Chapter 8

“Have you packed your bag yourself? Has anybody asked you...” All the usual questions, I was zoning out, and so was she. She looked up at me. I had the merest hint of the spray on me. I’d found that a slight smell helped get very much better service in shops, restaurants, and, hopefully, airports. Airports are horrible places, full of scowling security people and bored, fucked off, airline staff. She was looking at me, kind of confused. “Umm, we have a space in Business, no, no, wait, in First Class. Supposing I bump you to it? It must be lonely travelling on your own.” I was dressed in comfortable chinos and a proper shirt, I don’t like travelling in shorts and a teeshirt and sandals or similar slovenly approach. I even had my jacket on, it made it easier to carry the passport, money, tickets, etc. So I looked okay, respectable, at least.

“Thank you, that would be really nice.” I told Jerry about this when I got back, he might not want to attract hot females, but he could still use light dosage to get good service. So I flew with the rich, the famous, the undeserving bastards who do nothing useful but seem to think it entitles them to top service. The steward was a man. He offered me a drink when I sat down. I was eighteen, the drinking age in this state was twenty one. In cattle class I would have had to accept a coke on a US airline; but in first I could have been ten and still ask for a whisky. Beside me – well, beyond the little barrier that surrounded each convertible bed – was a long legged, blond, model. I knew she was a model because she had no tits. Thin as a famine victim. Not my type. I was getting used to mature women with massive funbags. But in front was Gina Loyalo! The singer and wannabe actor. She had tits, and then some. She had a curvy figure rather than the broomstick thin waif near me. Could I? Should I?

A female steward came down “Anything you want sir? Anything at all?” I was sweating slightly, that increased the evaporation, strengthening the smell. Now she was a looker. Short skirt, pretty blue uniform, perfect teeth.

“Maybe later, thank you.”

“Just ask, anytime.”

The waif was looking at me. Oh fuck! She was getting turned on. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we had a slight delay, we should have refuelled by now, but the refuelling truck has broken down. We expect to be delayed by around an hour whilst this is sorted. Have a nice day!” We were told we could unstrap our belts, move around if we wanted. Waif-girl came over to me. That made the smell stronger of course. I gave in to the inevitable and applied a little more, moved up to the toilets with her following and we occupied just the one stall. She was as thin as I expected. As bony and unattractive as I thought, but a man has to do people favours sometimes. I fucked her to an easy orgasm (she told me that she didn’t take the pill because she didn’t ovulate any more, too thin, you see.) “But I’m three pounds overweight!”

“You are seriously underweight, you’d look much better with more weight. Break the shackles and become the sexy lady you can be.” With that, I pushed her down to a crouch so she could suck my dick clean. We emerged to face the female stewardess, who should have been angry and thrown us off the plane. Instead, she smiled and said “Could you both return to your seats now? I think we may take off soon. Perhaps we could talk later?” this last was to me. I smiled back

Take off is always frenetic, then there is the feeding and watering (“champagne sir?” “oh, thank you.” “Which one would you like, sir?” a choice of champagnes? I liked First Class). The food was fantastic. Even the waif enjoyed her lettuce leaf – why fly first if you aren’t going to eat like a pig? I kept the air vent on to blast the pheromone away and dilute it as much as possible. I would have loved to have Gina Loyalo, but that’s the kind of story the papers might pick up on. ‘Pop star shags teenager on plane’ might raise more questions than would be healthy. But Charlene, the pretty stewardess, that was a different case entirely. I touched her hand as she bustled passed with food trays. “When would be a quiet time?”