Postcards From the Pacific
Chapter 1 - LAX to HNL
Copyright© 2014 by PocketRocket
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1 - LAX to HNL - Sean and Sheila are now married and going on their honeymoon. Sean is taking his first vacation as a chance to show his new bride something that changed him. They have to get there first. Follows right after the series "How [K]itten met [T]eddybear."
Depart: 1:45 a.m. Arrive: 6:25 a.m.
Sun, May 27
Los Angeles, CA (LAX) Honolulu, HI (HNL)
Travel Time:5 hr 40 mn
Aircraft: Boeing 777-200
Fare Class: First (Z)
The crowded economy flight to LA turned out to be nicer than the First Class flight to Hawaii. On the first leg, the narrow seats forced us together. We talked a lot about very little and a little about a lot of different things. It was a comfortable time, even though the physical crowding was inescapable. We even slept, leaning against each other.
The second leg, from LAX to Honolulu, was first class, starting with champagne. There was plenty of room. With the help of the fight attendant, we managed physical intimacy. When the time came, we could make a credible bed out of the seat. It was neither as comfortable or as relaxing as the crowded flight to LA.
The first surprise came after we touched down. As we exited the secure area, there were two signs with our names. I was not surprised to see one, because Helen is that kind of efficient. In that I was correct. Trina Brooks, the travel agent Richards Enterprises uses in Hawaii, came to meet us—at 6:00 AM on a Sunday. Unfortunately, it was to confirm that she had been unable to get the timeshare before Thursday. This happens when you book last minute for a holiday weekend.
The unexpected sign was from Columbia Pictures—again. This time Aaron Aldermann sent us a wedding gift, in the form of a young man named George Kada. His title was Event Facilitator, but he was a bilingual gofer. The studio sent him to provide us with celebrity service. He and Trina practically hissed at each other. In one of the smarter moves of my newly married life, I looked to see what Sheila thought.
Catching my glance, Sheila asked, “Is there any chance of getting a shower and an actual bed for a couple of hours. If not, we will crash in the club.” That brought them both up short and they both recovered together. Trina said, “Let’s get you breakfast, first.” George finished, “We can work on bed and bath while you eat.” They glared at each other, but I knew the look. We would be well taken care of.
There is something about forced intimacy that is memorable. When people tell their stories, stalled elevators and flat tires figure prominently. Our first flight was like that. We were shoe horned into an overbooked flight, but Sean and I had each other for company. It was nice. I even slept a bit. The second flight had many more creature comforts and Sean punched my Mile High Club ticket, but I spent much of the flight on my new laptop. Not a bit of sleep. When we reached Honolulu, it was 6:30 AM local time, but past noon on my body clock.
At the exit, we found two people pleasers waiting. One was a travel agent employed by Richards Enterprises. The other was from Aaron Aldermann and Columbia Pictures. They had that look and neither wore a ring. It made no difference. If either one could get what I wanted, I would let them start an affair in peace. Sean gave me the go ahead, so I went straight to the point.
True to my first read, they answered like twins. Normally, I would bet they would be in bed before midnight, but it was early. My guess was before dinner, then food and more sex. Again, it made no difference. They were motivated to perform.
Breakfast could have been better, but I have had worse. Francine would have been in heaven. It was a buffet located just outside the airport. As we ate, Sean and I practiced nonverbal skills. He agreed that the two would probably leave us to find their own room. Normally, I would have taken Trina to the powder room, but I had studio leverage with George. Sean had similar pull with Trina.
When it came time to head out, I went up with George to pay the bill. As the attendant was swiping the card, I mentioned Aaron Aldermann and stated that I would let him know how grateful I was. Then I inquired about the plans. We would be getting backdoor service at a small hotel. The room was rented, but already empty. Provided we were out by noon, everything was good. I told him that he and Trina should stay close, but [wink][wink] I did not think we would need him for anything. George had the courtesy to blush.
When I checked with Sean, he gave me the go ahead, so we went to the hotel. Before eight o’clock Sean and I were in the shower. He shaved me and I shaved him. When we collapsed on the bed, I could not stay awake long enough to kiss Sean good night. My mistake. Sean kissed me awake to fix the problem.
My honeymoon proved what an asset an experienced friend can be, or not. I had packed my carry-on bag the night before. What I opened bore no similarity. Instead of two basic changes and three sets of underwear, I found one nice outfit, four sets of matched designer underwear, a one piece swimsuit, sunglasses and four smaller bags—a toilet kit, a small drugstore (strictly over-the-counter), condoms and toys, and makeup. On the top was a note: “Get tourist clothes to wear on the plane. FM” You have to love her or strangle her.
We were short on time and I was short on clothes. Sean threw on a pair of shorts and a golf shirt. I held up the slinky black thing that Francine had packed for me. Sean made a valiant effort not to laugh, then gave it up. He made it up to me with a hug, then undid it by watching me put on the lacy bra and panties. There was no point in even asking about the corset. I managed to get the bag closed, with it inside, before there was a knock on the door.
Trina had managed to put most of her look back on. George had not tried. It would have been pointless to try hiding the hickey just behind his jaw. They both saw the direction of my gaze. Trina blushed, but George’s nostrils flared. Interesting. I opened my bag long enough to find an antibiotic ointment. George’s shirt was off before I had a chance to say anything. As I dabbed ointment on his scratches, I whispered in his ear, “Resale shops usually have old silk ties. They have so many uses.” George did not reply, but his breathing quickened.
The irony of him getting some, while I was not getting any—on my honeymoon—was almost painful.
I have had spur of the moment decisions work out well. Hiring CC was one example. Seeing Sheila without die stille Mädchen seemed slightly off. It was already natural to think of them as a unit, though they had only been together a little over a week. It had never been voiced, but I knew that if I wanted a threesome, I had only to ask. Indeed, Jo indicated that CC was more sexually expert than Sheila.
All that was speculation, because I was getting very frustrated. For reasons that were now unclear, I had us flying halfway around the world, past the International Date Line, in just over a day. Nineteen of those twenty six hours were in the air, plus all the time changing planes. It reminded me of the dreaded Space A (available seating) on MilAir (military transport).
Our time in the hotel was inappropriate, illegal, and worth every cent of the bribe. It said interesting things that the room was available this easily on a holiday weekend. Even more interesting, Trina had offered it with no sign of reluctance. It made me wonder how common this sort of thing was in Hawaii—and elsewhere. It would not shock me to learn that it was business as usual, at least for non-Americans.
Regardless, the time had come for us to haul ass, but Sheila had nothing both suitable and clean to wear. Correction, she had a matched set of lacy undergarments. I could loan her a shirt, but my pants would be hopeless. Fortunately, Francine had a suggestion. Sheila put the old dress back on. Without the corset, the fit was snug, which meant the dress had been tailored. I might as well get used to that. In most cases, Sheila and off the rack did not compute and not just because of her measurements.
When Trina and George walked into the room, they both did double takes of Sheila, then a third. Neither chose to speak, but I guessed Trina had first noticed the same dress, then noticed the different fit. George was likely trying to figure out what was different. I told them that we wanted to grab some casual clothes before we hit the airport. George just nodded, but a light went on in Trina’s head. I caught her eye and looked pointedly at my wrist. Even though I wore no watch, she understood my point.
As it happened, we had to go only a block to find a strip mall. Rather than go to the T-shirt store, Sheila and Trina headed for a resale shop. I was a bit worried, because of the schedule, but Sheila clearly knew her way around. In less than 15 minutes, there was a stack of things on the counter, while I searched for my Army Reserve ID. Back in the car, I sat in front with George, so that Sheila and Trina could argue with the luggage.
Rather than park the car, George pulled up in front of the terminal. Trina got out and hugged Sheila. I shook hands with George, then embraced Trina as she wished. While I did so, Sheila walked around to George’s window and handed him a small package rolled in a checkout bag. George flushed, turned white, then blushed for real. What could Sheila find in a consignment store to produce that sort of reaction?
Once we were on our own again, we rushed through the lobby to security check in. We were in luck concerning the length of the lines. Even better, the lines moved quickly. Once through, Sheila and I headed straight for the restrooms. I relieved the hydraulic pressure and made it back out in plenty of time see Sheila emerge. Wow. I was tempted to brag about my girlfriend, because Sheila’s outfit brought out the teenager in me.
In theory, it was a simple print, white and pink flowers on a red background. It was mid length, but I suspected it was a full length Petite or Misses size. It had to be, because the waist fit. This meant that Sheila’s incredible breasts filled the dress to overflowing. Woof. But, that was not all. Completing the outfit were a white handbag and white wedgie sandals. Sheila had her hair pulled over her shoulder, held in place with a fancy clip. It was how I posed it our first meeting. Peeking out of the handbag was the red silk scarf.
Sheila was discretely saying she wanted to give up all control. There was nothing I could do about it, yet, so I made do with a close hug. I whispered in her ear, “It looks like rain. I need to get out the umbrella.” Sheila got a little wet from the reference to the flogger in my umbrella pouch. From that day on, “umbrella” was a loaded term and weather references often carried double meaning.
My time with Sean was regrettably short, but I had other issues. I could tell Francine’s repacking was going to come in handy—the magic bullet dildo jumped to mind—but it left me short a set of clothing. Realizing I could find something at the airport, if necessary, I put on clean lingerie and the wrinkled dress. Temporary measures are rarely comfortable.
Our guides were at the door. My unkempt outfit was the first thing Trina noticed. George was oblivious. He was keen on getting us to the airport, but the three of us overruled him. Having Sean’s backing, without needing to ask for it, was becoming one of my favorite things. George need not have worried. There was a suitable resale shop practically next door.
The Clothes Line was a consignment shop, rather than a thrift store. As soon as I made it through the door, my camera came out. It was not large, but the array of bright colors was breathtaking. Francine would be jealous. It was the sort of place that deserved a whole afternoon, but I could spare 15 minutes tops. Since Trina had come in with me, I sent her to find accessories in white. I then asked the owner what she had for my size, knowing it was unlikely.
I assumed she would try a sarong or similar wrap. To my surprise, Ioki, the owner, took me to the teen section and began pulling out dresses. The second one was perfect. It was a red cotton print, with white lotus and pink hibiscus blossoms. It was thin enough in the waist, always the first problem, with the bosom was designed to be loose and blousey. On me the dress was snug enough in the waist and almost adequate up top. I would have liked it a bit longer. though it was probably intended as full length, it was just past knee length on me. To compensate, the irregular bottom hem made the length look intentional.
I did not make it to the mirror. Trina’s face, when I emerged from the changing room, was sufficient. She had found a nice pair of cork wedge sandals and a white bag with gold fittings. Both hit the floor as she gaped. It is usually nice to get reactions, but this was a bit much. Ioki expressed her amusement with a birdlike twitter, then made another contribution. It was a lovely brass hair clip, lacquered white at the grips. I pulled my mop to one side and let Ioki set the teeth. Only then did I look in the mirror.
I almost did not recognize myself. It is rare that I find anything fitted that fits me. The bustier accentuates the problem. So, I buy tailored. Since I have my clothing made, the styles tend to be uniform and conservative. There was nothing conservative about this outfit. It was flamboyant and sexy—Sean would love it. Out came the camera and Trina took a picture of me with Ioki.
On the way to the register, I passed a rack of mens ties. I grabbed a handful without looking. Some would be for Sean to use later, but a few would go to George. He could let Trina use them, or not. I also resolved to find something to thank Ioki for her expertise. That would be trickier. It was something to think about as I changed my things from one handbag to the other
It was fortunate that I had a puzzle to consider, because it kept me from worrying about Sean’s reaction. George’s was everything I could hope for, but Sean’s reaction made my day. He pursed his lips to whistle. When he pulled me into one of his full body hugs, I smiled at the thought of my Teddybear giving bear hugs. It was so comforting that I almost missed Sean’s reference to the flogger in his umbrella pocket. I would never again think about umbrellas without remembering that moment.
Sometimes you have the best times when you are not having a good time.