Chapter 7

"Why not first class?" I grumped out loud for the first time, a couple hours into the flight, my left leg once more dodging the stewardess as she passed by in the aisle, joining the right in pressing against the seat back in front of me which had been in full recline not long after we began the flight.

"You didn't complain before, in our flights into and out of Minneapolis," Helena smirked.

"We got in early enough for me to get the exit row seat," I reminded her. "We barely made the flight this time. And of course this is a much longer flight."

"It could have been worse. I could have joined dad up front."

"True, and thanks." I said.

"Of course I don't need the leg room."

"But he could easily have afforded paying for a first class ticket for me."

"You do know how much more it would have cost?"

"Sure, but..."

"I know," Helena shrugged. "I'm not sure how rich he is. I don't know if anyone knows, even him. But he's never been extravagant. Think of the apartment Betty and Naomi and I shared in the Tenderloin. Think of the Knob Hill suite he lived in, which could have been the penthouse or a much fancier suite in a newer hotel. He could have owned that jet we used to fly to Las Vegas, but he borrowed it from a minion just like he borrowed the mansion we're staying in in Boston. I think he's careful with his money. I don't even think he thinks of it as his, but his minions supporting him, and he never wants to be a burden to them. That there are many of them, quite rich some of them, and they would give him almost anything, especially those touched by us angels and made richer because of it, either recently and directly or generations before, doesn't alter his carefulness. He wants to be a responsible master. And he doesn't want to be ostentatious either."

"That makes sense," I said. "He doesn't want the world to know of his immortality or his power. Still..." I cringed as once more I had to dodge a passing stewardess.

"Poor Joe," Helena smirked. "Perhaps it's his way of encouraging you to become rich."

"Right. As a playwright."

"You're more than just an amateur playwright amongst many. You're my genius, Joe. My exclusive genius. You will be able to afford first class if you want it. The book you and Lindy and Naomi will put together, actually books, of Granddad's life, will provide you. And I bet Steve Schwartz is pursuing turning your play into a movie, and will want you to not only get paid for it, but to write the screenplay with him. That will get you inside Hollywood where they pay way too much for everything. I bet you'll be some kind of writer/director/producer just like you always dreamed to be, perhaps of Granddad's stories."

"Those would have to be animated," I said. "No way would we get top notch actresses to shed their clothes and get fucked, and often, in front of cameras."

"Naomi's going to love that idea," said Helena.

"God, her illustrations turned into animated movies, that would be intense," I murmured.

"Imagine her with a room full of nerdy animation experts transforming her renderings onto film."

"I hear it's mostly men doing that kind of work. I bet she'll find every woman in the field capable of it."

"Nerd orgies," Helena giggled.

"With Naomi as orgy master or mistress," I chuckled.

"Mistress Naomi," Helena contemplated. The way she shivered, she must have shared the S and M imagery that triggered in my head and my loins. "She'd definitely love that."

"It's like she was born for it," I agreed. "I wonder why she's never pursued that road."

"Who said I haven't?" we both sensed Naomi communicate imagisticly via Nick. The image of Naomi in tight leather bearing a whip and a crop abusing a male butt got both of us hot and bothered. I never considered myself the S/M type, but Naomi as Mistress definitely thrilled me.

I told my wife about the surprising affect the image brought me. "Me too," she nodded, reaching for my hardened cock.

"Just a second," I said, standing and reaching into the luggage bin and pulling down a blanket and two pillows.

"Good idea," my wife grinned. Luckily we had the whole row to ourselves. No one claimed the window seat. The seat across the aisle remained vacant as well, and the ones just past it had a couple together sleeping just like most of the rest of the passengers.

I placed one pillow behind my head and the other on my lap. The blanket draped over Helena's body as she curled within the space of two seats. She had worn a skirt, probably anticipating this very thing, and I found her hot pussy soon enough with my fingers, sliding past the gusset of her panties from behind.

Under the protective cover of the pillow, she managed to extricate my cock from my pants, opening both zipper and button, my boxers pushed beneath my balls, pressing them but not uncomfortably. I kept watch for observers, either stewardesses or other passengers passing by, or our neighbors awakening. At the beginning, neither seemed a danger. I did have to tilt my head a little sideways so as to have some peripheral sight of who might come from behind us. Safe, she engulfed my cock.

She giggled. "I can still taste Rosa," she said between mouthings.

"Good?" I asked her.

"Mmm," she replied with her mouth full, nodding on my cock. Both things felt heavenly.

While my pointing and middle finger caressed her clit between them and my thumb dug deep enough to find her g-spot, she buzzed her moans below the edge of my glans. "Just a second," she murmured, interrupting her cocksucking and my caresses by nudging my hand aside and pulling off her panties, at least from one leg. She pulled them up the other leg to encircle the middle of her thigh, keeping it hidden under the blanket.

"Much better," I told her, gaining easier access to her pussy.

"Mmm," she agreed, once more with her mouth full.

"Someone's ... coming," I managed to say so she could hide my cock and opened trousers beneath the pillow and feign sleep before the passenger passed by. I barely said it, because I was near cumming myself. The brief intermission lessened the exquisite pressure of my balls, but just barely, since she managed to fist my cock beneath the pillow.

Once she resumed sucking me, I intensified my digital caresses. Her moans around my cock, and since she had sent me into her throat, it included all of my cock, not only quickened the inevitable, it told me she wasn't far behind.

Unfortunately, or fortunately as it increased the pleasure I felt and would thus make my climax that much better, the woman who had interrupted us did so again when she returned to her seat somewhere behind us after her use of the toilet. I had mostly shied away from making eye contact with her, but when I glanced up, she winked. I guess we weren't all that discreet after all, at least for her. But I didn't care and winked back, causing her to giggle.

When I finally came, and it was as intense as I anticipated, I could barely suppress my groan to a whimper. I had whispered a warning to Helena, and she had extricated the glans from her throat to let my man juice fill her mouth. She trembled as she swallowed, since she too had felt the bliss of orgasm, albeit a small one. My orgasm slowed my attention to her twat, decreasing the extending of hers, and she probably had to temper it anyway to concentrate on swallowing and not choking, although several earlier orgasms that day had depleted my semen.

Coming to my senses after cumming, renewing my attack on her pussy, I finally noticed another wink from a pretty middle aged blonde who had been our stewardess during the flight. I shrugged and grinned widely.

"We seemed to have been found out," I told my wife.

"She doesn't care, does she?" my wife murmured after giving me a last thrilling lick across my pee hole before putting my penis away. Somehow she knew it had been the stewardess.

"If anything, she's amused," I responded.

"Good, then please squeeze my nipples, hard."

I reached down inside her blouse and found her bra loose. My hand replaced her hand. I hadn't even noticed either things, the unhooking of her bra or her abuse of her nipple, and told her so.

"You were busy watching out for us," she said.

As I squeezed and twisted and pulled her nipple and applied even more pressure and friction to her clit and g-spot, I replied, "And it wasn't even necessary."

"Of course it was," she responded within a quiet moan. "It's part of the fun of it, being discreet, doing naughty things that aren't supposed to be allowed."

Moving on to the second nipple, I decided to become daring and leaned down to capture the one I'd just abused between my teeth and pulled, releasing it to slather comforting saliva around it with my tongue and sucking on a third of her breast before repeating the biting and pulling. During the second one, she came, writhing and moaning as quietly as possible. My fingers got wonderfully soaked by her pussy juice.

"Hey," she said looking up towards the aisle.

"Hi," the stewardess answered, blushing, gazing at my wife's plump breasts.

"Guarding us?" I asked.

"Thought I should," she answered in her softly Germanic accent. "No fooling around, you know, but, of course, I have never known anyone getting busted for it. We stewardesses do get a kick out of it. It is a favorite topic."

"I guess we added to the discussions," I smiled.

"Definitely," she smiled back, still blushing.

We exchanged names. Christa was hers.

"Where are you from?" I asked her as my wife reached back to reattach her bra. "Let me, sweetheart," I said to Helena.

"Thanks," Helena said as I pushed my hands beneath the back of her blouse and somehow blindly managed the clasps.

"Amsterdam," the stewardess informed us. "I'm heading home. I suppose you are not ending up there." I heard a sigh within the question.

"Athens," my wife replied. "I'm from a small village a few miles away."

"You have the best of their features," Christa complimented her.

"And you're beautifully Dutch," my wife returned the compliment.

"Thanks, but my mother's from Zurich."

"You spoke German with her growing up?" I asked her.

"Yes," she answered, surprised. "I'm bilingual."

"It's in your accent," I explained.

"Dutch is Germanic, you know," she said.

"How did you know, my husband?" Helena asked me.

"I guess I'm sensitive about that," I responded. "I can tell where people are from from their accents. Mostly American regional accents which I heard over the years growing up in a cosmopolitan city, especially graduate students and professors at my father's school, but also from television I suppose, and living in Hawaii for a few years. I guess being a playwright, I'm a bit of a voyeur, listening in on conversations and the way people talk."

The stewardess looked interested and yet the disappointment remained, faint but there. In a way she spoke it when she asked, "You two are married?"

"This is our honeymoon," Helena told her, and that disappointment became more obvious. I believe my wife saw it too. "How long is our layover?" she asked me.

"Nearly three hours," I responded. This being a red eye, we would arrive in Amsterdam before 6 am, and the flight to Athens wouldn't be off until almost nine.

"Enough time to show us your city?" she asked the stewardess.

"I..." the stewardess hesitated.

"Sweetheart," I said, "she must be exhausted."

"It has been a long day," the pretty blonde said. "But ... I have some days off."

"Really?" my wife smiled. "Days?"

"The long hours get compensated by having three or four days off between stints," the stewardess explained. "Three or four twelve hour days followed by three or four days off."

"So how long has your stint been this time?" asked my wife.

The stewardess sighed. "Four. And it will be three days before my next three day stint."

"I have a better idea then," said Helena. "Instead of giving us a tour of the city, you show us your home. My husband's an excellent masseur, and I'm not half bad myself."

"Better than me," I smiled at her.

"Oh my," said the pretty stewardess.

"You have a car?" asked my sweetheart.

"Yes."

"Good. And we'll hire a cab to pick us up so you don't have to get up, which, I assure you, will be impossible."

"Oh my," Christa repeated. "Perhaps my roommate can take you. She might even be on your flight. She's more on the European flights than the ones to the US like me, and Athens is a common destination."

"Cool," said my wife. "Better sleep, my husband. We have things ... and a certain person ... to do." She winked at both the stewardess and me.

"Oh my," said the stewardess. She left us, blushing again.

The blow job had done wonders for me, to the point that, despite being cramped into a space way too small for my long legs, I drifted into a long nap, only waking with the pilot telling us to ready for landing. I discovered a hand in my lap, taking hold of my morning wood. No blanket hid it, having been shifted aside. It was covered by my pants. "Impressive, isn't it?" she said to the stewardess once more standing beside me.

"Oh my," said Christa, once again blushing.

"Can you meet us outside customs?" my wife asked her.

The middle aged blonde only nodded, but a smile emerged from what had been a more solemn expression. She left us to prepare for landing.

"I think she wanted to get out of our little rendezvous," my wife explained to me. "I had to make sure it wasn't just me she wanted as well. She is sexy, isn't she?"

I nodded. Not only did the woman have a pretty face, but age had given it more character, a warmth developed from being a good person all her life. And her light brown eyes, large and attentive, just in themselves stirred my libido. They spoke of a quality of women which added immensely to the enjoyment of sex with them, being smart enough to know how to have a good time with adventurous imagination. Her lips looked just thick enough to be a pleasure to kiss and stretched wide enough to embrace a fat cock. Cheekbones sat high enough to bring beauty to her prettiness. And all of it framed by long thick dirty blonde hair, carefully coifed to let sexy strands of it out along the edges where a loose braid that fell to the middle of her back hadn't quit captured them.

And she was tall and slender, with strong yet slim legs that had enough fullness in her thighs to reveal strength. And slenderness and fullness continued above, with an ass, which I enjoyed watching sway in front of me as she slid through the narrow aisle, that beckoned hands to embrace them, a little more than could be embraced, expressing musculature keeping age from letting too much sag happen. I imagined softness of skin hiding tautness created by a woman who worked hard at maintaining the tightness of youth. Her breasts, hidden within a simple white blouse and secured by a vest, a uniform so it matched her skirt in color, had enough presence to form two hills. Not small, but nothing wasted either. I knew that they would fill my paws perfectly. And between breasts and ass beckoning hands, came slimness of belly, and like her ass, I imagined a shallow layer of softness holding taut muscles within. Yes, she was scrumptious.

But I had to ask, "Are you sure about this? I mean..."

"I know there's not been a lack of sex for either of us, and variety, and women have been the exclusive domain of that variety, and Christa could be seen as just a new addition, but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been with an older woman?"

I couldn't help laughing. I had been with much older women, including my wife. Centuries older, most of them. Of course none of them looked all that much older. In fact my wife and the twins seemed younger than me. And Eva especially. Most, like Salomé for instance, or Betty, or Rosa, had a maturity about them that gave them a presence which would make me estimate their age at maybe upper twenties or low thirties, where normal humans still retains most of their youthful flesh, though I figured their bodies really were more like women just turning twenty, reaching their apex of womanhood with neither the adolescent development present any more nor the beginning of age and decay. Ever sensitive about her age, but more in a humorous way than taking umbrage with it, my wife slugged my shoulder. And as usual, with her superhuman strength, it hurt.

"Ouch," I said, rubbing the sore spot.

"Baby," she smirked.

"You're stronger than human," I reminded her.

"And have I ever left a bruise?" she pointed out. She never had, though I thought it would every time.

"Whatever," I pouted which made her chuckle. "As far as physical age, no, I haven't. Almost though."

"Almost?"

"Mid thirties?"

"How old do you think she is?"

"Forty? Maybe older?"

"I think she's older," said Helena.

"Like fifty?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm."

"Does that bother you?" asked my wife.

"I think she's incredibly sexy, and a lot of it comes from her age."

"I know. Me too. Isn't that cool?"

"Cool?" I chuckled. "What about you?"

"Oh I've been with many chubby and flabby old gentlemen, but never a woman."

"She's neither."

"Definitely not chubby."

"You think she ... sags?" I asked.

"We'll find out. Still interested?"

"Can't wait."

"Me either."

We did wait, but not as long as we might. Customs went remarkably smoothly, having as much to do with the efficiency at the airport, used to US visitors, as it did with me having the only bag, and only a shoulder bag at that. Eva kept Helena's bag. She wanted to join us, but we thought it would have been too much. Though Christa's focus on my delicious wife told us she liked, and maybe preferred, women, and Eva was at least as delicious as Helena, probably more so to most men and lesbian inclined women, but not to me, we had a short time to enjoy this woman and wanted to get to know her in that short time, and Eva would have lessened that.

"Shouldn't she have that choice?" Eva asked us.

"No," we both said.

"It's okay," Eva shrugged. "I've had the experience. It was fun. But I guess I prefer tight young flesh. Like yours," illustrating with a hug and a kiss, reminding us both of her deliciousness. "I just thought I'd enjoy watching you two seduce her."

"With you there, we wouldn't be the ones seducing," said Helena.

I shook my head. Eva disagreed as well. "Honey, you just don't know how incredibly sexy you are. You're built for sex."

"And you're not?" asked Helena.

"I'm just a hot blonde, built for speed, a hot little sports car, a quick fun ride, but just another ride. You on the other hand are the most luxurious car ever, a plush, well-appointed Cadillac, built for comfort, a memorable ride no one will ever want to end. You are the hottest woman I've known, and I mean intimately, and I also mean literally as well as figuratively. Joe is the luckiest motherfucker that ever lived having you as his wife."

"I know," I said, thanking Eva with my eyes.

She nodded, understanding. "It's true," she said, as much or more to me than to Helena.

By then we were at the separation point, the exit for customs. We waved to our lover and left her to return to Nick.

Disappointment at not seeing Christa when we exited customs ended almost immediately. A cute, petite brunette pixie we recognized as one of her fellow stewardesses came up to us. "You must be Joe and Helena," she smiled, scoping me out more than my wife. "She was right. You are cute," she said to me.

"Thanks," I said.

"And you're gorgeous," she winked at my wife.

"Thanks," my wife responded, "But where's..."

"She'll be here soon. She went to get her car. Come on." The pixie led out outside.

"Minnesota?" I asked her.

"Wisconsin. Milwaukee. You?"

"Minneapolis."

"Cool," she said. "I actually live there, me and my boyfriend."

Remembering Northwest Airlines no longer existing, its former headquarters being in the Twin Cities, I asked, "Is it still a hub?"

"Yeah. Delta kept it with the whole KLM thing sort of continuing. I'll be flying back there soon, after stopping in Boston again."

"Lucky," I said.

"Yeah. I like Denver alright, but I prefer Minneapolis. I just feel more comfortable there."

"And family," I said.

She shrugged, looking a little sad. I didn't pursue it. "That's her," she exclaimed when a newer model pale blue VW beetle parked in front of us. The trunk popped open and I tossed the bag inside.

"Nice meeting you," said the cutie. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

"I hope so," I told her and meant it.

"Be good to Christa. She needs it," she said in parting, waving at us as she strolled away.

"Hey," I said to Christa when my head entered the inner space of her car. I was about to retract the seat to enter the back, when Helena stopped me.

"Up front, big boy," she said, sliding past me and into the back.

"I thought..." I started to say, thinking it would be Helena whom Christa would prefer beside her. Shrugging, I climbed into the shotgun seat. The seat had been pulled back already, and I noticed Christa's seat was also far back. She definitely had the legs for it.

She smiled at me and caressed my knee. "I'm glad you're here," she said.

"Me too," I replied.

"Me three," Helena added from the back. Christa smiled wistfully into her rear view mirror at the gorgeous woman who had become my wife.

As she put the car in gear, a manual, she said, "I'm glad you sat in back. I might have been a little too demonstrative otherwise."

"Your colleague knows you like women," I pointed out to her.

"Sarah? A sweetheart. I do not worry about her. At the airport, I am at work; best to keep things discreet."

"How can it matter whom you prefer?" asked Helena.

"Officially it makes no difference," Christa replied. "At least half the stewards are gay."

"So?" Helena persisted.

"I prefer women. I think I always have. I never understood how much though. Not until I married."

"A pilot?" I guessed.

"How did you know?"

"My husband's a genius."

"I guess. Yes. Navy. American Navy. I met him in Germany while traveling with my girlfriend. He got both of us. We come as a pair."

"Literally," I said.

"Hunh? Yes. I suppose so," she chuckled. "Actually exactly. We could have been sisters, twins since we are the same age. She had blue eyes though. And she tended to attract more than me."

"Now that I doubt," I said.

"She had it upstairs," Christa explained, cupping a b-cup breast, easier seen since she had gotten rid of her vest. "I had it downstairs. Not that she didn't have a nice ass, just smaller you know."

"So it depended on if the guy was an ass man or a tit man," I suggested.

"Most go for the tits, Joe, but her ass was pretty nice, kind of like a model's ass, you know? Anyway, we liked teasing, but rarely went past that. Only when a guy got me hot did we go further."

"And the pilot made you hot."

"Yes. Tall and handsome and blond, a true teutonic gem, you know, like the ideal of the Nazi's. I guess it is sort of ironic that we met in Germany. Except he was sort of a Nazi."

"How so?" asked Helena.

"He was an arrogant prick. Surgeons and pilots are the worst. And those lesser than him, at least to him, were pretty much scum. If they had darker skin..."

"Or Jewish?" asked Helena.

"Yes. Blacks and Jews. The uppity ones he called them. He especially loathed them."

"And you married this asshole?" I asked her.

"I was a silly thing when young, and completely shallow. Like I said, I prefer women. It's how my girlfriend and I met, because I caught her gazing at me when we were just teens, and she had the same heat in it as I did. But with men, they had to be absolutely gorgeous to attract my attention. And only if they fit that criteria did I want them. Only then did they make me horny, you know? And every time pretty much, my girlfriend was there."

"Sharing him?" I asked.

"I shared them more. Unlike me, my girlfriend was never horny for cock, unless it was my strap-on. She'd let them eat her and play with her tits, but it was me they banged."

"Doesn't sound like a recipe for a long lasting relationship," Helena commented. "So what was different about the asshole pilot?"

"I thought I struck gold with him. I could only get hot from a gorgeous man, and he was the most gorgeous man I ever met. And he had a gorgeous cock too, one that filled me perfectly. He had everything I needed to satisfy my lust for men, so why look anymore?"

"And your girlfriend?" I asked.

"She was there from the start. We decided on a game, like we often did teasing men. We decided to play it straight. It would be our gorgeous pilot that turned us gay, you know? And it worked. I mean if he knew I was actually mostly lesbian, he would have freaked out."

"Only after he pranced around like a peacock thinking his great manliness changed you," Helena suggested.

"Probably. I never saw that part. Probably because I never told him."

"Ah," I said.

"Yes. He's still a pilot. Flies for KLM. Got me my job."

"What would he do if he knew?" asked Helena.

"Everything he could to humiliate me."

"And his wife?" I asked her.

"Fuck Joe," she exclaimed.

"What?" Helena asked.

"The asshole married her girlfriend," I explained.

"Why?" asked Helena.

"She's the one that insisted I marry him. She thought we could emigrate to the US together, that she could claim to be my sister and move in and we could keep together. I had my doubts. I started getting misgivings. I mean, the guy is an asshole, right?" We laughed. "But then I got pregnant."

"You weren't protected?" asked Helena.

"I was. The pill. I thought I took it every day. We liked getting drunk and fucking. I drank a lot then."

"It probably helped," I said.

"Probably. Again I didn't realize why, or that I needed my girlfriend there to enjoy sex with him. Because she always was, you know? But my girlfriend insisted I'd gotten too drunk to remember taking them. Thing is, I'm pretty sure I did."

"Your girlfriend replaced your pills?" I asked.

"Probably. Maybe, after all these years, I'll ask her again and she'll admit it."

"You still see her?" asked Helena.

"She's my soul mate, Helena."

"That I understand," Helena smiled.

"Me too," I said.

"Thought you might," Christa smiled much sadder.

"So what happened?" I asked. "Why is she stuck with him and not you?"

"A couple things," Christa explained. "First, I finally realized I couldn't stand fucking him, even as beautiful as he is, without another woman there, especially my girlfriend. We had a honeymoon which basically consisted of him showing me off to all the officers he knew in all the navycamps he'd been to, which in itself wasn't bad because they tended mostly to be in pretty nice places and I got to see a great deal of America. But my girlfriend wasn't there, and when he got the urge, he found a not very receptive female in bed with him.

"Secondly, I lost the baby. I don't think I helped the situation, since I got drunk far more than I should."

"Meaning more than once," said Helena.

"Much more. It might have been better if I miscarried. But the baby came out when it was supposed to, but deformed. I think if the poor thing hadn't died soon after, my asshole ex would have found a way to make sure he was dead."

"You tried again?" I asked.

"We did. I lost it. It fucked up my uterus."

"And that was it?" asked Helena.

"Pretty much. I realized it was why he married me. I was his baby machine. My girlfriend took my place and succeeded when I failed."

"How can she stand him" asked Helena.

"This is the point of it all. The man travels. He's a pilot. In the Navy he'd be away for months. As a civilian, he'd be home maybe a couple days a week and usually less. Probably with mistresses or whores on the side, but we don't care. That's how we coped. That's how she still copes. And I visit when I can. And we make love. She has a nanny who she trusts, after firing several appointed by the asshole. They're lovers too. Somehow they've kept the kids unaware as have I.

"Do you know how I know she's my soul mate? And do you know when I realized I'd grown up? She changed. She got dumpy, fat, stretch marks, the whole nine yards. But I still love her. I still think she's beautiful. And her kids are sweet, because we got sweet. No more games except with the asshole. Life's too short to be sulky and sour. I convinced her, and we're both good people, at least I like to think we are."

"We think you are," said Helena and I nodded.

"You know what's wrong with sex on a plane?" Christa asked us.