Hey folks, another year has come and gone. Merry Christmas
My name is Clinton Conners. I'm thirty-five years old and at the beginning of this story, I was confused, and pissed off. Those were, however, the only things I knew about my situation. Of course, there were other things going on in my life, but at the time I was blissfully unaware of how stupid I was.
As I looked around the small airport terminal, I was still wondering how the hell my boss had convinced me to be there at that moment, doing what I was doing.
It was a Fall Friday morning, the day after Thanksgiving, and everyone else who worked for our company, like most of America, had the day off.
Yet, there I stood in that tiny terminal, waiting for an even tinier plane that would take me North into Canada. My goal was to secure a deal with a small Canadian manufacturing concern that might be able to subcontract some of our parts.
The company, Northstar Manufacturing supposedly had extremely new, state of the art CNC and robotics manufacturing systems that were more advanced than anything we had and anything in our area.
From what I'd been able to find out from people who dealt with them, the company had only five or six employees. I wasn't totally sure about how a company that small would be able to handle the volume of parts that we needed. But my boss was adamant that I go up and scope out their operation.
I can still remember the conversation that had pulled me away from the holiday celebration I'd been having the evening before. In a way, I'd been happy for the distraction. The eight of us; me, my wife, Katie, my brother Chuck and his wife, Annie, my parents and Katie's parents, had just begun my mother's favorite topic of discussion.
"So when am I going to get some grand kids out of the two of you?" she'd asked. Her question had prompted Katie's mom to join the topic in full agreement.
Everyone looked at me. The smirk on my father's face told me that he was enjoying the sight of me squirming under my mother's relentless questioning.
Just as I began to open my mouth to shift the blame to Katie. The phone rang. Katie, with nearly preternatural skills dove for it, taking the phone into the kitchen with her. Her supercilious grin let me know that she had purposefully abandoned me to the maternal inquisition.
However, only a few seconds after her triumphant exit, she came back into the room, frowning.
"It's for you, Honey," she said handing me the phone. "It's Frank."
Frank referred to Frank Walters, my boss and the owner of the engineering firm I worked for. Only Frank would call me on a holiday, at dinner time. Frank lived, ate, and breathed work. He had probably worn his way through all of his relatives and had turned to me to continue discussing whatever project he had dreamed of next. For once I was glad he thought of me.
"Yeah Frank. Happy Thanksgiving to you too," I said into the phone.
"Clint, my boy, I've been thinking," he said. "Look I don't want to ruin your Turkey Day, but I need you to come to the office tomorrow morning. I have another brilliant idea." Even as I hung up the phone, I knew that I was going to hate his brilliant idea.
But I used the phone call as a distraction. I pretended that I had to go to our home office to receive an important e-mail. In the privacy of the office, I checked my personal mail and played a few games until I heard the sounds of at least one set of parents preparing to leave.
I came down the stairs just in time to see the door closing behind them and my parents getting ready to leave as well.
"I can't believe he calls you on the holiday," said my dad, "What a slave driver."
"Yeah but someday, I'll take over for him," I said. "He has no sons and his daughter has no interest in the business."
"She'll probably marry someone who will though," said my dad.
"Not many chances of that," I said. "She's pretty firmly on the gay side of things."
"Well maybe her lover will be interested in the business anyway," said dad.
"It won't matter," I countered. "Frank is as homophobic as they come. There is no way he would turn the business over to a lesbian."
"I just hope Frank appreciates all of the dedication and commitment that you show," said my dad finally.
Anyway, this morning I found myself in Frank's office listening as he outlined this little jaunt into Canada. Completion of this trip is going to earn me a bonus and a company-paid trip to Hawaii for Katie and me.
One of the things I liked about Frank was the fact that he asked a lot of his employees, but he gave a lot in return. This trip, for instance. He arranged for me to fly on a small, private, business carrier. It was a first class, luxury jet that carried no more than fifteen passengers at a time. I would avoid long lines at check in. All the seating on the plane was supposedly comfortable and well appointed. And there would be no screaming children or problem passengers to avoid or deal with.
Frank had also arranged for a first-rate hotel room with all of the amenities. He had even told me that I could take Katie along.
Katie had looked at me sympathetically when I told her and just shook her head. "Not gonna happen, Cowboy," she smiled. "I love you to pieces, Honey. And I hate the fact that you have to do this on your break. But just remember, you're working hard now, so later, when we're older, we can have a wonderful early retirement and travel the world together. However, be that as it may, tomorrow is Black Friday. There is no way I'm missing all of the sales to go traipsing around in Canada with you. So call me frequently and get your ass back to me as soon as you can; but I am not going with you."
Thus far the entire day had gone smoothly. It had yet to snow, which was unusual for a November in Michigan. The temperatures were in the upper forties and low fifties, so I was taking advantage of the situation and still driving my Mustang. I had enjoyed the fact that the airline offered indoor, secure parking. It made me feel confident that my Mustang would be safe and looked after while I was away.
I was actually only going to be away for two days, but I still worried about my car. However, with that worry taken care of, all I had to concern myself with was the task ahead of me.
The procedure for boarding the plane was different. I simply showed up at the hangar at the time the plane was supposed to take off. There was no ticket. I simply presented my driver's license as ID. A woman checked my name off of a list, and I got onto the plane.
There were several people already on the plane. Two of them, sitting separately, were your typical dark suited business types. Both already had their heads in their laptops and scarcely looked up as I entered the cabin.
Another pair, were obviously a business man and his secretary. It appeared they were traveling on business. However, their expressions spoke differently.
There was a gray-haired older woman, reading a magazine. And last but not least there were a couple of guys who seemed to be some sort of technicians.
I took a seat in the middle section of the plane, mostly because it was away from everyone else.
A few moments after I sat down, a loud mouth older guy with two younger men, who were obviously his subordinates got on. They talked loudly about every subject that came to mind.
Several of the other passengers looked up at them, but the older guy with them only glared back. He was obviously too rude to take any notice of the discomfort of others around him.
Just as the woman with the list checked over it one more time and made a visual head count, another woman slipped through the doorway. Almost every head snapped around as she came in.
She wasn't anything like Katie. She wasn't anything like any of the girls I had ever dated. Katie was taller, thinner, much more my type. Or so I thought until that moment. But within less than a second of glimpsing that woman, my opinion changed. I also felt a flash of anger.
After seeing her, Katie suddenly seemed, unfinished ... or to frame it in third-grade mathematical concepts, my wife suddenly seemed ... Less than.
Suddenly, Katie's firm pert breasts just weren't enough. A couple of years ago, Katie had gotten a boob job. She didn't do it to make them bigger. Most of the women in Katie's family had those deflated, upturned, flap-Jack breasts. Katie got hers rescaled to make them while not bigger, just fuller.
She needn't have bothered. The woman who'd just gotten on the plane made all of those types and comparisons, moot. Although she was covered all the way up to her neck, there was no disguising the magnitude of the flesh under her blouse.
Although it was clear that she was wearing a bra that had probably been designed by a structural engineer. Her ... You couldn't even call them breasts. The only word that fit was titties. There was almost something primal about them. Breasts just didn't seem applicable. Breasts are those tiny or moderate, protuberances on the front of a typical woman.
These were like tiny planetoids. They had their own gravitational fields that drew the interest of everyone in their vicinity. Anyway, whatever contraption she wore to keep them immovable, was barely functioning. Those tits might be contained, but they would never be restrained.
And there was far more to her than just those boobs. Every part of her body seemed to be fully realized. Below her titties, her belly teased its purpose. Again, she wasn't a waif-like and barren appearing creature. The softness of her belly hinted at its true purpose. Another flash of anger came over me as I imagined my children growing there.
That soft tummy also said a lot about her personality as I imagined it. She seemed to me to be the type of woman who would dig in and actually eat with her man. She was clearly not one of those coltish girls who foolishly subsisted on salads and grass. This was a full-bodied woman who would not only eat with you but would have a beer or two and watch the game with you too.
As she turned looking for a seat, all of the blood in my brain shifted in an instant towards the other head. Her ass was broad and seemed to be missing something. Sure it was plump and round to the point of appearing to be ... Juicy. But it really seemed to me that it needed to have my hands on it ... Constantly! Even as I sat there my hands clawed themselves as I imagined squeezing and caressing that ass.
Her legs, plump and shapely, were meant for more than simple locomotion. They served as the guardians for the Promised Land. In that split second, I saw myself spreading those magnificent legs to get to what I really wanted.
All of this bountiful pulchritude was packed into a woman who was only five foot-two, if that. However, those curves and what they promised paled before her eyes.
Even from across the room, those eyes drew me in. I was locked in her gaze like a moth to a flame. And just as I realized that I should look away; the intimacy of our eye contact was wrong in its intensity; I realized that I had fooled myself.
Every man on that plane and some of the women had also thought that she was looking only at them, alone.
As I sat there dumbfounded, with growing anger, the loud-mouthed guy was already on his feet and moving towards her. His disdainful sneer had morphed into some sort of sickening grin as he approached her. But she was far faster on the uptake than anyone else in the room.
Even as he cleared his throat to speak, she whipped that body around and placed it in the seat beside ... Me? "Is anyone sittin' here?" she asked.
I was simply too stupefied to swear. I quickly shook my head indicating that no one was. Her voice was more musical than anything released since Motown left Detroit. Again, I felt that flash of anger. It wasn't directed at her. Nope the anger was directed at myself.
At thirty-five years old, I had never once before that afternoon, ever considered cheating on Katie. I simply wasn't the kind of man who abandoned his commitments. But from the second she walked on that plane, all of the stupid love songs I had heard throughout my life suddenly made sense.
Even worse was the fact that I was sure that she wasn't feeling any of the turmoil she had erected in my mind, my spirit, and my pants. The loud-mouthed guy slunk back to his minions after giving me a look that could have melted tungsten.
"Do you want the window seat?" I asked, timidly.
"Why, thank you, Honey," she smiled. "I always like to see where I'm going. Aren't you a nice young man."
Before she said that I had never considered her age at all. In that instance, I began to wonder why age even mattered when it came to women. Shit, let's face it ... Hot is hot. And a woman that hot is simply beyond age. However, it did cause me to wonder how old she really was.
Getting back to my magnanimous act; I actually gave her the window seat, so she'd be all mine for the short duration of the flight. If she had been sitting on the aisle, half of the fucking plane could have dropped by to chat with her. But this way, I had her to myself, and things would be far more cozy.
As the plane's engines rose in volume, I looked closely at her. There were all kinds of questions running through my mind. How old was she, actually? What did she do for a living? I saw several small rings on her tiny fingers but not an actual wedding or engagement ring.
At that moment, the ring fastened securely on my own left fourth digit suddenly became heavier and hotter. By concentrating on the ring and the image of Katie, waiting faithfully for me back home, I was able to tear myself away from the woman beside me and pull out my iPad to go over the information I had on the company I was about to visit.
As the plane began to move down the runway, I tried really hard to concentrate on my work and not the woman next to me. I also told myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't so much as touched the woman. I hadn't done anything to hurt Katie. All I'd done was to have a few errant thoughts. My marriage was still as secure as it had been this morning. I hadn't actually betrayed Katie. Besides, what she didn't know would never hurt her.
What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I told myself. It was only a momentary spike of guilt. I'd had them many times over the years. So having one as Kyle rushed swiftly towards me was nothing new. Usually, I handled them by being extra loving towards Clint for the next few days.
Most of the people I know think that Clint and I have the perfect life together. We have all of the trappings of a successful couple. We have a beautiful home. I picked it, and Clint works his ass off to make sure that I have almost everything I need. Someday soon, we'll add a couple of kids to the mix. And in the end, we'll retire rich, fat and happy. Maybe we'll travel and see some of those exotic places everyone always talks about. Or perhaps we'll just continue doing whatever it takes to make us happy.
Most of the people I know would be appalled at what I've been doing. The thought of me having affairs or even one affair would paint me as some sort of scarlet woman. Okay, let's face it; they'd declare me the worst whore to hit our town in this millennium. But in the real world, all of my female friends would almost immediately go after my husband. The single ones would be trying to get into his bed before my smell even left the sheets. The married ones would take just a little bit longer. Most of my male friends would be angling to be the next one to screw me if they could do it without anyone knowing about it. None, would want to marry me, but they'd all want to fuck the slut, just for variety.
Most of the people I know are sheep. They go through life with blinders on. They want all of the things that everyone else wants. There isn't an original thought among them. They live their lives like some old saying. Happy wife, happy life, and all of that bullshit. The problem was that I wasn't fucking happy. Not at all.
I married Clint with the best of expectations. However, somewhere along the lines I just got tired of being number two, shit maybe even number three in his life. Frank was number one. Maybe not even Frank, but just that God Damned job of his.
My husband wasn't devoted to my happiness, as much as he was his job. Giving me all of the things he did was just a by-product of him being successful at his job. But after a while, things no longer made me happy. I craved attention. And if it didn't come from my husband... ? Well, if ya can't be with the one you love... ?
Kyle ran up to me as if he had been dying without me.
"I missed you so badly," he said.
"Oh God, Kyle," I smiled. "You act like I have the only pussy on the planet sometimes.
"As far as I'm concerned, you do," he said. "At least it's the only one I'm interested in. How long do we have?"
"Two days at least," I said, "Possibly three."
We ran up the stairs, with him grabbing at me with every step. When we got to the top, he followed me into the bedroom. We both began shedding clothing with abandon.
He pushed me down onto the bed and penetrated my vagina in one stroke. His brutality stemmed from his overwhelming lust. Kyle was too young to be a skillful lover. But what he lacked in technique, he made up for in strength and stamina.
He drove himself into me over and over until I screamed for release. When we were done, I did the one thing that experience should have taught me against.
I let him talk.
"So is it in the garage?" he asked. All at once, my orgasmic bliss faded, and anger took over.
"No it's not," I snapped. "He drove it to the airport. Does it disappoint you?"
"Well, no," he said. Disappointment colored his words.
"And to think I thought my pussy was what you were after," I said. "But I'm beginning to think you really want to get your hands on my husband's car."
"No," he said quickly. "It would just be a hoot. You know how you keep telling me that he never lets anyone drive it. It would just be one more thing that he's sharing with me without him knowing it."
The phone ringing prevented further conversation.
I snatched my phone off of the table beside the bed. After a brief conversation, I turned to him and told him to get out.
"I thought I was staying for a couple of days," he whined.
"Both my mother and my mother in law are on their way over," I said. "And neither one of them is stupid. I'll call you when I get back. We're going shopping."
He dressed and left without another word. I spent the afternoon spending Clint's money and listening to two old women talking about how much Clint loved me. My guilt seemed to grow with every statement.
I ended up having dinner in town with the moms after our shopping was done. As usual, my guilt drove me to buy more Christmas presents for Clint than I had intended. And I wondered, not for the first time, about our future together.
I guess I really didn't know what I wanted. I had no idea, whether or not I still loved Clint. All I knew was that I loved the lifestyle his job gave us. And whether or not I loved him, I was not ready to give that up. I was very fond of Clint, and I wouldn't hurt him for the world. I wondered again if maybe divorcing him was the kindest thing I could do.
I decided again that divorcing him would be stupid. Neither of us wanted that. Clint loved me with all of his heart. A divorce would only hurt him. And it would hurt me. At thirty five, I was no longer a spring chicken. I had seen how badly most of the women I knew fared during a divorce.
Most of them ended up losing in more ways than one. They ended up being some guy's booty call and losing most of their dignity. They also went from having control of 100% of a man's income, to having control of maybe 40% if they were lucky. And most of them ended up losing their homes and having to get a job.
I felt extremely sorry for the ones who remarried. They usually ended up having to eat a lot of shit just to keep a man who was never as good as their first husband. The only reason they did it was because it was better than being alone.
The ones who never remarried were the worst though. They ended up pathetic, lonely old women with a house full of cats, who dreamed of spending a night babysitting their grand kids.
And even if I did divorce Clint, besides misery, what was in it for me? Kyle? Shit, I'm not that stupid. First off, I didn't love Kyle. I just loved the attention he spent on me. Kyle even at twenty-seven years old, he wasn't fit to carry my husband's jock strap.
Kyle had no job, no prospects and had never gone to college. There was no way he would ever be able to support me. Kyle had aspirations of being the next successful white rapper. I had heard him rap, and he was terrible. I don't know shit about hip hop music, but I know that he sucked. If I was pressed, I could probably beat Kyle in a rap battle.
The second thing to consider is the fact that I'm not stupid. I know that despite his protests, the main reason Kyle is with me is for the money I give him. Sure pussy is pussy, and he takes it, since I give it to him. But Kyle no more loves me than I love him.
I'd been lost in my thoughts for so long that I didn't notice the passing of time. So it came as a surprise when my mother in law mentioned how late it was getting.
"We'd better get you home, so you can be there when Clint calls you, Honey," she said. My mother agreed. Actually, Clint could have and should have called me on my cell phone by then. Even if it was just a quick call to let me know that he'd arrived.
By the time I got home, he still hadn't called me. I began to worry. I went over everything in my mind. We hadn't been arguing. And he had kissed me as if he hadn't wanted us to be apart that morning. He'd even asked me again to go with him.
As far as I knew he wasn't angry with me, so why hadn't he called?
My cell phone rang at that moment, and I answered it quickly.
"Honey, why did it take so long for you to call me? I was worried sick!" I said into the phone.
"You told me not to call you," said Kyle stupidly. "I'm outside freezing my ass off. Can I come back in?"
Clint had never gone this long without talking to me. Especially not if he was out of town. I tried to think of reasons for him not calling me. But I couldn't come up with any. It wasn't like Canada was a third world country without phone service. Had he perhaps found out about Kyle?
I didn't think that was it. Clint was a straight shooter. If he had found out about Kyle, he'd have been destroyed. He would have confronted me, and all hell would have broken loose. He simply loved me too much to play games. The only thing I could think of was that he had immediately gone to meetings with the new client, and they were wining and dining the shit out of him, and he had lost track of time.
I opened the door and called out to Kyle, who was hiding in the bushes outside, shivering and cold. Just as he slipped inside of the door, I noticed my next-door neighbor, Ethel, watching me like a hawk. I would have to think up a good excuse for what she had seen before Clint got back.
Kyle came right into the house and started taking off his clothes. I decided to put away my worries about Clint until the following day. However, somehow, I couldn't manage to enjoy sex with Kyle. In the back of my mind, I knew that something was wrong.
After a while, Kyle gave up and started talking. "So did your husband think that you were upset about him leaving?" he laughed.
"Yep," I said, trying to keep the conversation to a minimum.
"What a sucker," said Kyle.
"Yeah," I echoed. "What a sucker. To think that idiot loves me so much that he hates leaving me. He even begged me to go with him. How stupid does he have to be to love someone like me?"
"Pretty stupid," agreed Kyle, not recognizing the fact that I'd been sarcastic. "He doesn't even realize that you love me, not him. I laugh every time I think of him busting his ass, working all of those hours to buy you stuff and give you money, just so you can give it to me. It's like he pays me to fuck you."
I was so quiet after he said that, that even Kyle knew he had fucked up. "Of course, I'd fuck you for free," he said, trying and failing miserably to fix his screw up.
"Uhm. I'd even pay money to fuck you," he blurted out. "If I had any."
I think both of us knew that was a lie.
"So let me get this straight," I said. "You think; I'm the kind of woman who would take money for having sex? So you think I'm a whore?"
"No, baby. That is not where I was going," he sputtered.
"So where were you going, Kyle?" I asked with the growing realization that I was a fool.
"As soon as I get a record deal, I'm gonna take you away from all of this," he said. "It'll be you and me against the world, baby."
I think it was then that I realized how big a fool we both were. I knew for a fact that if Kyle ever got more than ten dollars to his name, he would immediately spend it on some twenty-year-old black girl without a second to spare. He was a fool for not realizing that I knew him better than he knew himself. At the same time, I was a fool too. I had everything I had ever dreamed of, yet I risked it all every time I let that fool between my legs. In that second, there in the darkness, with this emotionally stunted, permanent man-child in my husband's bed, I finally realized how broken I was.
I finally realized why there was a Kyle. Kyle was only a means for me to get revenge on Clint for not putting me first in his life.
I was too much of a coward to actually confront Clint about it. I didn't want him to quit his job and take another one that would give him more time to spend with me. Especially since it might not pay as well and might end up with me having to get a job myself to help out. Nope, it was far less courageous, but much easier to simply vent my frustration by letting someone else have what Clint thought was his alone.
As the plane took off, fear grabbed me. I had never been on a plane this small before. I usually preferred to drive. I hate flying. And when I absolutely have to fly, it's usually on a large commercial airliner. However, this time it couldn't be helped. I had gone home to visit my last remaining relative, my Aunt Alice. I spent Thanksgiving with her in her retirement home. She didn't look very good. Perhaps I should consider moving her back to Michigan.
My Aunt Alice was also the only one of my relatives who hadn't looked down on me when she found out what I do for a living. My job or career or whatever you want to call it was what had gotten my ass on this tiny plane. I was headed for Toronto for a side gig. For me side gigs were very rare.
I pretty much catered to what I considered a niche market. No one was more shocked than I was that I was able to make a living at it. I guess there's just no accounting for taste, especially in the modern era. Twenty years ago, I'd have had no shot. However, today everyone seemed to not only permit, but to indulge their inner freak.
The plane seemed to shudder and vibrate as it left the ground. There was also a not so subtle metallic clanking sound as we tried to gain altitude. Was that normal? I didn't think so but no one else seemed to notice it. It reminded me of a sound my car made just before it died on me. As my fear ramped up, I grabbed for a life preserver.
I was used to the reaction my body got. It was one of the reasons that I tried very hard not to call attention to myself.
They say that we live in an enlightened age. Women have far more rights than ever. Women can own businesses. And we are very close to making equal pay with men in most industries. In some, we actually make more.
If a woman works for a company and is exposed to leering or any lewd behavior ... Really anything that makes her feel uncomfortable, she can make a report to human resources and charge the company or an individual with sexual harassment.
The funny thing though is that although a woman is safer in the workplace, she can still be accosted and insulted walking down the street in public.
The second I had gotten on the plane, I was under scrutiny. Most of the men there and even a few of the women, stared openly at me. I was used to it from the men, but the women made my skin crawl.
It's been said that women have a sort of radar about their bodies and which parts are being ogled. It seemed like there was at least a dozen small insects crawling over my boobs.
And off to the left, I could feel it. I turned my head and looked into the eyes of a predator. I had met lots of men like him during my lifetime. He was clearly the kind of man who would try to use me like a piece of meat and nothing more. I looked around and found just the opposite.
Directly ahead of me, I looked into the softest, kindest brown eyes I had ever seen. He was staring at me too. But his stare was different. Although it was obvious that he appreciated my body, he felt guilty about it. And there was something else in that stare. It actually felt not only warm, but caring. He was clearly not the kind of man to force himself on me or anyone else.
Even as the predator leapt to his feet, headed in my direction, I moved towards safety and dropped down next to him. Up close, his eyes were even more welcoming. And what he did next couldn't have been better if I'd written the script myself.
He offered me the window seat and put his own body between me and the wolf. I felt as if I was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and protection.
However, as quickly as it began, it ended. It almost seemed as if he was engaged in some sort of inner turmoil. Or maybe he was just shy and didn't want to invade my privacy. I wonder if that was just his style, the errant knight doing drive by rescues and then fleeing. I did have things to think about though, so I let it go.
That lasted all of four seconds before the plane took off, and I heard that clank. I grabbed for his arm, for all I was worth. I wrapped my arm around his. It trapped my arm between his muscular arm and his very toned chest. Unfortunately, it was a ... Tit for tat situation, because his muscular arm was trapped between my soft, fleshy upper arm and my even softer breast.
He realized instantly where his arm was and went stock still. I almost thought his eyes were going to roll back in his head. I was also pretty sure that he got a hard on, and I am somewhat of an expert on that subject.
"I'm scared," I said through chattering teeth. What he did then was amazing. He un-entwined our arms but he took a hold of my hand. His grip was gentle but firm.
"You don't have to be afraid," he said. He had the biggest smile. I was sure that if given the chance, I could get lost in those eyes. But what the hell do I know. At forty-seven years old, I had only been in love once. And he had two left feet.
"Flying is the safest way to travel," he said.
"If that's true, then why is it that when a car crashes, only one or two vehicles are damaged, and most of the people walk away from it?" I asked. "But when a plane crashes everyone on board looks like their bodies went through a coffee grinder, and the damage is spread over three counties!"
"You're exaggerating," he smiled. "Besides we're not going to crash. I think we just hit a few air pockets. It's usually only rough during take-offs and landings. The rest of the flight will be so smooth you won't even realize that..."
"That we're moving through the air at over three hundred miles per hour in a beer can with wings!" I spat. "This thing is made of aluminum. Remember twenty years ago when beer cans were made of steel? Back then you had to be a very strong man to crush a can. Now even little girls can crush one. Why the fuck would they make airplanes out of something that fragile?"
I was so worked up that as I spoke I was allowing my arms to move all over the place. That started my boobs to jiggling and within a few moments every guy around us, especially the wolf and his cubs were staring at me.
"I'm Clint," he said softly. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
"Delilah," I said returning his smile. "I'm gonna hold you to that promise."
He told me about his trip and what he was doing on the flight. He talked about his business and unfortunately ... his wife. As we sat there holding hands while the plane cut through the air like an aluminum missile, all of my fears evaporated. I was no longer afraid, but there was also no way I was about to let go of his hand.
I was living in the moment and there was no way I was going to let him go. Despite what I did for a living, I had always been a really good girl. However, I was prepared to chuck all of that aside. If this man asked me to join the mile high club, I was ready. I didn't care about him being married or anything else.
For more than an hour, I was content just to listen to him talk. He made me laugh, and he made me feel special. But more than anything else, for the first time that I could remember, a man made me feel like more than just a pair of big tits.
The surprising thing was that after we started talking, his eyes never left mine. He mentioned my blue-green eyes several times during the conversation and every time he did I felt a tingle between my legs. I was almost pissed when the stewardess or whatever she called herself, interrupted us to tell us that we were on schedule and should be landing in about another hour.
She told us that there was a storm moving in and even though the plane was flying fast enough to stay ahead of the storm, we'd probably need cold-weather gear during our time in Canada.
I noticed that during the whole time that she spoke to us, her eyes were constantly flitting back and forth between my breasts and his eyes. The whore obviously didn't know whether she wanted to fuck him or me. Shit, maybe she wanted us both.
I dismissed her with one of those rude little hand gestures. It wasn't something that I would normally have done, but I wanted to savor every moment with Clint. Even the air seemed sparkly. It was one of those perfect moments that fate only gives us one or two of in a lifetime. I didn't want to waste it on a flying skank.
And just as she stepped away angrily, the wolf came back.
"Hey, babe, you should check out the view from the other side of the plane," he said.
"Why?" I asked. "Isn't this side of the plane flying over the same ground?"
"Well, uhm, yeah," he said. "But maybe the company would be better."
"I doubt it," I said. "Did you know that my eyes are up here... ? I'm built kind of funny. My eyes are above my neck on my face ... Go figure! Or better yet. Just go back to your seat!"
"She must be a fuckin' lesbian," he spat, to no one on particular.
"Oh good," chirped the stewardess, happily. She winked at me. Before I could express my disgust, there was another one of those clanks that I had heard before. Only this time it was loud enough that everyone heard it. Suddenly, the plane veered radically to the left and dropped a long way before righting itself. But even as the plane struggled to regain its correct attitude and altitude, we heard more pops and bangs, and we noticed out the window that flames were engulfing the jet engine attached to the left wing.
Everything went haywire then. I could barely concentrate on my own thoughts because some silly bitch was screaming at the top of her lungs. It took Clint putting his hands over my mouth for me to realize that it was me, screaming. I climbed over the armrest that separated us until I was in his lap, pressing myself against him for all I was worth. I couldn't help noticing how good he felt.
The plane started to pitch one way and then another and it was clear that we were going down and going down quickly.
I was still screaming my head off, and Clint had stopped listening to me. He was staring at everything around us. He grabbed my hand in what felt like an iron grip and dragged me forward two rows.
"Please sir, sit down," yelled the air skank.
Clint pushed us into the row of seats that he had been staring at. He snatched a couple of pillows from somewhere and bent me forward. "Keep your head down, Delilah," he said calmly. He squeezed my hand and smiled at me. I was terrified. I was about to start screaming again, but he did something that shocked me even more than the fact that I was about to die. He kissed me, and somehow, amid all of the turmoil of rapidly approaching death, my mind locked on that kiss.
Before I could process it though, he threw my head down violently and threw his body on top of mine. The plane hit something and there was a sound like a thousand explosions all wrapped into one. There was also the sound of metal tearing or being ripped apart. The world around us tilted on its axis and the floor was suddenly the ceiling, and then it was the floor again. The seats in front of us were crushed both from the pressure of the impact, and from the pressure of the seats behind us being propelled forward by inertia.
Between the flight crew, the flight attendants and the passengers there were probably twenty people aboard the plane. They all seemed to be screaming at the same time. The final impact was so big that it knocked the breath out of me. And then everything went black.
I woke up in the middle of the night. The room was completely dark. There was a loud noise in the room. It was coming from right next to me. As I threw off the sluggishness and mental fog of sleep, I realized that it was Kyle. He was snoring louder than a lawn mower.
His snoring would have been funny if I didn't have to try to sleep through it. I also realized something else. It has been said that body language is everything. Our involuntary habits and movements are the windows to our true feelings. They are supposedly a better barometer of what we think and feel than what we say and sometimes even more accurate than what we think.
While asleep, Kyle had rolled as far away from me as possible, and I had turned my back to him as well. Clint always seemed to end up with his arms wrapped around me. Even when we were arguing or not speaking to each other, we somehow ended up sleeping in each other's arms. I always felt so safe and so warm when we slept together. No matter what we argued about, it never seemed to be as important after a night of sleeping together.