Peter Davidson is a former member who left us to pursue his interest in photography some months back. When he approached us with this fine little story asking if he could share it here, we were happy to oblige. Note that Peter is British; American readers need not be alarmed over some of the spellings. So tuck in and enjoy his lovely tale about the pitfalls of social media.

It was good to escape the cold of London. She’d been torn at leaving her husband of one year alone, but she’d agonised not more than a nano-second before accepting the offer.

After all, he’d been away “influencing” on his own, now it was her turn. Her fans demanded it and the Islands of Mauritius awaited. Now, in Paris awaiting a connecting flight, it was if she were single again. 

The woman in her vanity mirror looked back with a frown and the voice inside her head began again. ‘OMG!!! I’m twenty-five!!! I’m soooo old!!!!‘

Quickly replacing the frown with her practised and famously bright smile, she posed, took another snap of herself on her phone, studied the result, used her beauty app to refresh her appearance, maybe lose an extra couple of years and a few more pounds, then tapped out a few words and hit send. Immediately the ‘likes’ started flooding in. The woman in the mirror had lost her frown.

Confidence restored, she exited the airport washroom (executive class of course) and into the premier class lounge area. The airline couldn’t do enough for her and her millions of social media followers, everything was made available to her. She could feel the admiring smiles of those that watched her walk elegantly towards her seat. One or two even took pictures of her on their phones. She smiled indulgently for them.

But one man in particular caught her attention as she sashayed her way back to her seat, noting his strong features, the expensive clothes. His eyes seemed to be focused upon her hips, feeding upon her body as she walked away. She felt that addictive tingle that made her swing those hips just that little bit more.

Immediately the inner debate in her head started up.

‘What the Hell are you doing?’ ’You’re flirting!’ ’You’re a married woman for God’s sake!’ ‘Why on Earth did you do that?’ She closed her eyes for a second, trying to control her wayward body, but her hips ignored her and swung rebelliously. She eventually reached her seat and sat down. And crossed her legs. Slowly, provocatively.

’You’re doing it again! I can’t believe it! Jesus! You’re such a complete tart!’ She opened her book, trying to ignore the voice in her head. It was the damned book’s fault she decided. Even so, she still let her dress ride that little bit higher on her thigh. The desire to look beyond the book’s page, to see if he was still watching, was overwhelming. But she knew he would be. She could feel his eyes devouring her.

’Don’t even think about it!’ Her inner voice screamed again. But think she did.

They were on a long haul flight, any stop-over flirtation was a result of boredom and would end in tears, her mind admonished her. It was just a little game, she countered. Nothing would come of it, no harm done, no rampant mile-high exploits, no grand romance. She wasn’t stupid. 

“Paul’s hand slid along her smooth thigh. Tentatively, almost secretly, he began testing her resolve. His touch sent ripples of electricity sparking through her body and she trembled. Mistaking her reaction, he stopped, uncertain. She leaned into him, sensing his doubt, offering herself, her heart fluttering wildly. She wanted this. Wanted it more than anything”.

“Oh Paul,” she breathed into his ear, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me. And she kissed him, softly at first, then with all the pent-up hunger of her long denied desire.”

She crossed her legs again, this time pulling her skirt back to a more appropriate position. Yes, it was the book’s fault. She’d read those same lines three times now, they were at the top of the page, just below the sightline towards where he was sitting across from her. It wasn’t even a particularly good book. A period bodice ripper. All heaving breasts and desperate fumbling. She saw he was looking at some papers and took the chance to study him over the edge of her book. Mid-twenties, she decided. Maybe thirty. Nice body. With that calm look of confidence that came only with success. Very, very nice body.

‘Damn!’ She screamed in her head as she quickly broke the sudden eye contact and stared angrily at the words in her book. 

‘He caught me checking him out!’ ‘Idiot!’ ‘Now he’ll come over!’ The thought both scared and excited her. ’Damn! He’s coming over! Play it cool! Don’t be an idiot!’ 

Her peripheral vision started to fill with his body as he drew closer. She furiously re-read the same lines again. 

“Oh James,” she breathed into his ear, “You don’t know what you’re doing to me …” And she kissed him, softly at first, then …”

“Hello”

His voice was warm, low, unaccented, educated and seductive. She instantly liked him.

‘All that from just ’hello?’ her mind laughed at her.

She looked up, coolly, trying to look slightly distracted as though she had been deep into the books story line. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, not daring to speak.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to disturb your reading,” he said, softly, in a way that made her heart leap, “but, may I sit here…?”

“Oh! Of course, yes, please, take a seat, I’m not traveling with anyone.”

‘Why did you say that, you idiot!’ Her mind immediately screamed at her.‘Now you’re sounding desperate and pathetic!’

“I mean, help yourself,” she stammered. “To the seat, I mean…”

‘Oh, excellent! Now just jump in the hole you’ve dug yourself, you might as well have ripped your clothes off and screamed “take me now”’

She could feel her facing starting to burn as she began to re-read the same lines for the fifth time.

“Oh James,” she breathed into his ear, “ you …”

“Good book?”

“Erm, well, not really that good …” she began to say, but he interrupted her.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you something …”

Her heart leapt again. She had to stop him before this went too far.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, quickly raising her left hand in front of his face, “I’m married.”

That stopped him dead. She felt immediate disappointment. ‘Well done!’ her mind gloated, ‘you know it’s for the best!’

She watched him as he blinked a couple of times in confusion, then, he once again moved closer, whispering in her ear.

“No, I mean, I watched you walk past … erm, after you left the toilets, to return to your seat …” he paused, his confidence evaporating.

“Yes?” she prompted, surprised at his sudden bashfulness.

“Well, it’s just that …” he shrugged in resignation and moved a little closer, lowering his voice more as he spoke to her.

She didn’t reply to his words as a sudden raging heat rose up from her chest, rushing up along her neck to settle in a glaring hot flush on her cheeks.

“I couldn’t let you leave your chair again,” he said, in embarrassment. “I mean, I had to tell you … you do understand?”

“Yes … yes, erm, thank you.”

“Well, enjoy your book, won’t you?”

She didn’t answer him as he got up and returned to where he had been sitting. She noticed a little girl, perhaps eight years old, watching her carefully from not far away. She was trying desperately not to giggle. Her mother pulled her hand sharply to stop her. Other people, she now noticed, were carefully avoiding eye contact.

‘Oh God …’ she groaned.

Then, as casually as the situation would allow, she reached behind her. It was too awful. He hadn’t been devouring her with his eyes at all. At least not in the way she’d imagined. She felt as if her face could have warmed the winter air of London as she found her skirt, just as he’d said it was, trapped high inside the top of her knickers along with a trail of trapped toilet tissue leading all the way back to the washroom.

Her phone began buzzing angrily in her bag. She didn’t have to look to know the ‘lol’s’ were begining to pour in…