from Heather and tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. Heather smiled graciously, "Thank you for agreeing to keep an eye on him this morning. That was very kind of you. We'll be back to pick him up in about two hours."
"No need to rush, dear. You two run along and have a beautiful morning." She winked at Grissom, "Happy belated birthday. I understand that you are in for a rare treat."
As they left the Chateau and walked to their car Gil commented, "Yesterday while you two chatted you must have told her about your plans."
"I did." She answered, looking at him over the top of the car; before sliding into the driver's seat.
"But, you still won't tell me." He commented settling in himself and reaching for his seatbelt.
"I won't. You don't have long to wait now." Heather assured him as she turned the key in the ignition and began to pull out of the parking lot.
"Why aren't we taking Hank along?"
I don't think Hank would be comfortable going along with us this morning, and that's assuming he'd be allowed to accompany us. I doubt he would."
"Why not?"
"You'll understand soon. I promise."
"How soon?" He inquired eagerly.
She smiled patiently as she focused on her driving. "Ten minutes Gil; do you think you can survive the suspense for ten more minutes?"
He sighed heavily. "I'll try…"
Heather reached out with her right hand and patted his cheek.
Gil sat and watched the road quietly while his mind was anything but. His mind kept asking, 'Where is she taking me?' over and over like a scratched record.
They left the winery, and pulled onto the paved road that had brought them there. Heather drove southeast for only a few moments; snapped on the car's interior dome light then pulled a small computer printed map out from under her visor and glanced at it quickly, carefully keeping an eye on the deserted road ahead. It still wasn't yet six AM. People were, undoubtedly, sleeping in since it was Saturday. As they drove Gil watched the first tell-tale signs of approaching dawn emerge in the sky.
"Want me to navigate?" he offered with a grin reaching out to take the paper from her.
Without making eye contact, she playfully swatted his hand away. She tucked her map away, clicked off the light and a few minutes later spotted a small painted wooden sign on the left side of the road that read 'Blessing Aviation' with an arrow pointing to a gravel path. As she made the turn Gil asked, "Another airplane?"
She gave him an amused smile, "Not quite."
As the drive continued, ahead on the left, Grissom saw an unpaved runway, an old, but well maintained hangar and a small Cessna. A large brightly painted sign on the side of the hangar read 'Blessing Aviation: Flight Lessons Available. Call Us Today.' The corresponding telephone number was neatly stenciled below.
Heather parked in front of the hanger, and smiled at him as she opened her door. "C'mon!" she said nearly giddy with excitement.
Gil got out of the car, looking around for signs of life. There was an old two-tone brown and beige Ford pick-up parked nearby but he neither saw nor heard people. Heather grabbed their jackets from the back seat, and then strode confidently up to the door of the hangar as if the fact that the place seemed to be closed didn't concern her in the least. Gil shrugged off his uncertainty and followed.
As he came up beside her, she handed him his jacket. "Here, put it on so you don't have to carry it. She removed a note from the door; read it and handed it to Gil silently as she slipped into her own jacket, draped the strap on her camera bag over one shoulder, and turned stepping onto a path that led around one side of the hangar.
He fell into step with her as he read the note. 'Ms. Kessler, We're behind the hangar setting things up. Come on back.'
As they came to the rear corner of the hangar, Gil heard the sound of fuel igniting before he saw what awaited him.
A bright red hot air balloon with the word 'Belle' scrawled across the balloon itself in white script, sat tethered to the ground and a group of four men appeared to be preparing it for flight by the illumination of a few very bright exterior lights.
He touched Heather's arm to stop her, and stared dumbfounded when she turned to face him obviously eager for his reaction. "That's a…you're taking me… we're going…"
Her eyes sparkled as she placed a hand against his chest. "Yes we are; as long as it won't scare you."
He stared at her face incredulously. "Scare me; why would that scare me?"
She laughed. "Not everyone wants to float around in the air in a rattan basket that's tethered to a balloon inflated by highly flammable gas. I took a chance that the same part of you that finds rollercoasters so fascinating would enjoy this as well. And I can see by the look on your face I wasn't wrong. Come; let's go find our pilot." She took his hand and they walked together toward the group of men.
As they approached the balloon, an old man in coveralls and rubber soled deck shoes with cropped hair on his head and stubble on his chin the color of cotton moved toward them eyeing Heather with an expression of mild wonder upon his face. "Ms Kessler?" He questioned with a rich Irish brogue
"Yes. Mr. Blessing?"
"Yes Ma'am. Good gracious; When you're daddy called and told me you wanted to go up again, I wasn't sure I'd recognize you after all these years."
"But you did as soon as you saw me." She stated with complete certainty.
"Indeed; I did." He took off heavy work gloves and shook her hand, and then addressed his next comments to Gil. "You must be Dr. Grissom. I'm Alfred Blessing, your pilot. You can call me Al, or Bullet; most folk do."
"Alright Al… and you can call me Gil in place of Dr. Grissom?" He offered, liking the man instantly. "Why are you called Bullet?"
"I'm a retired Navy pilot. 'Bullet' was my call sign." He gestured toward the balloon, "I started flying these things as a hobby when the Navy said I was too old to fly fighter jets anymore; anything to stay in the sky."
The three walked side by side slowly toward the balloon. "I see, and you were saying that you recognized Heather at once?"
"Yes. She was just young lass when last I saw her thought; still had freckles across the bridge of her nose; she did. So I wasn't sure I'd know it was her when I saw her again, but I remember her eyes. They're still as green as the hills of Ireland and every bit as breath-taking."
Heather bowed her head in appreciation as Gil said "They certainly are unforgettable; I'll agree with that. I've yet to find anything that compares personally. I've never seen the hills of Ireland though."
"Well, if you want my unsolicited advice, it'd be a damn bloody shame to die without having seen them. Now, shall, we talk balloons?" He asked placing his hand on the basket's edge.
"Certainly."
"Well first things first; these guys fussing around here are Joe, Frank, and Les. They are my ground crew; and they're here to assist with lift off and touch down. Each member of the crew waved politely and went on quietly with their chores. Second, I always feel ridiculous asking this question, but before we go up; you aren't afraid of heights are ya?"
"No Sir. Do you get a lot of passengers who are?" Gil asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You'd be surprised. People tend to romanticize hot air balloons without really thinking about it first. Just last week I got ten feet off the ground and a woman fainted." The old man shook his head, as Gil stared in disbelieve and laughter bubbled from Heather's throat.
"Was it the shortest balloon flight ever?" Heather asked.
"I doubt it was the shortest on record, but it certainly was the shortest I've ever taken. Before we go up, let's go over the safety rules. I'm the pilot, and you two are the passengers; that means that you don't get to touch the equipment and no leaning over the edge of the gondola in flight. Got it?"
When the old man paused, looking at both of them in turn, Gil replied. "Sounds pretty reasonable, you get people that want to lean out over the edge?"
"Again, you'd be surprised." He looked pointedly at Heather. "During my first year as a balloon pilot, I recall one pretty green eyed dare-devil who wanted to sit on the rim of the gondola and peer down at the lake below us. She thought it was magnificent that she could see the balloon's reflection in the water. Her grandmother kept a firm hand on her shoulder for the rest of the flight."
"Heather… you didn't!" Gil chastised, but his blue eyes twinkled with merriment
"I only wanted to look; and besides, I was eleven. I was fearless then."
Gil's shoulders shook with the force of his laughter. "And what… you aren't now?"
Heather gave him a painfully serious look. "Not entirely, no. There are a few things that frighten me now."
As he stared into her eyes, he took hold of her hand and said to Al. "I'll keep a hold on her just in case she starts feeling adventurous."
Al chuckled. "Most couples do like to hold on to each other in fight. Some seem to forget that I'm even up there with 'em." We'll be up for about an hour. I'm glad to see you both dressed appropriately for flight."
Gil made a face as he looked down at his own clothes. "She packed for me." he said inclining his head toward Heather. I had no idea where we were going this morning; this is pretty much what I always wear. In fact the only difference I can see in her choice of clothing is that she usually wears stilettos."
Al smiled at Heather's walking shoes. "Heels are not good for ballooning." He did not elaborate; just continued on with his next thought. "My wife's sweet rolls and orange juice are already on board, along with a bottle of champagne if you two want to toast the voyage. Feel free to take pictures. Also, I know a little about the history and making of balloons if you want the commentary, but I don't force it on folks. It's fine with me if you'd rather just drift quietly through the air and watch the sunrise."
One of the ground crew members waited until he finished speaking to Heather and Gil, and then say "You're all clear. She's good to go."
Upon hearing this, Al unzipped his coveralls. As he stepped out of them Gil was surprised to find that underneath he was wearing a nice cream colored linen suit with a heavy blazer that had pale brown pinstripes. He slipped his gloves back on, and waved invitingly toward the gondola. "Shall we fly?"
That was all the prompting Heather had been waiting for. As Gil watched, she placed one foot in a toe-hold carved into the side of the basket, and climbed right over the edge as if she done it all her life. He smiled; shaking his head, and followed her lead. They waited for Al to climb in and position himself in the center of the basket beneath the burner. Gil watched curiously as he checked a gauge on a fuel tank, and then placed his hand on a release valve overhead.
The ground crew worked with practiced speed and agility, to release the balloon's tethers that kept them anchored to the ground. When their task was complete, one of the men signaled Al with a stiff salute, which Al promptly returned. He grinned at his passengers as Gil draped a precautionary arm around Heather's shoulders and she, in turn, draped an arm around his waist, but not before she playfully elbowed his ribcage.
"All set?" He flicked the release valve when they both nodded. All three watched the ignition of fuel as a flame shot from the burner with a loud 'whoosh' and rose into the balloon. A second later the gondola left the ground without the slightest upward lurch and rose gently into the air.
Gil watched quietly for several moments as the ground seemed to fall slowly away; then commented, "I expected the initial updraft to have more force."
Al smiled. "Oh it can; if you've got an inexperienced or careless pilot. The balloon becomes buoyant or floats when the air inside the bag becomes warmer than the ambient air. It all depends on how quickly or slowly fuel is released."
Gil asked, "So… if the fuel is released quickly the flame bums hotter, faster, therefore creating a more sudden lift?"
"Exactly, and too much fuel too fast is dangerous. Not to mention that first time passengers tend to get uncomfortable if you ascend too rapidly. A slow moderate rate of ascent is just as important is the proper rate of speed for descent."
"I heard the sound of ignition earlier when we were coming around the side of your hangar."
"Yes we always do a few test fires before a flight just to ensure that everything is in order and functioning properly."
Gil glanced at Heather. He knew she was listening to them talk, but the far away expression on her face said that she only half heard. She'd let go of him, and moved nearer to the edge and was looking out at their surroundings. Gil placed a hand against her back, causing her to look up briefly; distracted by his nearness. She smiled, and slipped the strap of her camera bag over one shoulder and around her neck so that it hung securely across her torso and left her hands free to operate the camera that she then extracted. Grissom guessed they were about a hundred feet off the ground when she started scouting for good photo shots and she smiled and waved him on; indicating that he shouldn't stop talking on her account. She was content to listen quietly while she snapped photos for memorabilia.
"How high can we go up?" he wanted to know; once again turning to Al.
"The highest record achieved was 68,986 feet in November of 2005, but we won't get anywhere near that altitude. We're not equipped to go that high."
"We have no oxygen." Gil supplied the first reason he could think of.
"Right. All non-pressurized aircraft must have oxygen on board to exceed 12,500 feet, but also, this balloon is not geared for the temperature at such a high altitude. We certainly aren't dressed for it either. Balloons carrying passengers such as yourselves rarely exceed an altitude of 3,000 feet."
"Will it be colder at that height?"
"Yes, but not uncomfortably so; you'll be fine especially with your jackets."
Gil thought for a moment. "It doesn't feel windy."
"No, and it won't unless there is a sudden change in altitude. The reason you don't feel the wind is because we are actually in the wind current; not standing outside it. And, it's never a good idea to fly on a windy day. Even if the flight goes well, your chasers may have a long way to drive." Al said this last part with a broad grin.
"Chasers?" Gil inquired.
"The ground crew members who follow the balloon on land, and drive you back to your lift off point." Heather answered for Al, without taking her gaze off the horizon. "Otherwise you might have a long walk back; if you caught a good current."
"How far can we travel?"
Heather answered again. The East Indian man who reached nearly 69,000 feet in 2005 traveled 149 miles and landed in a different country, but we can't get that far in an hour. Or…can we?" She asked Al.
"No we aren't traveling fast enough. At the most we might land thirty or forty miles away from the hangar; but I doubt, based on wind conditions, we'll get half that far."
"What's the highest recorded speed for a balloon?"
"It's 243 miles per hour, but that balloon was specially equipped." Heather supplied this answer as well.
Al laughed, "You want a job as flight commentator?"
Heather smiled sheepishly and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sorry; no. You go on. I'll be quiet now."
Gil had to ask, "How do you know all this anyway?"
"The book I brought with me."
"The one you were reading on my front steps yesterday morning, and last night while I was on the phone with Mom?"
She flashed him a brilliant smile. "Yes."
"I saw that book; it looks like a book of poetry."
She pursed her lips together as if making a decision and then admitted, "I bought it the day before yesterday, took it home; and swapped dust covers with one of my books of poetry, so that you wouldn't see it and ask questions."
"You little sneak!" He complained, but hugged her as he was doing it.
"Well I'm sure Al told me most of this when we went up all those years ago, but I couldn't remember it/"
"Yeah, you were too busy trying to fall out of the basket." Gil accused with laughter in his voice.
"I was not trying to fall out!" She hissed playfully. "I only wanted to see if I really could see the balloon's refection in the water."
Al offered, "We'll pass over Vail Lake in a few minutes. Gil if you'll keep a steady hand on her; she can take a picture; the sun isn't through rising just yet. The refection won't be directly under us."
"Alright." Gil consented; shaking his head. He smiled at Heather and wrapped his arms around her from behind, "If I can read your book when you're done with it, I won't ask any more questions. We'll just float and enjoy the atmosphere."
She flashed him a happy smile. "You've got a deal Dr. Grissom!"
They held on to each other and chatted in hushed voices about things they saw for the rest of the flight. They watched the sun make its debut, pointed out unusually shaped clouds or other things that caught their attention, watched a flock of birds play; looping in the air then diving and chasing after each other. They drank a bit of juice and champagne, and Heather stole a small bite of the sweet roll he ate; informing him when he gave her a look of mild concern, that "on such occasions as this, small indulgences were acceptable.".
Grissom would swear for years to come, that Heather took enough pictures to fill fifty photo exhibits at a museum. The last two she took while descending were of a pair of squirrels chasing each other from one treetop to another and a bell in the tower of a three hundred year old church. As their time afloat neared its end, she leaned back against the wall of his chest and whispered, "Now, aren't you glad you got out of bed this morning?"
He could only think of one truly adequate response. He kissed her passionately until both their lungs were screaming for air, and when the kiss finally broke they found Al; politely pretending to fuss over gauges and valves as if he hadn't witnessed a thing.
When they arrived back at the hangar, they each shook Alfred Blessing's hand and thanked him for the memorable trip. In reply he looked Heather squarely in the eye and said, "Come and see me again, but don't wait thirty-something years between visits this time Lass; I'm an old man now. I probably won't be here that much longer."
Gil assured him that they would be back again and was only mildly surprised to find that his words were not hollow. Somehow he knew with complete certainty that he and Heather would return someday. Heather seemed to sense it too, because, in a rare public display of emotion, she threw her arms around the old man's neck, held him tightly for a moment and whispered, "Count on it, Bullet!"