Seven and a half thousand meters! And yes, the seatbelt light is still on. Ah Bob, you've still got it!
Bob had set himself a challenge: to calculate the maximum altitude of the plane he was on before it reached that altitude. And it was hard, too; not just a case of looking up the cruising altitude of the plane. This was a short hop flight from Sydney to Coffs Harbour, the airline wouldn't waste fuel getting all the way up to an efficient cruising altitude; it would only spend a few minutes there before having to descend. For one, that wouldn't leave enough time for a pass of the service trolley, and secondly the airline would save fuel on the shorter climb.
Bob wasn't exactly thrilled by this trip, so a good mental exercise spiced it up a bit. Mum had virtually kicked him out of the house. He could still her barbs ringing in his ears.
"You're nineteen years old, for God's sake Bob! The prime of a young man's life and you're spending it playing World of Witchcraft ten hours a day..."
Man she couldn't even get the name right. And it wasn't ten hours a day either; he usually goggled back in for a few hours after she went to sleep.
" ... no job, no girlfriend..."
Geez, Louise! He was going to Uni in March. What's the point in getting a shitty job at McDonalds for a month? And girls? Bob froze whenever a girl talked to him, especially a pretty one. What if she thought I fancied her? That I was trying to chat her up? She'd think I was a creep. It was safer to say nothing.
" ... I'm sticking you on a plane to visit your Grandmother..."
What the fuck?
" ... You're a good looking kid, Bob. Get out and enjoy the nightlife, Coffs is full of young people in summer. Get a tan, smoke some dope if that's what you want to do; just live a little!"
And then the kicker: if ever there was a take-back moment, the one thing you did that you wish you could reverse, it was this one.
"Does Gran have broadband?" he asked.
He'd never seen that look in Mum's eyes before. It wasn't frustration; and not hate, exactly, but it was a close cousin. "No!" she yelled. "No electronics. No laptop. No X Box," she turned on a heel to leave and then: "AND NO PHONE!"
And that, he thought wistfully, is how you come to be sitting on a plane with no calculator and two pages of differential equations and aerodynamics. Still, it wasn't that hard; he had to give himself a time limit to make it interesting.
But I still need to check if I'm right, he thought. The airlines were on top of this stuff, the pilot would be on strict instructions to minimise fuel. He didn't hear any announcement from the pilot earlier, but the flight staff would know. As soon as the seatbelt light went off, he pressed the button for assistance. Shouldn't take long to call a flight attendant, he thought. Only a dozen or so people on the flight. Most of the rows were empty.
Bob looked back down at his calculations, running a few last minute double checks. He had just satisfied himself that all was well when an arm reached above him to switch off the assistance light.
"Good afternoon, Sir. How may I assist you?"
Bob looked up from his work, sweeping a lock of dark hair away from his glasses and ... froze. The flight attendant was young, about his age, and achingly pretty. Not beautiful. Not a sex goddess, but very, very pretty. She was tall, of course, but it's hard to tell when you're sitting; and dressed in the stylish and elegant uniform of the airline. Short black heels, skin toned pantyhose outlining a trim pair of calves, a navy blue pencil skirt curving over her slim hips and finished with a thin red belt, a tightly fitted navy on white polka-dot blouse cut narrow at her trim waist to accentuate the shelf of her small round breasts, and a navy blue silk scarf with red and white detail knotted at her throat, modestly covering the view down her blouse as she leaned over him.
The name tag pinned on the curve above one breast said "Vicky – Trainee." Daring to look at her face – anywhere but those tight, firm breasts – Bob saw delicate features: a small, straight nose, chocolate brown hair tied into a neat pony tail that reached just past the shoulder, and maybe the prettiest olive-green eyes he had seen ... not that he ever looked into girls' eyes.
He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out, just an embarrassing croak.
She smiled down at him; white, straight teeth, soft pink lipstick. What would it be like to kiss those lips?
Seeing that 10C was tongue-tied, Vicky dropped into a squat so that she wouldn't be looming over him. He was cute. Geeky-cute, with thick black hair that hung in locks – not greasy – just a bit tousled; and he had a pencil with a couple of pages of diagrams with lines and curves and numbers and symbols. Nutty professor was her first thought; but he wasn't old enough to be a professional academic, he looked about her age, maybe 20 or 21 at a stretch.
She looked into his eyes, rich and blue with dark lashes behind a pair of black rimmed glasses that were so nerdy they were actually a bit cool. His gaze flicked downwards to her hem, not long enough to linger, but she realised with a thrill that her lap fell in a perfect line to his face and that if she didn't have her knees together he would be able to see her panties.
She felt a little flush rise to her cheeks to match the one blooming on his.
"Hello Sir," she started again, catching his blue eyes and feeling goose bumps rise on her breasts. "Is there anything I can get you? A glass of water, maybe?"
"Hi," he said nervously ... and then nothing else.
Vicky smiled, not just with her mouth but with her whole face. The poor guy was more nervous than she was and this was her first flight out the academy. "Hi, to you too, Sir. I'm Vicky."
"No. I'm sorry," he stammered. "High. How high? The plane?"
Nervous flier, she thought. The plane's nearly empty, I bet I could sit here and hold his hand the whole way. And if he got really nervous, he might need a cuddle, too, she thought mischievously.
"Vixy Vixen!" she heard from behind her in the aisle.
Ah, crap; Celeste. Celeste was the latest in a lifetime of girls who constantly demoted Vicky to the second or third prettiest girl in any given room. Vicky knew she was attractive, but she never seemed to know how to best do her makeup, or her hair, or what clothes to wear. There was always someone; someone with bigger boobs or better hair or nicer clothes. A uniform should have been a saving grace; Vicky thought she looked très élégante in the flattering skirt and blouse, and the scarf made her feel like Audrey Hepburn, but Celeste rocked it. She wore the skirt a little higher, showing more leg and lengthening her narrow waist; she knotted her scarf at the side and popped the top button of her blouse, showing a glimpse of one lacy bra cup when standing and a whole face full when she bent over ... which she only ever did to the cute guys.
Celeste wasn't pretty though, she was gorgeous. She was also the Senior FA on this flight and therefore not just Vicky's boss, but her instructor as well.
"Oh, you little Vixen," she teased charmingly. Vicky touched a scarlet manicured nail to her breast beneath the name tag, capturing the attention of 10C again, his dreamy eyes widening as her breast dimpled beneath her finger.
"Vick-key!" she mouthed in pantomime at the cute passenger, smiling and rolling her olive green eyes at Celeste's adopted nickname. He seemed torn as to whether he should be looking at her breasts (at least the one with the name tag), her eyes, or her lips; and instead cycled between them looking more and more distressed. Finally he lookup myopically up at Celeste and Vicky realised with an uncharacteristic surge of satisfaction that his glasses were for reading; he couldn't focus on Celeste a few paces down the aisle.
"I see you've found BOB," Celeste smiled. "Well done you."
Vicky blushed again. This was probably the first thing you learned in the academy, but not from the instructors: BOB is Best On Board; the cutest, (hopefully) single guy on the plane for whose attentions the girls would all do battle. Vicky never imagined herself buying into it, and now here she was on her first flight, smiling and touching her breasts at a cute guy and getting jealous of the gorgeous Celeste sneaking up behind her.
"How did you know my name?" 10C asked, squinting up at Celeste.
Vicky snorted a little in spite of herself. What a coincidence! BOB's name is actually Bob! She held a hand to her mouth to hide the smile.
"Flight manifest," Celeste trilled, quick as flash. Oh, she's good! "Now, Bob, you gorgeous thing," she said, leaning over Vicky's shoulder and displaying ample cleavage and lacy underwear. "What can the two of us do for you today?"
"Um," he began. "I wanted to, uh, know our... ," he seemed to be searching for an elusive word. " ... How high we are going? Today. In the plane?" He seemed to want to keep talking but had run out of words.
"Oh, you cheeky thing," giggled Celeste. "You're making me all giddy. I've been asked that every week for the last twelve years, but never by BOB!" She flashed her eyes and fanned her breasts, smiling and flattered. "How high do you want to go, handsome? One mile? Or maybe two?" she asked, putting a hand on Vicky's shoulder.
.... There is more of this story ...