I emerge from the hotel bathroom clad only in a crisp white button down shirt, on loan from my pilot, and I've made the bold decision to button only the bottom three buttons. The rest of my clothes have been sent down to the hotel laundry and won't be back until morning. My panties are in the laundry bag too. Go big or go home, as they say.

I find my pilot standing by the side of the one queen-sized bed occupying the upscale hotel room. She's wearing a white T-shirt with a Green Bay Packers logo over the left breast, and a matching set of green and gold cotton boxer shorts.

"Just need to brush my teeth," she says, and scoots past me to the bathroom.

I begin to wonder if maybe I shouldn't have sent my underwear down to the hotel laundry. But then I catch a glimpse of my pilot by the sink. She's brushing her teeth alright, but she definitely has her gaze turned in my direction. I can almost feel her eyes crawling over my bare legs. I do my best to pretend I don't see her staring, but I find myself grinning and sticking my ass out a little, like a teenager on prom night.

"You look nice," she says, as she exits the bathroom. "I wasn't expecting to have company, so..." She runs her hands over the cotton T-shirt and shorts to illustrate.

"It's okay."

"Seriously, you look nice." My pilot moves a hand to gently caress the small of my back. "Really nice."

I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "Thanks."

"So, I've never ..." She turns toward me, and then pauses. "How do you want to do this?"

We stand there facing each other in that nice hotel room, while my heart thuds in my chest, neither of us apparently confident enough to meet the other's gaze anymore. I decide that somebody needs to act before I completely freak out and lose my nerve. So with one hand around her neck, I pull my pilot in for a long, lingering kiss.