American Airlines Cockpit
by Porn Review Blog Chicago was receding quickly in the distance, its grid of
streetlights fading to a glow of patterned city blocks against the
deep black stillness of the lake. We climbed higher, gaining altitude
on the first leg of our trip across the Atlantic, bound for England at
Christmastime, December 1992.
She sat rigid beside me, hands clenched, knuckles white
against the metal of the armrests. We’d had a drink while waiting in
the airport, and she’d just ordered another from our flight attendant
in his white and blue uniform, slightly rumpled. Cute, though.
Maybe if she got sufficiently drunk she’d relax enough to survive this
trip. I was matching her drink for drink…they were free, after all,
and we were on vacation.
“How are you doing?”
“Not too bad. You?”
“I’m fine. You know I love flying.”
“I hate you.”
She didn’t mean it, of course. Eight years of friendship
couldn’t be cancelled out by a little acrophobia. But I resolved to
be a little more careful what I said. Time was passing much too
slowly.
Three hours later; almost halfway to England. I, for one, was
thoroughly bored and that rumpled flight attendant with the shock of
Midwestern brown hair and mindless calf eyes was starting to look more
and more inviting. In an effort to distract her, we’d been
complaining about our respective ex-boyfriends and talking about the
joys of sex through the last two or three drinks, and both of us were
now horny as hell. That one of us was bi, and the other one straight
only added to our frustration. We’d gotten to that sad point when we
boasted about all the strange places we’d done it, and all the odd
people we’d done it with.
“Want to join the mile-high-club?”
“With whom? The pimply flight attendant?”
“Yeah, right.”
Surrounding us were hordes of British families, little kids
curled into each other, the seats, their parents. All heading home
for the holidays. Not a single lonely man in sight.
“Hey, babe, I got an idea.”
“Uh huh. I remember your last idea. Almost got us thrown in jail.
And those two guys weren’t worth it.”
“This is much, much better. Just think of those poor lonely pilots in
the cabin. They must be so bored, flying this plane on automatic
across miles and miles of empty ocean. I bet they’re just sitting
back and dreaming of a pair of nubile, 21-yr-old college students
fulfilling their every desire.”
“And you want to fulfill their fantasies, right?”
“Well, maybe not all of their fantasies. They probably ought to keep
their hands on the equipment. But we could provide a
little…entertainment? I dare you to.”
“You what?”
“I dare you to.”
“We’re not kids anymore.”
“Exactly.”
We thought about it for a while. As we worked out the
strictly hypothetical details, it became more and more tempting. The
perfect way to relieve boredom, maybe relieve a little frustration,
and forget about the two idiots we’d left in Chicago. After all, we
were single again now. No ties, no responsibilities. And it would be
a hell of a lot of fun.
“You first.”
“No, you.”
“Together, then?”
“Here goes nothing.”
***
Hell of a flight. The typical crying kids for the first two
hours, then, just when they had all fallen asleep, a drunk guy in
first class started complaining about how he couldn’t sleep and the
drinks were weak and the service was lousy. It had taken two
blankets, three pillows and my own copy of Playboy to shut him up.
Why do people think that the life of a flight attendant is all fun and
games? Jetting to Hawaii isn’t nearly as exciting when you have
to turn around and head to Kansas City half an hour later.
The only bright spot was the pair of babes in aisle thirty. I
could’ve sworn the dark-haired one, who looked Hispanic, winked at me the
last time I went by. Hey, they’re buzzing me.
“Don’t worry, Rina, I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Mike, I’m crashing.”
“Don’t say that too loud.”
“Very funny.”
Hah. I crack me up. Well, let’s see what they want.
Probably just a pillow.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hello, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s kind of complicated. See, my friend here, she’s always
wanted to be a pilot, and she’d really love to get a look at the
cockpit. It’s so quiet now, we thought it might be a good time.”
“Ummm…well, I’m not sure if the captain would approve of that,
ma’am”.
“But you could ask, couldn’t you?”
“Sure thing. Just hold on a minute.”
Well, Tony didn’t seem to mind too much, since it was so quiet
and such a slow flight. So I brought them forward. Then things got
really weird.
“What’s your name, captain?”
“I’m Tony, miss, and my co-pilot here is Christopher, and that’s Mike,
your flight attendant, over by the door.”
“Must be pretty boring for you up here…”
“Well, we have to check the instruments fairly often - every twenty
minutes or so.”
The blond looked over at the Hispanic girl, and asked, “Do you
think twenty minutes is enough?” She replied, “Should be plenty.
Check your instruments, please, gentlemen.” and coolly, calmly,
started unbuttoning her shirt.
“Now, gentlemen, we’d like you to settle a little bet for us, if you
don’t mind. My friend and I were debating which of us could do the
best strip-tease. We’d like to demonstrate for you, and ask you to
judge, if that’s okay with you?”
None of us were about to object, that was for sure. The blond
came over to me, and pushed me over a bit so I was leaning against the
door. Then she leaned against a wall and watched the show.
The Hispanic girl had long wavy black hair, almost to her
waist, swinging loose behind her back. She had been wearing a sort of
lacy black sweater, but she’d just finisehd unbuttoning it and was
slipping it off, one smooth brown shoulder at a time. Underneath was
a cropped white tank and a long, loose black skirt.
“What’s next, guys, shirt or skirt?”
…End of the part1. To be continued..