Chapter 1

In the winter of 1993 the clouds held the city in a wet embrace as they emptied their contents over the nation's Capitol. A stiff wind jarred the walkway making the line sway in place as we shifted towards the plane. The line went in stops and starts, like so many lines in the airport. I set down my bag and took off my brown leather bomber jacket, knowing there would not be much space once we made it into the plane.

The walkway had windows, opaque with the fall of night and rain. The reflection showed a tall athletic young man, dressed in black, with short brown hair and sharp green eyes staring out of a pale face. Over the past year I had whipped myself into shape physically, but at 19 I was still haunted by the fat boy I had been most of my life.

As I entered the DC-10 a cold breeze slipped by the door bringing in the crisp early evening air, alive with scents and sounds of the tarmac, to the climate controlled, canned air of the plane. The stewardess looked at my ticket stub and directed me to the right aisle of the immense plane. Her forced smile told me that this would be a long flight.

After shuffling through one more line of passengers I finally found myself at my row and now it was my turn to take up the aisle as I manhandled my black nylon duffle bag and coat into an overhead compartment. Then I gratefully took my aisle seat, 28G, and pulled the walkman and a book from my backpack stowed at my feet.

I looked around the cabin as I put a cassette tape into the small stereo. Passengers continued to trickle into the cabin, taking seats, storing luggage, saying stressed hellos to the people they were forced to share the next five hours of their lives with.

A few rows in front of me a short elderly couple, wearing outdated gold leisure suits, struggled with their Christmas shopping bags, trying to put them in an already full compartment. Before the bag could be crushed a young woman behind them offered to put the bags in a compartment two seats up. While his wife sat down, the old man stood watching the young woman put the bags away. He wasn't the only man watching the attractive brunet. As she stretched, my eyes followed her white knit sweater as it rode up her supple body revealing a well tanned, flat stomach, and the lacy top of her black stretch pants.

After the old man said thank you for the tenth time he sat down and I, with most of the men and a few women along the aisle watched the curve of her full ass and the lines of her legs as she stood on the tiptoes of her black cowboy boots to put her own long leather coat in the compartment. I felt my face flush as I watched the way her breasts bounced when she slammed the compartment knowing she must not be wearing a bra.

The plane came alive with movement as people tried to look busy when she turned back down the aisle. I was scanning the pages of my book with one eye and trying to watch her with my other. My heart skipped a beat when she stopped next to me and asked, "Is this twenty-eight H?"

"Uh ... yeah. Sure is." I said turning off the tape and stood up smiling. She brushed by me into her seat by the window, placed her black leather purse between her feet, and finally sat back with a sigh. As I sat back down I could smell the scent of apples from her long, dark hair. A chill ran up my spine. I tried to think of something to start a conversation with, settling on, "Running late?"