Author’s note: What to expect: This is relatively normal erotica, but involves two characters who are married, but not to one another. Stop reading if this isn’t for you. Thanks! (c) J2Two.

I’ve worked with Andrea for years. Every step of the way, both of us maintained full professionalism and appropriate behavior, even as we evolved into becoming friends and running buddies. We would run together at least once, sometimes twice a week, most of the time with a couple other regular runners in a small club, but sometimes just the two of us. We were acquaintances. I had been to her Wedding. She had given me a ride to pick up my car from the mechanic. We had been pet-sitters for one another. Although we weren’t all over one anothers business, we had a very nice connection.

The background to all of this is relevant because it’s part of my secret identity. I maintain a veneer of professionalism and well behaved normalness at work, around the neighborhood, and in my regular social circle, in spite of the unspeakable things I want to do to my various coworkers, neighbors and friends. And for the most part, the act has worked. Nobody would guess what’s going through my mind. Any misbehaving I may or may not have done in the past (if Congress calls for a hearing, I’ll be pleading the fifth) has happened via personal ads, which helps me maintain the illusion of being so well behaved in my “real” life.

I’ll add that by being able to maintain such an image of casual wholesomeness, I tend to put women at ease. After getting to know me just a bit, they realize that I’m harmless, and they relax. By knowing I won’t make things weird, make an awkward pass at them, or just inadvertently send weird signals, I end up making friends with women, which even if it doesn’t get me in their panties, it does get them relaxed enough to do girl-talk in my presence. It’s a form of intimacy, even if it’s not the see them naked kind, and I enjoy it.

So there we are, two consummate professionals, working well together, getting to know one another’s spouses, occasional dinners together, wholesome events, and no weirdness at all.

And then, one day at work, we discovered that shock of shocks, the company was going to pay for the two of us to attend the annual convention in Orlando. It’s Monday through Wednesday, but due to the scheduling, we have to arrive Sunday evening, and leave Thursday morning. It was going to be fun to get away from the office for a bit, we both agreed. Travel arrangements were made, and the day to depart arrived. Living in different parts of town, we both drove separately and after all the usual airport hassles, we met up inside the boarding area.

“I hate flying!” Andrea declared, walking to the bar. We had a bit of time, and she wasn’t kidding, because she downed two drinks in about five minutes. And she’s tiny. Very delectably tiny, no more than five feet tall and 110 pounds of fit, sexy, toned silky flesh. Two drinks is a lot, I thought to myself, but I knew that she was a calm and collected person, soft spoken, and certainly not a wild drunk to the best of my knowledge.

The time came to board, and she got another drink as soon as we were on the plane. She truly hated flying, so although she drank a lot, it also eventually calmed her down from her flying fears. She got one more drink, and everything settled down, other than her having to get up several times for the bathroom.

After about her third trip, she stumbled a bit getting into her seat, and had to catch her balance by leaning on my shoulder.