I’ve never told anyone this story. I mean, it’s really nuts and everything, you know, like maybe even a real crowd pleaser, but when I’m out with the guys, it’s like they’d be like, “You don’t fuck with crazy girls,” you know? They’d be like all judgmental and everything, right? It’s like always saying you’re fine even if you’re not because it’d just make them uncomfortable if you didn’t, but more specific I guess. But really, who wants to be felt sorry for anyway, unless you’re somehow into that, like that by proxy thing or something where you want that kind of attention, but of course none of my friends are like that, even if we tease Dave of being a drama queen sometimes just to get his goat, you know? But he’s really not. Not really.

So instead, I thought I’d write it as a story for this story site, but like I’m not much of a writer, so like I guess I’m phoning it in sort of using that app that like translates speaking to written and then I’ve gone back and fixed things because you know it never quite gets it right, and that’s pretty funny like one of those old Mad Libs or something.

Here goes:

So like I’m flying back home from the Twin Cities, Minneapolis specifically I guess, where’d there’d been this convention for businessmen like me who sell expensive luxury shit, campers and yachts, top of the line kind of things that they like all lump together for some reason, because we’re after the same kind of people or something. I’d been thinking, Minneapolis instead of Vegas? But really it all made sense when I got there being early summer and it ended up really nice there with all the lakes and shit, and to be honest some pretty nice strip joints, but the weather couldn’t have been any more balmy, you know? I’d have baked in Vegas, and any of the big cities can be kind of a drag with all the traffic, so why not Minneapolis. And they had a really huge convention center, so there was that, and the nearby hotels within walking distance were pretty nice.

You know how conventions can be, and I kind of hoped for that, and it wouldn’t have even been cheating because I was between girlfriends, you know, unlike some of the guys I saw hook up, and a couple of the women too for that matter. And it always seemed like they’d hook up together, like some kind of fucked up shared guilt trip or something. Except those guys who went the whole escort route. I’m not like that. I like to think I don’t need to pay for it, you know? Although I suppose lap dances might have some kind of similar compensation, but not really, because you really have to get your dick wet, right? I wasn’t even allowed to touch them.

I did manage to meet someone, but alas it wasn’t to be. I guess she really just liked my company. And maybe I liked hers because when I went from hints to blatantly asking if she wanted to come to my room and she said she liked me but it wasn’t about that, I didn’t immediately cross her off, send her into the no friend zone or whatever, though I have to admit I’d struck out a couple times before I decided to share dinner with her, and then got swept off to do the whole strip club thing later.

Anyway I’m flying home after all that, not a little bit frustrated not getting any at a place almost designed for getting some, and I end up sitting next to this ... It’s not a one word thing describing her. One thing for sure was she exuded easy sex, like she liked it a lot and wanted it with any guy who could handle her. I mean from pantsuits and uniforms of the convention to even g-strings and naked boobs with the caveat that it was all about the tease and no more, she was beyond that. She was like this throwback to the free love hippy girl, all innocence and flowers, but she wasn’t that either. She was way more intense than that. She had this energy, like drag race cars revving up, held back by the signal, in this case being in this public place. I couldn’t tell if she were on drugs or something, but as crazy as she was, it may have been the opposite of that, that she was actually avoiding the ones prescribed to her.

She was blonde but with a hint of red, strawberry blonde I guess you call it, and with her green eyes, I figured the bit of red was honestly done, not shop done or home done, and with her natural qualities beyond that, that hippy sort of thing, I imagine she basically went with what God gave her or whatever. Natural continued with her gingham dress with a tight checkered pattern, the green helping set off both her eyes and the contrast of her hair which probably helped make both more noticeable. The hem fell just to her knees, though that was standing up. Sitting, as of course we did on our hours long flight, it tended to rise higher, to where I could see her strong, healthy if pale thighs. It had some sort of gathering at her abdomen area up to her lower ribs, defining her breasts, which though half covered by her blue denim jacket, it was a bit cool in the plane, the v-neck of the dress revealed cleavage which like her thighs showed them to be pale and of a medium size, her being neither big breasted or flat, but to me a most attractive in between.

She must have noticed my gaze, but didn’t call me on it. If anything it amused her. And after a seemingly welcoming smile, like she approved the company, and introductions, Me Joe, You Penny, we settled back and awaited take-off.

Somehow she got me talking about me, and for some reason I went straight for my frustrations, whether to hope for maybe a pity fuck from her or to at least put the idea of sex in the air, so to speak. Honesty seemed to be the thing with her, and being sly and cagey, all pick up clever seemed not to be.

But I realized the conversation had been all about me, something I avoided when interested in a girl, and I was definitely interested in her. I did know the mating game and had a fair share of girlfriends over the years, few lasting all that long unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, variety being the spice of life and all that, though I did grasp monogamy, serial maybe, but no cheating allowed, and more often than not it was the girl who strayed and ended things. The last one had been the longest since my high school sweetheart, over a year and a half, and was the only one I could think of since that first one where it was a truly mutual decision where neither of us could imagine marriage and kids, at least with each other, so decided on separate ways. To illustrate how mutual it was, unlike quitting only when you’ve got another job lined up, we actually had sex after the break up, more than once, the last time not all that long before my trip to the convention.

Bottom line though, I knew if I had any success with this intense, crazy hot young woman, I’d have to have her take over the conversation.

And holy shit did she ever!

So she like starts with this big grin, and saying she wondered if I’d ever ask. I mean thinking back on it, it seemed like she was interviewing me to get me to talk, but whatever.

And she starts telling me this story about how she’s accompanying this casket to a funeral, and of course I’m like, sorry to hear that. And she’s like telling me she didn’t even know the person. So ... I’m completely flummoxed.

It seems like she heard about this big controversy about this transgender guy, girl originally, who had committed suicide. Not an unusual thing I’ve heard, to which she nodded and said, “That’s the point.”

So I’m wondering what is the point. So she like steals the casket with this girl/guy in it, whose made out to be a girl by the funeral home, thus the controversy. I guess some money crossed hands to make the theft happen. Penny was wealthy, thus her sitting in business class beside me. Both her mom and dad are big movie stars, though long divorced, and the way she described them, not the best of parents. Narcissistic mostly where every mirror passed gets a look.

I ask her, “Won’t this get whoever you bribed in trouble?”

She tells me that’s part of the beauty of it. They’d have resigned in protest anyway.

“They?” I asked.

She tells me to pay attention like I missed something which I didn’t I don’t think, but in a way like I had, you know, all impatient and shit. I had a feeling impatience might have been her number one sin.

She tells me like there’s these two guys, both in the macabre business of painting the faces of corpses, or maybe they call them something else, loved ones like in that sixties movie or something, I don’t know. But they’re both like transvestites or some such, not transsexuals like the one in the coffin. They both like dressing up and putting on make-up and going out and entertaining in their feminine disguises, but they live in different cities, Minneapolis and Tempe where we were flying to. How they found out about each other, I don’t know. Maybe some funeral service convention where they hooked up, or maybe on line where other transvestites chat, maybe even specifically transvestite corpse painters or something. You never know with the internet.

So I’m like so there’s these close friends living in different cities with the same job and the same passion.

Some more of her impatience leaks through or maybe I’m provoking her, poking the particularly hot and sexy bear or something. But she finally gets around to telling me about the deal they had that if they ever had to prepare a transsexual to be the wrong sex, if that happened at the same time in both places, that they’d switch corpses in protest.

I ask her what that had to do with her.

She tells me she’s got this identical twin sister who loves hanging out at these transvestite clubs, likes befriending these people, and they love her because she’s like a star and everything.

And I’m like, aren’t you just the kids of stars?

And there’s the biggest frown she’s had and she tells me to think about having two pretty blonde identical twin girls in Hollywood.

“Like the Olson Twins,” I said.

Shaking her head, she tells me some of that, but mostly like tag team wrestling, they tire out one girl with the situation comedy or the romantic comedy or whatever, and the other gets tagged in to finish things up.

I could tell she hated it.

“It wasn’t the acting so much,” she explained. “It was what type of people it drew. Mom and Dad knew enough. They’d been around since they were young, Dad especially. But it was like it was all part of it, like what you had to go through to get the reward at the end, fame and fortune and all that shit or whatever.”

I could only nod. Such things had been hinted at and had become far better made clear only recently. But like Liberace not being publically announced as queer, but being pretty obvious about it with his flamboyance and feyness, there was much to be speculated about, though the shit the all too young actors went through much less so.

How photogenic Penny may have been I couldn’t say, but she definitely had presence and charisma, so the sourness from her experience as a kid seemed to have kept her off the big screen unlike her parents, or I think I would have probably recognized her, which I hadn’t. Or her sister if they were identical.

I may have lightened things up by remembering I’d played Tiresias in a high school play.

“Hadn’t he been a woman for a while?” Penny remarked.

“Ironic, right?” I grinned.

With that unpleasantness done away with, her big smile reappeared with its hint, or more than a hint, of madness within it. Manic I’d say.

She explained how her sister Pam dialed her up knowing she’d be all in, and of course she was. She also explained their names, Penny and Pam. From the Beatles. “My parents are so fucking clueless,” she said. “They used to call Pam Polly such that I didn’t find out her real name until we were in school together and the teacher calls out her name. But Polythene Pam? She’s so good looking but she looks like a man? And me after a fucking road in England? Or some underage groupie? I mean, ridiculous, right?”

I asked if maybe her sister does look like a man, knowing she frequents trans clubs, and wondering if I might have misspoke but fuck it, you know? But it turns out she does like going in male drag, and even likes chicks with dicks. “But not really,” she added. “People think transvestites are all gay, but they’re not. In fact there’s this Ving Rhames looking tough guy that she fucks who’s all part of this. He’s the driver of the hearse we rented, and maybe some protection if things go south because he’s scary and shit. Sweet guy though, unless you cross him. Had to grow up tough where he grew up.”

She told me they’d be crossing paths in the air, her and her sister and the two corpses, everything timed out so the hearses wouldn’t wait so long for the bodies.

I asked about the names and how they were supposed to be related, and it turns out they just used the other person’s name, you know, who they’re being swapped for, and that it was easy enough just being friends who were helping out with the expense of shipping. But then couldn’t they be traced?

She shrugged, and said if they figured it out, maybe, but then her parents were good for something. It definitely didn’t worry her. More it excited her, and soon she had called for the older steward, a guy who took more interest in me, but then I might have been projecting some bias. Probably not. She had him bring her a blanket which we ended up sharing. The mile high club of course came up, of which she turned out to be a member. And I’m like, in those fucking tiny toilets? For me, being six feet six, they were all the smaller. But she said, a private jet silly, that even had a fucking bed, literally. She laughed remembering the roadie or the guitar tech or maybe both guys, annoying the rock stars, but it seemed her mother had fucked the lead singer when she was young, and he was already old for her!

Anyway, the mile high club for me was out, just a bit too blatant if she were on my lap, but she could reach over and rub my cock, which just in her presence tended towards tumescence, and she’s like smirking and sighing like I’m an idiot and whispers to take the thing out for her, which I do, shifting into facing her direction so that the soon to be over seven inches isn’t tenting the blanket, and while she’s pulling on it with one hand, the other leads me between her thighs where my fingers find dampness at the gusset of her panties. Another impatient sigh has her stop the wanking of my cock and sliding the thong panties off which she giggles at when she places it on my face and I can smell her sweet juices there before she brings it down to aid in the pulling of my cock and presumably to catch the jism. She brings my hand to her mouth and sucks my fingers, turning me on even more because it’s like blowing me which I wish she could on my dick, but they get wet and I can slide them into her wet pussy which hardly needed the wetting for how juicy she is, though dry on wet isn’t really ever a good thing.

So we’re going at it as discretely as possible while she gives half an eye to anyone who might wander by. Luckily business class isn’t full and no one is across the aisle from us. But occasionally she eases off the pulling so I do the same with my hand, though still sliding in and out and up against her g-spot, just not moving my hand as much. Letting the fingers do the work.

Finally we get to kissing for the first time, intense immediately, and her tongue enters my mouth. But I realize it’s mostly to mute her moans, and once they’re done, mouths separate and she moves my hand from inside her. Again she puts my fingers into her mouth, and that brings me close, enough to warn her, and she hands me the panties to finish things and catch the jism which I do, while she brings the wetted hand to her breasts, not burdened by a bra and lets me caress them, again guarding against being seen, and she pulls me into another kiss which shifts us enough to break my contact with the breasts while some guy walks by.

This time the kiss doesn’t end, though it pauses so I can pull my pants together and pocket the panties, but immediately returns to a soft intensity, less pressure of the lips but more passionate somehow. She returns my fingers to her pussy and even, guardedly, after our kiss ended and she gave a thorough glance, pulling her dress from a shoulder and letting my mouth make direct contact with a tit, my lips and tongue eagerly teasing her small nipple to full hardness, but that doesn’t last long and I’m back to kissing her. Meanwhile her hand has returned to rubbing the growing lump at my crotch.

As long as it lasts, her rubbing and me finger fucking and kissing her, long enough for her to cum again, it feels like I’m on the edge of cumming in my pants, and I decide maybe it was enough, her getting off twice, the lovely kisses and so forth, not to leave an embarrassing stain.