I work for one of the country's major auditing firms as an auditor. Companies traded on the stock exchange are required by law to permit annual audits of their books by a so-called "independent" entity to make sure no funny business is going on with financial transactions or inventories. It's a living and not a bad one, for now. Most young accountants with their eyes on future six-figure incomes make their starts doing what I do. I make fifty-five thousand a year but I work my ass off for it, sometimes putting in seventy-hour weeks, rarely putting in less than fifty. It's the rat race at its finest, I won't deny that, but this job does have a few perks to it, one of them being the fact that I'm often required to fly to other cities to examine the books in a client's branch office.

About once every two months or so a team of two of us, usually, but sometimes as many as six board an airplane and fly off to some other part of the country. Our clients always put us up in one of the finest hotels where we're going, with private rooms, room service and bar tabs, top of the line rental cars and, often as not, some sort of entertainment package for our off-time as well. I look forward to these trips for several reasons. For one, they get me out of the day-to-day grind for awhile. They also allow me to see other parts of the country that I never would otherwise have bothered to visit (after all, who in the hell would ever go to Indianapolis unless they were sent there?). And since I'm single, it's nice to sample the nightlife of a strange town. Usually, with a little effort, I manage to get myself laid while on these trips and, let me tell you, it's nice to have a brief sexual encounter with a woman who you'll never see again after you return home.

A few weeks ago one of these trips popped up unexpectedly. Usually we know about them a few months in advance but this time one of our pharmaceutical company clients needed a quick audit for a pending merger. We completed the in-town work in two days but needed to fly to St. Louis to complete the rest. Right away this trip was shaping up to be somewhat of a bummer for me. For one, I'd been to St. Louis before and (no offense to those who live there) it was not one of my favorite cities to spend time in. Also, I was to be teamed with Mark Riley who is perhaps my least favorite co-worker. He is a crude, obnoxious asshole with a host of disgusting habits. I often wondered just how he'd managed to get past our firm's interview board for hiring, that group of senior auditors and managers who were conservative enough to consider Rush Limbaugh to be a flaming left-winger.

Another problem was the flight. Our firm has friendly agreements with several airlines and usually we're given premium seats on morning flights to wherever we're going. This time, however, with the short notice of the trip, all they were able to give us was a flight that left the airport at 8:30 PM and arrived in St. Louis, thanks to the time zone changes, at 2:25 AM. This would not have been so bad except for the fact that we were expected to show up promptly at nine that morning to begin work. Oh well, the firm didn't give a rat's ass if we were fatigued or not; as long as we got our work done and told the clients what they wanted to hear. Such is the life of a junior auditor.

At eight that night, Mark and I, having already checked our bags, boarded the aircraft and went to our assigned seats. We carried our laptop computers and stored them in the overhead bins like good sheep. As other passengers found their seats around us I listened to my partner making crude comments on what he would like to do with every attractive woman (and more than one of the unattractive women) that walked past us. I ignored his words the best I could, though I could not ignore his body odor, which was drifting over me in waves. Apparently Mark had thought it unnecessary to take a shower before flying tonight. I sighed, feeling a headache coming on and bracing myself for an unpleasant flight.

A ray of hope appeared when they sealed up the plane. I looked around and noted that the aircraft was only about two-thirds full. Empty seats were everywhere. Surely the flight crew wouldn't mind if I relocated myself once we were airborne. I could sit blissfully alone, breathe fresh air, have a few beers, and catch up on some work that needed to be done on the computer.

"Ohhh God," Mark muttered beside me as a female flight attendant picked up the microphone in front of us to begin the pre-flight announcement. "Would you look at that bitch? Man, I'd love to bend her over her coffee maker and slam her until her ass bled."

I ignored his comment, not even offering a grunt in reply but I couldn't help but agree that his basic assessment of the attendant was correct. She was a shorthaired brunette with a pretty face. She filled out her red uniform nicely. Her waist was trim, her breasts were alluring in their firmness, and her legs, clad in standard pantyhose, were nicely shaped. I'd always been a leg-man and nothing got my motor running like a nice set clad in pantyhose and peeking out beneath a skirt. I looked at her face again, finding it strangely familiar. I had the impression I'd seen her somewhere before, but I couldn't put my finger on just where. Maybe on another flight? It was possible, I supposed, but that didn't feel right. Oh well, it didn't really matter, did it?

As she mechanically droned through the various safety features and emergency measures, and as she pointed out the emergency exits, her eyes passed over my face, continued on for a second, and then returned, locking gazes with me. She stared at me for a moment, seeming to study my face. A hint of a smile touched her mouth as she chattered. Finally her eyes moved on.

"That cunt was starin' at me!" Mark barked beside me. "Did you see that? Shit on Jesus. I might be addin' me another entry into the mile-high club tonight."

I'd already gotten the run-down on Mark's alleged sexual trysts onboard previous aircraft. Mark was one of those guys who had a pussy story for every occasion, each more fabulous and unbelievable than the last. He'd fucked on airplanes, in elevators, in the bedding department of Macy's, on a train, in a car, in a hot-air balloon, in his cubby at work, at the dentist's office. He even claimed to have fucked on the observation platform of the Empire State Building that last time he'd been to New York. I believed his tales about as much as I believed in Santa Claus.

"Damn, she's a hottie," he said, shaking his head. He turned to me. "I ever tell you about the time I fucked this cunt and her daughter at the same time?"

While he droned on about his imaginary conquest, the flight attendant wrapped up her lecture and took her seat. The plane taxied out to the runway and shortly we were roaring into the sky, leaving Seattle behind us. I didn't even look out the window at the view. That would have involved putting my head closer to Mark and his BO than was prudent.

The second the seat belt lights dinged off, I unbuckled myself and stood up. "Listen Mark," I said, not bothering to sound sincere. "I'm gonna go find myself another seat so I can spread out and get some work done."

He nodded wisely. "Good idea," he said. "I got some work to do, too."

His work, I knew, would be playing Grand Theft Auto on his laptop but that was not my concern. I reached up, retrieved my laptop, and headed down the aisle toward the rear of the plane. Near the tail I struck gold-an entire row of unoccupied seats. I looked for belongings that would indicate an occupant off at the bathroom and saw nothing. I planted myself at the window seat and unfolded the tray before me, unzipping my computer case and beginning to set up. Five minutes later I was lost in a boring maze of financial figures and inventory items.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" a pleasant female voice asked beside me some time later.

I looked up and saw the attendant who had given the pre-flight announcement; the one who had looked familiar to me. Up close I was struck once again both by her attractiveness and her familiarity. "Sure," I answered, offering her a weary smile. "I'll take a Heineken."

She reached into her cart and withdrew one of the green cans while I reached for my money clip. "Do you need a glass?"

"No," I answered, knowing that the 'glass' would actually be a plastic cup. "The can is fine. This isn't exactly a social occasion."

She smiled, looking into my face again as she named the price. While I dug out the proper amount I could sense that she was debating whether or not to say something. Finally, she asked, "I don't suppose that your name is Jeff Ratling?"

I blinked. "As a matter of fact, it is," I told her. "Do we know each other?"

Her smile widened. "I thought it was you," she said warmly. "You went to Jefferson High School in Bellevue, didn't you?"

That rang a bell. She was someone I'd gone to high school with. "Yes," I said, peering into her face to try to get a name to go with the face. Finally it came. "You're Christy..." The last name wouldn't come. It was something common, like Brown or Smith or White.

"Wilson," she provided. "You do remember me. Although it's not Wilson anymore, it's Perkins."

"Ahhh," I said, fully remembering her now. Back in high school she had been one of the elite. Yearbook committee, Future Republicans club, Spirit squad, that sort of thing. Though she hadn't been prom queen she had been a close friend with the girl who had been. She had naturally been in all of the college prep classes, as had I. I, however, had not been one of the elite. I'd been painfully shy back in high school, not even going on an official date until after graduation. I'd watched her and her friends, the cream of high school society, drift through those four years and had been jealous of them. I'd gotten over it of course, as I had my shyness, and gone on with my life. Christy, I remembered, now that she'd provided me with a last name, had dated another one of the elite named David Perkins, an outgoing, personable soul who had been a baseball player. He'd gotten a scholarship to UCLA, I remembered, a baseball scholarship. I couldn't help but feel a strong surge of gloating at the fact that I was a semi-successful accountant on my way up the ladder while a member of the elite, who wouldn't have given me the time of day back in school, was working as a flight attendant. "You must've married David Perkins then."

Her face soured a little. "Yeah," she nodded. "I did. It didn't last too long. He played a year at UCLA and then got picked up by the Dodgers farm team. He hurt his knee the first year and wasn't able to play anymore. Things went downhill from there. We got divorced but I haven't bothered changing my name back."

"No kidding?" I asked, suppressing a smile as I cracked open my beer. "What's he doing these days?"

She shook her head sadly. "He drives a garbage truck for the City of Tacoma."

"No shit?" I couldn't help but blurt, letting a laugh escape. Mr. All-American baseball was driving a garbage truck. It was beautiful.

"Well," she offered cynically. "You know how it is?"

"I guess so," I agreed, sipping my beer. "How long have you worked for the airline?"

"Since the divorce," she told me. "We had to move to Spokane before I could finish college so I didn't quite get my degree." She brightened. "I'm still working on it, though. Should have it by late next year and then I can get out of here."

"What's your major?" I asked.

"Accounting," she told me. "I figure that's a good way to get ahead and I have a knack for numbers. How about you? What are you doing these days?"

"Well," I told her, "believe it or not, I'm an accountant."

"Really?"

I nodded. "An auditor. I work for Brentman-Barry. That's why I'm on the flight tonight. We're going to do the books for one of our clients that has an office in St. Louis."

"Wow," she said. "That's amazing. Listen, do you mind if I come back and talk to you after I finish my drink service? I'd love to get some advice from you since you're in the same field I'm going into."

"Sure," I said, happily. She was, after all, an attractive woman and I was always on the lookout for one of those. Maybe something would develop out of this. "I'll give you the whole run-down on the rough and tumble world of corporate auditing."

She smiled. "Then it's a date," she said, moving off down the aisle with her drink cart.

As she moved away I wondered if maybe this trip wouldn't be such a bummer after all.

She came back about twenty minutes later, sitting in the seat next to me. Her skirt rode up a little as she did this, revealing about half of her thighs to me. They were nice to visualize and I wondered how they would feel. She noticed me looking at her and smiled as I reluctantly turned my gaze away. Our conversation was innocent at first. I told her what the accounting business was like and gave her some pointers on future employment. She seemed interested in what I had to say. After about ten minutes, she stood up again.

"I'd better go do my rounds now," she told me, easing back out into the aisle. "Give me a ring if you need anything." She paused, her gaze drilling into me. "You know how to push the right button don't you?"

I chuckled, catching her flirtatious remark quite well. "Oh yes," I assured her. "I'm very adept at pushing the right button. In fact, I've been told that I push the button extremely well."

"That's good to know," she told me, smiling. With that she sauntered off toward the front of the plane. I watched her ass as she retreated. It was a nice one.

For the next ninety minutes or so we didn't speak much. I continued with my work but found myself unable to concentrate so I eventually packed up my laptop and stowed it away. I alternated between flipping through the in-flight magazine and staring out the window toward the occasional passing lights of some city below. Christy came by twice to get me new cans of beer, each time offering me warm smiles and idle chitchat with an occasional flirtatious remark thrown in. I could tell she wanted me to ask her out; she'd made a point of finding out that I lived in Seattle and telling me that she did also. I figured I probably would before the flight was over. After all, I could fulfill two fantasies at once if I succeeded in laying her; she had been the object of several jack-off fantasies back in high school and she was now a flight attendant, which I often envisioned boffing these days. I wondered if I could get her to wear her attendant outfit if a relationship developed to that point?

My musings were interrupted by her return. She gave me a knowing smile as she sat, uninvited, in the seat next to me once again. She looked as if she knew exactly what I'd been thinking. Hell, she probably did. We picked up our conversation. She reminisced about the good old days of high school fondly. I nodded politely through this. My memories of this time period weren't so fond.

"You were so shy back in school," she told me, scrunching down in the seat a bit, which served to expose a little more of her thighs to my interested gaze. "What happened to you? You seem so outgoing now."

I shrugged, tearing my eyes away from her legs and looking into her brown eyes. "I don't know. Nothing dramatic. I guess in college I just figured out that girls weren't the mysterious entities I used to think they were. Once I started dating regularly it was like a dam broke, I was unstoppable." I chuckled. "I guess I became something of a slut."

She laughed. "A slut huh? And what about now?"

"Oh, I've mellowed out some since then. Not that I'm celibate or anything."