Chapter 2 - Gaum

Depart: 2:15 pm Sun, May. 27

Arrive: 6:00 pm +1 Day Mon, May. 28
Honolulu, HI (HNL) Guam (GUM)
Travel Time: 7 hr 45 mn
Distance: 3,801 miles
Flight: UA2011
Aircraft: Boeing 777-200
Fare Class: United Business (Z)
Meal: Lunch

Sean:
When we reached the gate, a virtual fistfight was in progress. It was virtual in the sense that both men were battling only with wills and words, but intent to physically harm was clearly stated in their body language. My Japanese is rudimentary, but I gathered that both believed they deserved First-Class seating, but only one could upgrade. I waved an airline employee over.

It took little time to explain that Sheila and I were in first-class but were willing to move down if they could find me an itinerary I liked. He escorted me to the counter, where a senior employee performed her magic on the booking computer. Helen could not find a flight to Kwajalein Atoll, but airline employees have better access. The solution was not perfect—no First Class was available—but we could get to Kwajalein on Monday and depart on Wednesday, skipping Guam on the flight back. The airline would refund the difference between First Class and Economy, pay for the hotel on Kwajalein, plus give us triple miles.

That should have settled it, but I forgot about Japanese honor. Lord, protect us from those saving face. The two Japanese businessmen heard that we were giving up our seats. Accompanied by an airline employee named Kiku to interpret, they insisted on thanking us. Sheila stood two steps back, on my left, with her purse clutched in both hands and eyes down. The two businessmen were too refined to stare, but their eyes flicked to Sheila.

Things started the usual way. They insisted I take their First Class seats. It was possibly a valid offer, allowing both to step down gracefully but I declined. They politely inquired as to my name and occupation. That was when things became bumpy. One of them had done business with Richards Enterprises import/export division, hence on the mailing list for the catalog. It was a small fucking world.

That put our conversation in a wholly different light. I could not deny knowledge, but I hoped it would end there. Things like the catalog were hot topics in parts of Japan but not in airport terminals. No such luck. The one without a catalog offered to take the coach seat in exchange for one. This was a serious offer, but one I would not take. A catalog was a cheap favor that would get me a new business contact and also give me good face.

The PA interrupted the next comment, announcing First Class boarding. Sheila held out her cell phone, with the number displayed large. It was an offer to exchange numbers but since she had not been part of the conversation I needed to introduce her. The question was how—wife or Vice President. I decided wife would be less complicated. Talking directly, I fumbled my way through the introduction.
The older of the two nodded as if this cleared up an inconsistency. In business, a Japanese person of importance talks through subordinates but in family matters the pattern reverses. Revealing Sheila as family clarified an ambiguity.

The younger man was startled. The charitable view is that he assumed Sheila was an employee of such low status that she was not allowed to speak. Since the alternative is much worse he was quite embarrassed and tried to cover with a compliment and a polite show of interest. Sheila did demure very well and she accepted the compliment with a simple nod of the head. Given that she was American, that was close enough. Unfortunately, the polite interest took the form of a question—how long had we been married? I did not have to answer, because Sheila’s color did it for me. Even the older one expressed shock.

That was it. Both firmly insisted on trading their First Class seats for our Economy seats. Honor demanded it. In exchange, I promised to email them each a picture from our wedding. On cue, Sheila brought up the two of us on the merry-go-round. They were bowing happily when they stepped into the boarding queue. We could have gone at any time since we were now back in First Class, but I wanted to give Kiku a gift. Again, Sheila anticipated me. This time she chose the four women, walking arm in arm in their ball gowns. From Kiku’s wide-eyed stare, it was clear she recognized Francine. Then she gasped and covered her open mouth.

I was getting tired of these small-world moments. I was not surprised that Kiku recognized Francine who has a blogger posting her every move, often with pictures. This went deeper. I later found out that the Beacon’s Sunday coverage had been picked up by AP, Reuters, and BBC. Kiku figured out exactly which wedding the pictures were from so things were not going well.

I never had a chance to say anything more. Kiku, in a very American mode, embraced Sheila and dashed off. I could not help but notice how much better Sheila was at running in heels. While we were working through the gate, the story was working through the airline staff. When we boarded, the Lead Flight Attendant helped us to our seats and stowed our baggage.

Champagne arrived without request. All the female attendants felt the need to touch Sheila. The males gave me appraising looks. It had to stop. I motioned the Lead Attendant over. She already understood that things needed to calm down. I cut the apology short and told her that Sheila would be glad to show some photos, but not for a couple of hours. I also told her about the two Japanese men in Economy. She assured me that something would be arranged for their next flight.

Then I settled in for eight hours of flying over water.

Sheila:
Martha once told me of a party she had attended. As a game, the couples told of things that went wrong after their weddings. One teen bride spoke of not drinking all morning, then draining half the communion cup during the Mass. She was plastered at the reception. One man told of skipping carnal relations so that he could catch the Packers vs. Bears playoff game. One college professor told of having their flight grounded by weather and spending the wedding night with nowhere to go. Someone asked what they wound up doing. He sprung the trap, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” His very attractive wife said, “Stan, what did we do?” Face-palm time.

My honeymoon was going to be one of those stories, but I was loving it. Teddybear thought he was in control, but it was an illusion. I trailed along, channeling Christine and that professor’s wife. The idea was to hide in plain sight. I was surprised at how easy it was and how well it looked. Dressed as arm candy, I attracted appraising looks from almost all the men. Sean may not have realized it, but he was in full bear mode.

The situation at the boarding gate was illustrative. Sean heard a couple of Japanese businessmen arguing. I learned later it was about which could get the last First Class upgrade. Sean, always the businessman, went to the counter and offered our seats if the airline could get us where Sean wanted to go. I have great faith in Helen’s abilities, but we were booking late for Memorial Day weekend. She could not make a connection. A young man quickly fixed that.

Sean thought that would end things because he was focused on his deal, not the larger dynamic. I expected ripples and was not disappointed. The two Japanese men were enjoying their argument and did not willingly give it up. When they insisted on thanking us, Sean tried to be obsequious, which is a stretch at best, worse when he gets protective. I found it interesting that one of the Japanese men picked up on it, but the other did not.

An airline representative named Kiku served as a translator. She was fooled by my disguise so Kiku did not understand why Sean was bristling with threats. When Richards Enterprises was mentioned, the effect was dramatic. The younger man did regular business on the import side. His scorn evaporated to the point he was making genuine apologies. The older one looked amused until I came up.

They did not know it was me, of course. As a regular business associate, the younger man received the auction catalog. When it was mentioned, the older man took notice. Sean told me my name would be world-famous, but this was ridiculous. To move things along, I pulled up Sean’s contact information in 18-point. In a bad move on my part, I showed it to them instead of giving it to Sean. That brought me into the conversation. Sean bypassed Kiku and introduced me himself. Even the younger one picked up on his pride.

Sean’s business stature changed the nature of the conversation, but nothing like this. Both the Japanese men reevaluated me. The older one nodded, as if Sean’s protectiveness now made sense. The younger one realized he had come close to stepping into a steaming pile. As he backfilled, he put his foot squarely in the middle of another issue.

It was innocent enough. He paid me a compliment and asked how long we had been married. I could accept the flattery with grace, but how was I to say we had been married less than a day? I felt my color rise, which led to shock from both the businessmen and Kiku. From that point, there was no option. We had to accept our First Class Seats back.

Neither of them would hear of any objection, which I understood. Even a dignitary will defer to a newlywed bride. The problem was how to acceptably say thank you. Simple words were not enough. I nodded deeply to each of them. Being American, my lack of style was forgivable. In this case, the thought counted. Then I asked Kiku to have them call my phone. There was a moment of confusion, but they complied.

Rather than a picture of the ceremony, I chose to send them the two of us in the carousel. That seemed to do the trick. They each bowed two or three times before they moved to board the plane. That left Kiku, who had been a good sport in a difficult position. For her, I chose an image of me with Christine, Siobhan, and Francine. It was another misstep. Sean had warned me my image work would make me famous. He said nothing of my wedding. Kiku recognized Francine and jumped straight to the right conclusion.

She said something that probably translates to, “Oh my G_d.” then grabbed me. I was not prepared for an embrace but allowed her to work through her fluster. At the time, I did not know that the Honolulu paper had run Frank Costello’s story about our wedding. Kiku informed me that she had been following it for days. Oy vey. If she had, then all the girls she had lunch with had too. There was no escaping it.
Sure enough, once we had moved into the aircraft, the attendants rolled out the VIP carpet. Before I was fully settled in, a glass flute of champagne was on my tray. Francine lives for this kind of thing. I was willing to donate my share. Fortunately, Sean was able to calm things down a bit, but I could hear whispers all over First Class.

All things pass. Eventually, we were airborne. That was when I found out about Frank’s article going worldwide. The Honolulu Star-Advertiser was not the only paper. I was asked to sign the London Times and the South China Post as well. When Newsweek and People came out, we went through the whole thing again. Sean was surprised we would make glossy publications. Then Barrons hit the stands, with a new article by Winifred Smith and Michael Gordon. People wanted Sean’s autograph.

That was yet to come. Once we were airborne and meals had been served, Sean took me to the bathroom stall again. Rather than have me against the wall again, Sean pushed down his pants and drawers and then sat on the toilet. Looking up at me, he pulled down my panties and let me step out of them. After a long sniff, they went into his shirt pocket. I pulled up my dress skirt and straddled him. My first small orgasm came before he had penetrated my folds.

Not for the first time, I was glad I had Siobhan for a sister. She and Christine had long IM talks on a range of subjects. One thing they discussed at length was Christine’s version of Latte, which has nothing to do with coffee. The other night, Siobhan’s scholarly toned and clinical descriptions made my pussy moist. This was my chance to try it out. I kissed Sean and told him to leave everything to me.
Lubrication was not an issue. Sean had kept me on sexual edge for days, with only momentary release. Some of that had not been intentional, but the results were what mattered. The other side was that Sean was probably primed to blow. As with many areas of my life, pace was everything.

Sean gasped as I lowered myself onto his erect member. I reveled in the fullness, taking a moment to orient. When my pussy squeezed down, Sean gave another gasp. It was nice to know all the years of vaginal exercises had not been wasted. It was almost as if I had been preparing for this moment all my adult life. Maybe I had been, without realizing it. Whatever. For the first time in weeks, I felt fully prepared.

Now that I had tested the milker, it was time to do the grind. In this, I had an advantage over Christine, in that I had seen a demonstration. It was done fully clothed, in Casual Sex?, an otherwise forgettable romance movie. The actress was Mary Gross, who seemed so girl-next-door. It always gave me hope.
Siobhan’s description was long and involved, but the concept was simple—roll up then roll back. The practical application took some trial and error. Getting the friction right was an issue. If I bore down hard, the sensation was too intense and Sean would come quickly. Letting up entirely, I could maintain the tension, but not increase it. I wanted some variety in the technique, both to give Sean a satisfying experience, but also to get one myself.

I settled into a rhythm. I would roll forward and down while clenching my vagina til Sean’s penis brushed my cervix. That sent stars through my vision and the effect on Sean looked similar. I would release and do two or three cycles before bearing down again. The plan was to get as much of Sean’s milk into my pussy as possible. Hopefully, I could do that without passing out.

As plans go, I have had worse. It did not take long to get both of us breathing heavily. I backed off on the tension, to prolong the build-up. One clench in three became one in five, but Sean started to cool. I clenched twice in a row and almost brought him. I worked through one in four for a while, then brought him to the edge again. One more respite before the big finale.
I rested, doing nothing but grind for several moments. When Sean was as relaxed as he ever was going to get, I bore down hard through a full grind cycle, then stood up enough that only his head was in my tunnel. Clenching my pussy for all it was worth, I dropped my full weight onto his lap. When I hit bottom, Sean’s prick hit my cervix and the airplane disappeared. This was not seeing stars; everything went white. I am almost certain I lost consciousness, at least for a moment.

When I was able to see normally, Sean looked like he had run a 10K in a personal best time. It was certainly how I felt. His arms pulled me close as we both fought for air. Some undefined time later, we kissed and started to untangle. I had only to smooth the dress, though I expected to leak on it when I sat down. Sean took a moment to wipe our combined fluids off his member before he pulled up his pants and refastened his belt. I grabbed a handful of paper towels for later.

We were about to leave the cubical when I noticed my panties in Sean’s shirt pocket. He followed my gaze and pulled the panties out. Smiling, he thrust them most of the way into his pants pocket. That done, he gave me another hug and opened the door—to a cheering gallery.

Sean:
Every time I think I have Sheila figured out, she shocks the hell out of me.

On the flight to Hawaii, we punched our tickets in the Mile High Club. I was not even thinking that way when we boarded the plane for Guam. Instead, I was coping with our sudden celebrity status. First, the Japanese businessmen had a copy of the catalog, then the flight crew went starry-eyed over our wedding. We were even asked for autographs. The big line of reporters outside the gate should have tipped me off, but I don’t think of myself that way. Sheila yes, eventually, but not me.

Once we were in flight, things settled back to routine. Meals were served, books and magazines came out, and movies were started. Without anything specific in mind, I took Sheila to the commode. Once we were inside I dropped my drawers, pulled down her undies, and sniffed them. That was when Sheila took control.

To pull down Sheila’s panties, I parked on the commode. Though I had dropped my pants and shorts already, sitting was purely for convenience. Since I was already seated, Sheila could simply pull up her hem and straddle me. I was OK with that. Sheila let out a throaty sound when she settled onto my cock. So far so good. What next?

Almost as soon as my mind posed the question, Sheila’s impossibly tight pussy squeezed my prick. Again, so far so good. Then, Sheila started moving—without moving. Sitting perfectly straight on my lap, she began to pump on my cock. At the same time, she was gripping and releasing it, without ever letting it go. I thought my previous lovers were skilled, but nothing had ever felt like this.

Describing it takes longer than the reality, but the reality stretched on and on. Sheila could read me like the morning paper and was a mistress of timing. The night before the wedding, I gave her a five-minute time limit. Sheila teased me for about four minutes and fifty seconds, then ended it roughly. This was more in the same vein. Once, twice, three times she brought me to the edge, then backed off. I was panting like the last hundred yards of a close race. She was not much better.

For the ending, Sheila returned to an old method. Breaking her rhythm, she partly stood, til I was almost out, then let gravity do the rest. The sensation as my prick slammed into her end wall pushed me over the edge. I spurted like a fire hose for at least three spasms, maybe more. While this was going on, Sheila’s eyes rolled back, then came back down. She may have lost consciousness for a second. When I put my arms around her, she was limp as a washrag.

When our tiny room stopped moving, I kissed Sheila and helped her stand. We both grabbed paper towels, myself to wipe the cum off my privates. Sheila may have intended her towels to protect her dress. This was wise since I had no intention of returning the panties. Even if I was willing, I doubt Sheila would want to wear anything yet. I opened the door to find we had drawn a crowd.

It was one of those moments you wonder about later. I am sure most of the men were in awe of my prowess. Sheila looked well-fucked and I felt done out. The issue was that I was too tired to care. Sheila, who is intensely private, barely blushed. We staggered back to our seats and collapsed. My one clear recollection is of the lead flight attendant staring, open-mouthed.

I did not sleep so much as pass out. Sometime later, I came to long enough to notice a blanket had been put over me. It was not until we were about an hour from Guam that I finally woke up. Sheila was working away at the laptop I had given her. She paused to blow me a kiss, keeping a little smile as she returned to her work. I tried to do the same, only to find I had no reception. Instead, I went back to sleep, not to be woken til we were entering the final approach.