Chapter 1

“Come-on-n-n...” Beth wheedled,” I need a First Officer for a charter flight to Vegas.”

Liz was indignant. “But you’re asking me to wear a swimsuit?”

“Sure.” Beth, her Captain, ignored Lizzy’s snotty attitude. “I’ll be fun.”

“Not if my husband finds out. And why me? Why not someone younger?”

Beth sat in the aisle seat of the empty Boeing 737 with her First Officer, Liz Harrington looking down. They were waiting word from the ground crew that the aircraft’s wheel had been replaced.

“Because you’re the best looking co-pilot I got. And you’re almost six-foot tall. With your slim build I know you’ll look smashing in a bikini.”

“Geez, if it wasn’t for the money they’re offering, I’d turn you down, flat. So the charter’s to Las Vegas...”

“Yeah. A Superbowl Weekend for some major player in the computer business. They’ve chartered a plane from Nexus Air and are flying their top executives and their most lucrative clients to the game. I’m getting paid to line up a flight crew, girls who know how to party, is what I’m being told. And I’ve seen the plane. It’s a beauty. An old DC9 which has been completely refurbished with lounge seating, walnut paneling, plush carpets, there’s a music console, an open bar and she seats twenty-five passengers in the most luxurious accommodations you could ever imagine.”

“And the rest of the flight crew?”

“Got everyone except a co-pilot. Georgette helped a lot. She recruited six of her friends.”

“Wait a minute. Georgie ’The Flying Gold-Digger’ helped? Oh great.”

Beth turned defensive. “Well she’s young and got tons of girlfriends.”

“Six of her friends could service the Kansas City Chiefs, without stopping for a breath.”

“Well I guess that’s what these execs are looking for: their criteria for the ideal flight attendant. And the girls get uniforms, too– cute navy-blue bikinis and a matching bolero jacket with silver wings.”

“We don’t get uniforms?”

“Yeah, but ours are red. So you’ll do it?”

“No– if it wasn’t for the friggin’ money. Damn ... Jeff and I could finally put the money down on the house we want. So we fly out of Chicago direct to LAS, overnight it, then straight back?”

“That’s it. And the week after, you move out of that dumpy one-bedroom apartment and start planning a nursery.”

“Okay ... okay, you got me with the nursery.”

“Be sure to shave your legs,” Beth grinned. “And shave whatever else that might be necessary, for a carefree flight.”

“Sheesh,” Liz hissed and turning, she made her way forward to the flight deck.

The flight attendants were loosely formed up in a receiving line along the center of the passenger compartment. They chatted excitedly among themselves while making last minute adjustments to hair and makeup. There were ten of them, now. Ten tall, elegant girls dressed in two piece bathing suits and wearing cute jackets over top. The bolero jackets, without buttons, were open in front and cut short leaving each girl’s midriff exposed.

Liz watched from the corner of the forward bulkhead. “I’ve never seen so much leg gathered in one place.”

“Yeah,” Beth agreed. “Looks like an Olympic Swim Team.”

“Except for the heels.”

“Hmm.” There was a stir at the entry port and Beth looked. “Put on your happy face. Here they come.”

The men started filing through. Most wore expensive suits but neck ties were loose and shirt collars laid open. By the look of them, Beth thought, the partying had already begun, in the airport lounge. She plastered a practiced smile on her face that seemed to say ‘you are the most fascinating man I have ever met’ and extended her hand.

Liz and Beth received each man, laughed at their lousy jokes and suffered through sweaty hands reaching to pat hips or stroke thighs. Beth listened to the yelps of delight as the men rounded the bulkhead and spotted the line-up of bikini-clad girls waiting to introduce themselves.

Liz suddenly bent from the waist and took a step back. Beth turned in time to see a man pull his hand out from beneath Lizzy’s jacket. Liz, with a smile still on her lips, straightened. “Uh-uh.” She wagged a finger. “You get me all horny, I won’t be able to concentrate on flying the plane.” And she forced a laugh.

The guy grinned happily and stepped into the passenger compartment. “He get you?” Beth asked as Liz turned away to pull the cup of her swimsuit top back into place beneath her left breast.

“Yeah, a good one. Damn it.”

“Keep focused on that nursery.”

“The kid will have earned it.” Liz put her public face back on. “You’re the one with the boobs. Why me?”

Beth shrugged. “Some guys would rather a cupcake than a three-layer.” And she turned to greet the last man stepping through.

“Ladies? A pleasure...”

He looked distinguished. Tall, well dressed and, with graying hair defining his age, it was nice to see he had maintained his waistline over the years.

“Welcome aboard,” Beth said, “I’m your pilot.” And she took his hand.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice resonating from the chest. “This is all my fault. I’m Craig Mathews, Vice President of Sales and I came up with this cockamamie scheme. Everybody loved the idea of a Superbowl Weekend, except my wife.” He shrugged, then grinned mischievously. “I think I’ve got all the bases covered but if there are any glitches, come see me, okay?”

“Everything will be fine,” Beth reassured him. “Get everyone buckled in and we’ll be on our way.”

“He looks rather nice.” Liz settled into the co-pilot’s command seat and locked her harness around a tanned tummy.

“Request push back.” Beth was already on the radio to the ground crew and there was a clunk as the tractor rolled the plane from the gate to the sound of cheering in back.

“Yeah, he stood out from the others. Did you pick up on it?”

“Flight 3-38. Runway 9C.”

“Roger, Control. 9C.”

“If I wasn’t married,” Liz said, “I’d be curious. How about you?”

With a hand on the steering tiller, Beth watched Liz notch the throttles forward. The whine of the turbofans increased and the plane leaned on its brakes.

“He’s tall...” Beth adjusted her headset. “Control. Flight 3-38 Heavy. Takeoff roll.”

“Proceed 3-38. You’re cleared.”

“Release brakes.” The DC-9 made a lurch down the center of the runway.

Liz placed her hand on the throttle levers and Beth covered her hand with her own. “Set climb thrust,” she confirmed and together, they moved the levers forward.

“Yeah. And long fingers.” Liz smiled to herself. “You know what that means...”

“That’s just an old schoolgirl fantasy...”

“No. In my younger years, I checked it out with a couple of guys who let me. It was true.”

“Really ... on guys who let you?”

The plane surged. The hatch-marks beneath the wheels blurred, the spooling engines began to clatter and the G-forces pressed them into the command seats.

The raw power was intoxicating, like the rush from a narcotic.

“Eighty knots,” Beth indicated their speed. “Velocity one,” her voice elevated over the whine of the turbo fans. It was the point of no return. At V1 you either flew or ran out of runway.

“Rotate.” Liz called out and she pulled back on the yoke.

“Twenty degrees,” And Beth watched as blue sky suddenly filled the windscreen. At a moment like this, it never failed. Lizzy felt a twinge in her bladder and her nipples hardened. She thought of long fingers. And what they revealed about a man.

“Gear up.”

“Wheels.” Beth replied, and used her right hand to push the lever that would tuck the landing gear up into the fuselage.

The plane became solid with the lift. Beth was watching the air speed. “1-30 knots.”

“1-30,” Liz repeated. “Retracting flaps.”

“Roger, flaps.”

Liz increased thrust and the DC-9 soared out over Lake Michigan. “Twenty-thousand,” Beth announced, her eyes now on the altimeter.

“Roger.” Liz leveled off a little and watched the skyscrapers of Grand Rapids materialize on the misty shoreline to the north. “Extinguish seat-belts.” The plane continued to slowly climb.

“Thirty-thousand feet,” Beth read off the numbers.

“Initiating new course.” Liz punched coordinates into the nav-computer and the automated flight controls took over. The plane banked, made a slow drift to the south and leveled out.

“Sin City, here we come.” And Lizzy lifted bare feet and parked them on the console.

Beth unbuckled. “You want coffee or a cold drink from the bar?”

“You’re going to risk going back there?” Liz cried in mock horror.

“Sure. How bad can it be?”

“Go look. Then come back and let me know. And if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m turning this flying playpen around and sending a mayday to O’Hara. Oh, and if you do make it back, bring me a cold soda water, please.”

Beth shot her a withering look and opened the bulkhead doorway. She was hit with a blast of reggae music, the sound of glassware and the riotous laughter of young women. She looked back at Liz and shrugged.

Beth stepped into the passenger compartment and was immediately struck by the sight of Georgie dancing. She was holding her arms above her head and spinning. She wiggled her hips. It was a sort of belly dance, Beth guessed, which was in no way keeping with the Jamaican music. But the five sales execs who sat with drinks clutched in their fists and watching her hips rotate, didn’t seem to care.

Beth shimmied around Georgette, watching she didn’t catch a flying elbow in the eye, and walked straight into the arms of a man negotiating the aisle with a full drink.

He spied the red bikini. “Well ... well,” the man moved in, “I score the Captain, right? My lucky day.” And his free hand dropped to cup the underside of her left buttock where the high cut bikini panties exposed a goodly expanse of bare skin. He pulled her up by the ass and ground the bulge of his cock into Beth’s pubis bone.

Taken by surprise, Beth managed a smile and tried to wiggle free. “Sorry. B-but I’m on a mission.” She reached to push his arm away. “Maybe we can visit later.” But before she could escape his groping fingers, he got a hold of the waist band of her bikini bottoms and hoisted up. The crotch wedged into the crack and abruptly, her ass felt like a sliced pie.

It felt uncomfortable, like she was wearing a thong. As she pushed from his arms Beth could hear men laughing at the sight of her exposed bottom and the heat came up in her cheeks. She flushed but refused to give the men the satisfaction of watching her reach behind and try to extract the crotch of her bikini bottoms from between her ass cheeks.

She turned, dodged a second man, and suffered the indignation of knowing the men were enjoying the sight of her buttocks rolling against each other as she headed to the circular bar in search of refuge. Finally, safely hidden from men’s eyes, she dipped slightly and pried the material free with quaking fingers.

“Christ,” Beth hissed. “a guy just grabbed my ass.” Tami, a pretty strawberry blonde, was adding ice to whiskey glasses.

“Just your ass?” Tami giggled.

Beth gawked. Tami’s breasts roamed free inside her jacket. With bugged eyes, Beth watched rich brown nipples bobbing in the opening. “God, Tami. What’s happened to the top of your swimsuit?”

Tami, pouring shots of Crown Royal, pointed with her chin. “I sold it. That guy over there offered me a thousand dollars. I couldn’t turn that kind of money down. I got credit card debt. So I took off my top and handed it to him. Can I mix you something?”

Beth glanced over to where a pudgy-looking guy was in an earnest discussion with one of the other girls. He had a hand on the inside of the girl’s knee and Tami’s swimsuit top, with the cups turned inside-out, was hanging from the armrest of his seat.

“A thousand bucks?”

“Yeah. You got nice boobs. Go over and see what he can do for you. You wanna real drink or are you sticking to regulations.”

Beth centered. “I’m rather fond of my pilot’s license. Just a couple of Club Sodas for now.”

“You got it.” And Tami reached to the fridge below the counter.

With her bikini bottoms back in place, Beth prepared to run the gauntlet of inquisitive hands. The passenger compartment, filled with writhing bodies, resembled a pit of snakes but had to be negotiated before she could regain the safety of the flight deck. With a bottle of Club Soda in each hand, she took a breath and charged forward.

Her red bikini stood out like blood on a frightened chicken. Every man noticed and, it seemed, wanted the prize of copping a feel of the Captain. She hadn’t taken a dozen steps before she felt fingers tug at the knotted tie between her shoulder blades. Her tits dropped, the cups dangled, and she was forced to hold her top in place with arms squeezed to her chest.