This book is dedicated to Jean-Claude, Graham, Peter, Ben, Frank, Bill, Richard, Adam, Tony, Scott, Lionel, Joe, Trevor, Gregg, Luigi, Alfonso and James without whom and the cooperation of their cocks none of this would have been possible....
"It will be long and hard. There will be ins' and outs'. There will be blood and sweat but there will be no withdrawal." Sir Winston Churchill
Preface
I met Fiona a few years ago when she was still an airline hostess. I like or dislike people on sight and I liked Fiona straight away. She's a completely natural person, and I don't mean just sexually, but natural in every way. What she thinks, she says. What she feels, she expresses. What she believes in, she acts upon. There isn't any affectation about her. Now this makes it a lot easier for a guy to get to know a girl, and we soon became great friends, but I must stress, not lovers. "I don't imagine you," she said, "I may one day, but not yet." Every now and then my telephone would ring. "Hi," a voice would say. "Is that you Adam? This is Fiona. I'm back home in London for two nights. What about an evening out?" she would ask. We would dine anywhere usually inexpensively as long as it was gay and full of young people.
Fiona always seemed to be happy. The smallest things delighted and amused her-a walk late at night, a dress in a shop window she knew she couldn't afford. Life to her was an adventure, a party which was to be enjoyed, and she believed in living every second of the day and night. Sometimes when we were dancing, and her wonderful breasts were nestling against my chest I would hold her a little tighter and ask, "Has my time come yet?" and she would reply, "Not yet, but don't give up hope. I may do something silly with you one day yet!"
Of course, I was half in love with her, but not jealous of her lifestyle. She made it sound so natural and funny. She would say, "You know Adam darling I had a perfectly gorgeous man on the way out. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him-so dark, greying a little at the temples and with a fabulous body." One of the reasons for her frankness was she had discovered a secret very few women know about, that men are twice as jealous of what they don't know but suspect, than they are of what they actually know. A girl who will lie and hide things away could drive a man mad. However, if you're told by a girl outright, "I had a gorgeous fuck last week" you can take it or leave it. If it's a girl like Fiona you'll probably take it-at least I know that I did!
I've not described Fiona's looks. Her skin is flawless and very brown in the summer. Her breasts are firm and stick straight out like spears. She has the tiniest waist that I have ever seen, and her legs seem to go on forever. Her silken arms are like wands of pure gold. From behind her buttocks look as sexy as two misplaced breasts. This is all terrific, but her face is best of all. Apart from being beautiful its chief charm rests in its contradictions. Her mouth on the one hand is intensely mobile. You can tell every mood by the way she smiles, bites her lip or tongue or catches her lower lip between her teeth. Sometimes she smiles with her whole mouth, sometimes with part of it. At other times it is drawn out sideways saying quite clearly, "Don't come any of that crap on me." I found this mobility irresistible, but what adds to it on the other hand are her beautiful blue eyes which shine beneath heavy lids which are hardly ever raised. And so you have two faces, the top half mysterious, the eyes hidden beneath heavy sleepy lids, and the bottom half alive and mobile, the mouth working overtime to show her moods and enthusiasms. The only way to raise her eyelids is to shock her-not an easy task! Then the lids rise, and two huge eyes stare at you in amazement.
The nicest thing about Fiona is her niceness. This is a much abused word usually used euphemistically to mean dullness or mediocrity. Yet, there is no other word to describe Fiona. She is attractive, adorable, sexually exciting, but undeniably nice as well. She loves her parents. She often told me how they had sacrificed themselves to educate their children. She loves her brother and sister. She has lots of friends, and they told me how she is unselfish to work with. The simple fact is that (although Fiona will kill me when she reads this) she's a real good sort, and when this is combined with a one thousand horse powered sex drive the result is devastating. Just about everybody who sees very much of her falls in love with her.
After two years of casual friendship our relationship changed in a drastic way. It came about like this. I was working for a public relations firm and for one year had been engaged on a project which I thought was really going to make me. I had given it everything, sitting up late at night working and not going out even on Sundays, and I hardly drank in order to get the thing right. At last everything was ready. My big day arrived. I made my presentation to the directors aided by graphs and illustrations. For 50 minutes I explained it all in great detail and sat down to wait for questions. "Is that all?" the boss asked, and with that he and the other directors left the room. Not one word of praise or encouragement! Not even a glimmer of interest! I felt a dismal failure! In that instant it seemed as though the whole 12 months had been totally wasted. I was damned if I was going to take such treatment!
I walked straight out of the office and back to my apartment. I found myself quite alone for my roommate was away. I decided there was only one thing to do, and that was to go out and get drunk. Then I looked at my watch. It was 4:00 o'clock. The pubs were still closed. I had nothing to do for two hours. I cursed everybody. At that moment the telephone rang. "Hi," a voice said. "Is that you Adam? This is Fiona. There's been a change of schedule, and I'm not flying again until Monday. Any chance of seeing you?" she asked. "Good God!" I said. "I'm yours till Monday and all the week if you're free!" I added enthusiastically. "Pick me up at 8:00," she said. Thank God, I thought, for Fiona! At 8:00 o'clock I went round to her apartment in Chelsea. I was still in a foul mood, and the fact that I had been to my local and had had two large whiskys hadn't helped at all. In fact, the opposite was true. For in addition to being angry I had also begun to feel ill, doubtful and sorry for myself.
I rang the front doorbell, and Fiona was down in a flash. One of her finest qualities is her punctuality. I had decided that we were going to eat at the most expensive restaurant I could find. After all, what was the point of not ruining myself completely? I had walked out of my job so why not spend all of my money as well? The head waiter looked a little doubtfully at me and somewhat reluctantly showed us to a table at the far end of the room. The prices nearly took my breath away. I ordered caviar with vodka and Beef Stroganoff and a bottle of Chateau Latour. Fiona gaped and asked me if I had come into a fortune. I looked at her and suddenly felt desperately sad and told her everything. She never said a word while I was talking, but her hand came out from under the table and held mine. "The swine!" she exclaimed when I had finished. "Did you give them notice or walk out?" she inquired. I explained that I had left without saying a word to anybody. "What are you going to do now?" she wanted to know. I answered that I had no idea, but added that doubtless something would turn up. "I see," she said and changed the subject entirely by saying that all her life she had wanted to eat at the Mirabelle and how very clever of me it was to have guessed her secret! Then she went on to relate an extraordinary story of a house of depravity she had visited in Bangkok called the House of Lotus Blossom. Thanks to laughing at that and the vodka and the Chateau Latour my spirits returned to normal ... until the bill came! When that was settled and we were in the street I was about to suggest that we go to a very expensive nightclub when Fiona put her arm through mine and said, "Adam darling, I don't want to be a spoil sport, but could we wait a bit and go and have a drink at your apartment. I hate being the first at a nightclub." I replied, "Of course. I have half a bottle of brandy, and we can go on after we've finished that." She held my arm tightly, and we walked around to my place.
Fiona said that she was going to repair her makeup and retired to the bathroom. I poured out two glasses of brandy and thought how ill treated I had been. Suddenly I heard her call my name softly, but quite urgently. Without thinking I followed her voice into, not the bathroom, but the bedroom. She was lying stark naked on my bed. I had never seen her like that, and my mouth fell open. Her body was the most beautiful golden color, and her breasts jutted out like two warm Mont Blanc. Then her figure tapered to the smallest, slimmest waist that I had ever seen-an unbelievable 50 centimetres (21 inches)-I know because I measured it later! At the centre of all this magnificence was a large golden bush, and my eyes fixed on this. After all, it was where I had wanted to be for a very long time. Fiona burst out laughing. She wondered if I thought she was some kind of freak because I was staring so. I threw off my clothes noticing that Fiona's were in a tidy pile on a chair. I was to note later that however passionate she might be Fiona always remained tidy. Then I laid down beside her; I took her in my arms, kissed her and made love to her. She whispered softly that I was wonderful, and I simply burst into tears; it wasn't a habit of mine, but suddenly I felt that everything was just too much to bear. My job was gone, my dreams looked pretty silly, and here was Fiona being sweet and wonderful. She took my head in her arms and gently kissed me and said, "Let's talk it over." We talked, and I told her everything again. She asked if I were certain that I had done the right thing by walking out, and I replied that no, I wasn't certain. Then she said, "Why not just walk right back the first thing tomorrow morning and ask to see the boss? Talk it over with him and ask him to reconsider the position. Otherwise you won't be able to see any future for yourself." I was secretly relieved and agreed, and then I felt much better. I looked at her as a woman, not as a mother, and I took her again and again. In the morning when I awoke at 6:00 o'clock I took her again, and later in the day when I came home from work, the boss having said that he must have been out of sorts and that I shouldn't be so bloody touchy in the future.
For nearly two years we saw each other whenever she was in England. She is the best lover I have ever had, and no other girl holds a candle to her in bed for sexiness or out of it for companionship and fun. However, as I have been asked to describe Fiona I will be analytical and not romantic. As I wrote earlier she has a fabulous body, but so do an awful lot of girls, and it's not that which makes her so fantastic. Her secret is sexual sensibility, and ability to know exactly what's in a man's mind and carry out his sexual fantasies and wishes without him having to say a word. I have never encountered this ability to mind read sexually in anybody else. An absolute naturalness in bed is added to this. Nothing is sexually indecent to Fiona. She will kiss your cock as a perfectly natural gesture. If she feels like making love she will start very slowly moving against you with her body exploring your body very gently with her fingers. Then her mouth goes into action, and she will kiss your tits, go down on you and then take your face between her hands and kiss you full on the mouth. And her tongue, which is as long as any tapir's, could awaken the dead! She has another characteristic I have never otherwise experienced. She smiles when she makes love like a child watching Laurel and Hardy, a smile full of complete relaxation and enjoyment, and when she comes she laughs in pure delighted happiness. Once I asked her why. She looked puzzled and said, "But doesn't everyone laugh when they're happy?" When Men Only magazine was the subject of a court case, a lot of things were said about Fiona being abandoned and a wanton; she is not like that to me. She belongs to a new generation of natural lovers who believe that if you have a beautiful face and a beautiful body you should use them. She is no bitch. She doesn't go after married men or other girls' men. She simply-likes sex and men and enjoys them. When I was seeing her whenever we could meet I was often asked if I were jealous. I said that I was not, and that was true. Fiona's honesty made jealousy impossible. She never hid anything. She could say, "I met the most marvelous man in Singapore. I couldn't believe it. He balled me for hours without stopping." If I looked hurt she would say, "But Adam darling you weren't in Singapore." As I said before, honesty kills jealousy, and jealousy thrives on deceit. If a man is told the truth uncertainty is removed, and he knows exactly where he stands and can decide to accept the situation or go; if things are hidden and concealed without a doubt he feels that they are worse. Uncertainty adds to suspicion, and hatred and jealousy are just a state of mind which destroy love. I had to accept the fact with Fiona that separated half the time from one of the sexiest and prettiest girls in the world I could never have her to myself alone. I decided to make the best of it; I dismissed the thought of total possession from my mind as much as I could and had the happiest two years of my life. I am certain that if Fiona ever marries she will make a wonderful wife and mother, for whatever she does she does wholeheartedly and well.
Well, that's just about all I have to say about Fiona except that she has caused me one great regret-that other girls are not like her in bed, and I can therefore say that she has disillusioned me with womanhood. If you've made love to a girl who can transmit your physical wishes into actions without saying a word, if you have known a girl who can he smiling at you while you fuck her, a girl who knows how, when and where to stimulate you through a perfect understanding of mind reading then you are going to find the ordinary lay unexciting. This is why girls should realize that a lot more is expected of them than lying down and opening their legs. That is one of the reasons why, when the publishers asked me as an old friend and lover to write this preface, I said I would. I'll always be a little in love with Fiona for the two reasons I've given. She's not only the best fuck I've ever had, she's also the best companion and nicest girl I've ever known, if those aren't good reasons for writing an epilogue I don't know what are!
CHAPTER ONE
Takeoff
"Five thousand pounds or fifty camels," I heard them mutter, a fuck bag of sheiks, heads together, eyes stripping every garment of clothing from my body. Their heads looked like white Ping-Pong balls bobbing in a pond. They were trying to buy my body. It was a reasonable offer for my little finger, but that wasn't what they were after!
When we arrived, the party was in full swing. Most of the locals were in full regalia-akal and thoub-but a few-like the one with whom I was dancing-were sporting western dress. The air was icy cool in the air-conditioned apartment compared to the blistering heat outside. The lights and music were very low. I found myself looking down at a bald head sprouting a few tufts of hair like an old potato which had been left in a dark warm place. Somewhere above my knee a hard knot was pushing into the soft plaint flesh of my thigh. It ground in relentlessly. Raspy breathing was escaping from the wide-flared nostrils, and claw-like hands encircled my tiny waist. A hot, too heavily perfumed aroma floated upwards, offending my delicate nostrils. I prayed for the music to stop as the knot was expanding against my leg. If he weren't careful there was going to be a nasty sticky mess on the floor of this superb luxurious penthouse. However, it was his pad, so I supposed he could do what he liked, although I would have preferred that he didn't involve me. I didn't want to offend him, a highly intelligent man and a government official of great esteem, but there was no way he was going to use my thigh to get his rocks off! How did I get myself into this mess, anyway?
I was destined for Sydney via Kuwait, Colombo, Singapore, and Darwin. This was my first trip as a full-fledged stewardess, and already I seemed to be in trouble. The farthest afield I'd been before was Gibraltar. Now I was really being thrown out into the wide, wide world-Sydney and back in twenty-eight days and maybe as many lays! The crew consisted of four stews and four on the flight deck. As the newest member of the crew, I was flying as a Number Four and given the dirtiest jobs, as befitted my lowly station. My duties were keeping the Johns clean and correctly stocked and tending to baby bottles and "special meals"-for invalids, for instance. I remember being approached by an Indian gentleman who insisted he was a vegetable. What he meant to say, of course, was that he was a vegetarian.
The hot air slapped me in the face as I swung the aircraft door open on our arrival at Kuwait. T leaned out to get my first glimpse of the magical Middle East. We "handed over" to the outgoing crew (I warned the other Number Four that we had a "vegetable" on board), and we tripped out into the horrid heat. As we crossed the tarmac my thick skirt stuck to my nylon-clad legs, and my hair lost what little curl it had had. Customs cleared everybody except me. As a newcomer I was subjected to grubby hands fingering all my underwear and other belongings. After much fuss they finally let me through, and I fled to the crew bus that was to carry us on the last leg of our journey into the city. We had arrived at sunset, and all along the dusty roads Kuwaitis had abandoned their Cadillacs and were doing what looked like an up-tails-all into the sunset. There was nothing much to see except sand and dust and the occasional black-robed figure scuttling across the sand like a rat in the shadows. Gradually we approached the town of box-like buildings. The sidewalk cafes were packed with white-robed and-hooded customers. As the sky darkened I could see the eternal flares in the distance burning high in the sky as the oil spewed nonstop from the ground.
We checked into the hotel, and we were all invited to the captain's room for a drink, as was the custom. Kuwait was a dry state completely without alcohol (or so I thought until I got wise to the game), but more of that later. You either changed or went along to the crew party in your uniform depending upon how urgently you needed a drink, and you took along your own glass and your own booze if you'd managed to get any through customs. Hotels which accommodated crews were quite accustomed to being asked for large buckets of ice, and some of the better ones even supplied nuts and olives with the ice.
The crew were allocated rooms close together-all except me-and I was put at the far end of the corridor alone. I went up to my room, quickly shed my sticky clothes, and opened the window. I stepped out onto the balcony and gazed at the Persian Gulf glittering like a precious sapphire. I stood in the heat listening to the eternal honking of horns and religious wailing, a sound with which I came to identify Kuwait. (I could be put into a darkened, shuttered room and know beyond a shadow of a doubt if I were in the middle of Kuwait.) I stepped out of the heat and into a cold shower under the full blast of the water. I reached for a large white bath towel and snuggled into it. I had my back to the open window as I toweled myself dry. I suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching me. I whipped around to find five brown beak-nosed faces hanging over the adjoining balcony of the room next door. I thought to myself, nosy crowd! Perhaps, I thought, I should open my towel and give them a quick flash, causing them to fall off the balcony and crash down four floors onto the sizzling pavement below! However, having been severely schooled in how to deal with amorous Arabs or leering lechers I decided against this move and waved my fist at them and told them in no uncertain terms to shove off. I drew the net curtain and finished by ablutions in private.
I slipped on a pair of fine cotton trousers and a Tshirt, miniskirts having been banned by the company in Arab countries and worn at considerable peril only by a "ew dumb birds.
I arrived last at the crew party. It was beyond comprehension how such a gathering could be called a party! (They were usually so boring for the attractive stewardesses who had to make up to the men, who were sometimes paunchy and middle-aged.) It was always at the crew party the first night out-that is to say, Kuwait-that the male members of the crew decided which of the girls they fancied for their sexual entertainment for the rest of the trip. I breathlessly recounted my peeping Tom tale to the crew, and they told me a little belatedly that if ever I found myself in a room miles away from the others, I should ask to be moved.
I now had a chance to study the men for the first time. The Australian captain was tall, dark, and undeniably handsome in a cool detached way. The first officer was a big balding man in a crumpled suit. The engineer was a small dour Scotsman, and the nav was one of the nicest, but ugliest, men I've ever set eyes on. And here we were for two days. I wondered who was marking off whom for whose bed. I was wondering if the junior stew got to jump on the captain or whether she was left with the dregs after the senior girls had had their pick. The girls were a friendly bunch. Hilary, the Number Three, blonde and big-breasted, was the one with whom I really clicked. The others were pleasant, but nothing compared to the dazzlingly endowed Hilary. Eventually, everyone drifted off to an early bed except massively mammaried Hils and Frank, the captain and me. At least we had progressed as far as first names. He was going to a party later that evening at the home of one of the local hierarchy and asked us if we cared to go along. I, as a new girl, was all for getting as much local color as possible, and Hilary, with her ever-bounding energy, was always randy and ready.
And that's how I came to have Fahid's lump which felt like a malignant growth attached to my inner thigh. The Arab hawks were still bidding for my body and casting furtive glances at Hilary's upper protuberances. There was more of Hilary to love, and so perhaps I'd be let off the hook if she succumbed. What the Arabs didn't realize and couldn't grasp was that money doesn't buy everything, and certainly not me. I was very proud that the most precious part of me was totally mine. I didn't trade it for money, gold bars, or oil. It was mine. Nobody could take it from me. It was only given by me in love, desire, or pleasure. It was mine to bestow, not to sell to the highest bidder. I didn't imagine one of them. Despite their untold wealth and power, I wasn't impressed with their treatment of women. Most of them preferred boys, anyway, and I couldn't be confused for one of their seedy sallow-faced youths.
The dance, thank God, ended, and to my immense relief, Fahid left the room, but he returned shortly (possibly having relieved himself in the John) with a heavy, expensive gold bracelet which he tried to force onto my arm. Much to his horror I refused, because if you accept that kind of present from an Arab you're really in deep-or he's really in deep, and there was no way his sticky hot dick was getting within an inch of my love tunnel even if he wrapped the gold chain round it!
However, he just couldn't take no for an answer. I had gone to the cocktail party in his home with the captain and Hilary for a pleasant evening out, and Fahid simply couldn't understand that a white woman would freely enter his home of her own accord unprepared to spread her legs on his bleeding goatskin carpet if he so desired. However, he was barking up the wrong bloody tree as far as I was concerned. He persisted in trying to force the bracelet on me, and in touching me and pressing his fat body against mine and breathing his stale breath down my neck. Finally, I simply couldn't stand it any longer. God knows where his dick had been. So I told him he could take his bracelet and shove it up his ass, and I fled into the street and ran the few blocks that it was to the hotel.
When I got back to the hotel, I took every particle of clothing off and sent them all to be dry-cleaned or laundered or sterilized and got into the bath to wash away the smell of money and oil. I also washed my hair, and having dried myself I flopped exhausted on the bed, wondering if I had made the right decision in becoming a stewardess. The extracurricular duties were proving too much.
I must have fallen into a deep sleep because I don't know how long the phone had been ringing when I was finally awakened by its persistence. I picked up the receiver and placed it to my ear, but I was too dazed with sleep at first to understand what the soft seductive French voice was trying to say. He had seen me in the hotel and thought I was attractive and wanted me to come out and meet him. In fact, he was the manager of the very hotel in which I was staying!
I said, "Are you an Arab?"
No, he wasn't an Arab. The soft, lilting French accent aroused me from my sleepiness and drew me to him like a moth to an electric light bulb.
"Where and when?" I said.
"Toute suite, cherie," he murmured in dulcet tones.
The nasty taste in my mouth disappeared. The iron clamp encasing my loins vanished, leaving a warm receptiveness and feeling of gratitude toward this complete stranger with a voice as soft as the whispering desert sand. He gave me my instructions.
"We shouldn't meet in the hotel, as I am the manager and it wouldn't look right for me to be seen fraternizing with stewardesses, and most of all it wouldn't be correct for you." At the back entrance of the hotel there's a car park. He'd meet me there in ten minutes. He would flash his car headlights three times so I would know which car to get into. Discarding everything I had been taught, I thought, what the hell! If I can give an all-powerful Arab sheik the shakedown I could certainly cope with a Frenchman!
I was nervous, yet trembling with excitement because according to my training stew I was embarking upon the most hazardous mission of all time. Many a fair-haired maiden had disappeared without a trace into the sands of Kuwait. I had already learned that white flesh like mine was worth many an oil well or an esteemed place in a harem. But my motto was nothing ventured, nothing gained. I smothered my super-clean body with perfume, dabbing a liberal amount on my mons veneris and under my arms, on the backs of my knees, inside by elbows, on my bottom cleavage, and on the cleavage between my breasts. Now I was prepared for the randiest of fellows-if he appealed to me and my clitty.
Bearing in mind that a Frenchman is more likely to be turned on by a woman who is elegant and chic, I chose a simple backless pink wild silk dress which fell in soft folds to the floor. And it was conveniently buttoned from the bust to the crotch. Needless to say, I didn't bother wearing a bra or panties. My feet were encased in shiny pink sandals, and my long hair was flowing gently down my back as I stepped into the arcade from the hotel and walked toward the car park. There were about three thousand cars in the car park, but the moment I stepped out of the light my entire body was illuminated by the glare of headlights from a car parked directly "in front of me. I was blinded by the glare, frightened by the possibilities, excited by the probabilities, and my knees were trembling as I made my way toward it. When I reached the car, the passenger door swung open.
I slid onto the soft seat and for the first time came face to face with my quarry. He was gorgeous, dark-haired and very, very masculine. He smelt of good French cologne. Masculine odors have always meant a lot to me. The first thing I asked him for were the keys to the ear. Without these he couldn't whisk me off into the desert. While I found him incredibly attractive, I wasn't prepared to trust him completely. I was still inclined to be cautious. I asked him why he had singled me out from the other girls who passed his way. He replied like a line from a bad song, "There's something in the way you move." Moving a little closer he said, "Mon chou. Eet was love at first sight." Typical French bullshit, I thought, but at the same time I warmed to him.
I gave him back his keys, and he drove off to the quarter of the town where he lived. With affected chivalry he helped me from the car and guided me to his apartment. It was then that I realized he was a good six inches shorter than I. The apartment was all set for romance.' A cold spread was laid out on the table. And. my goodness, there was even a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket! That really impressed me. To get hold of that stuff in Kuwait was quite a feat!
"How did you know I'd come?" I asked him. "I took a gamble, cherie," he said, "and you see eet has paid off."
I thought for a moment and replied, "I always enjoy a good meal and a fine wine, but I'm still not too sure if you'll be getting your just desserts."
He smiled knowingly and said, "Don't worry. Take your time. I'm in no hurry." I was quite certain he'd get his way in the end. After all, it was going to be my way, too. We sat down to the feast. He ate his food as though he were eating me. He took a chicken leg in his hand as tenderly as if it were my thigh and nibbled it accordingly.
His brown eyes were peering passionately into mine. Jean-Claude cleared the cutlery and plates, leaving us with the full champagne tulips. I was about to remark that he hadn't cleared the sausage from the table when I remembered there had been no sausage for supper! It wasn't long before I guessed what it was. Jean-Claude had surreptitiously undone his fly, pulled out his cock, and placed the tip of it on the white tablecloth. And I had always thought that Frenchmen have such divine table manners! He may have been a good six inches shorter than I in stature, but the length of his cock more than made up for his diminutive dimensions. He looked rather sweet and appealing standing sipping his champagne and casting furtive glances in my direction. I looked from his eyes to his dick with a smile on my lips as though I were perfectly used to men laying their dongs on the dinner table.
"J'envie de toi" he sighed hungrily, and I replied, trying to keep a straight face and pointing at his knobbled penis, "A little taste of that wouldn't go amiss." Jean-Claude sat down as I pushed my chair back from the table. Taking a swig of champagne I lay across the table on my tummy until my face was level with my "newfound friend," as I approached him, his head perked up and blood started pulsating to his very alert brain; he obviously appreciated the nearness of my ruby-red lips. Jean-Claude pulled down his dong and dunked it in the champagne glass. The champagne was glistening like dew on an early spring crocus. I pushed back the foreskin with my finger. As I unpeeled his banana my tongue followed my fingers and lapped up every drop of champagne as it trickled down his sturdy stalk. It was the finest tasting dessert I had partaken of in a long time.
Jean-Claude seemed to be enjoying his last course, too. He suddenly got very greedy and instead of remaining seated he got up unexpectedly. I say unexpectedly, for I had my head hanging over the table with just a comfortable amount of cock in my mouth. When Jean-Claude stood up, I did a very fast sword-swallowing act. How I didn't choke to death I have no idea! I pulled my head back and splutteringly told him not to be such a pig! That was the sort of strength and length of entry I adored and craved, but between my legs, not down my throat! He apologized profusely and playfully smacked his penis and said to it, "Tu es mechantl" It certainly was naughty, but the sort of naughtiness which appeals to my moist little clitty!
He backed off from me and lowered his trousers and underpants. I turned over and lay flat on my back on the table. He bent down, and supporting my head in his hands he tenderly kissed my lips. He took a tiny sip from his glass, and as he kissed me again, a delicious dribble of ice-cold champagne trickled off his tongue and he swirled it skillfully around my mouth. Licking champagne off his cock and being fed champagne on his tongue certainly beat drinking champagne out of the finest crystal glass in the world! Jean-Claude then began to unbutton my dress with fingers which weren't quite steady (he wasn't as cool as he pretended to be). His trembling became more violent as each button exposed a little more of my creamy skin. He let out a gasp of pleasure when he'd finished with the last button, and my dress fell away on each side revealing me as naked as a newborn babe.
With his hands clasped behind his back he circled the table, pausing to study me from every angle. He bent down and sniffed at my delicate bouquet. With epicurean delight he pounced on various portions of my body. He behaved as though he was a chef and I was a succulent roast he was inspecting to see if it came up to the high standards required by his restaurant. He pushed my hair back from my face. "Ah, oui, I love zee vay your hair grows in tendrils around zee temples! A deeeeleeeecious mouth!" Then he explained to me in French that my features appeared to him as though they had been sculpted by one of the great masters. He sniffed and squeezed my boobs as though he was choosing a couple of melons from a fruit stall. He spread my legs and carefully examined the area within. Finally he smacked his lips and licked his fingers while I shook with laughter.
"Vat ees so droll, cherie?" he asked.
"Eet's just zee vay," I mimicked, "you're inspecting zee merchandise to see whether or not eet ees palatable," I joked.
"Zay are nectarous. A feast for zee gods," he proclaimed.
I felt like saying, "Now that you've given me your seal of approval, how about bunging up my hole?" Instead, I said, "Jean-Claude, could you please take off your shoes and socks?" I didn't mind him wandering around drawerless in his shirt, but the sight of a man's bare legs in shoes and socks just freezes me up.
He obeyed immediately and then knelt on the floor and pushed his dark head into my pussy. I sat up and wriggled to the edge of the table to accommodate Jean-Claude's face. My feet were balanced on the edge of the table with my knees drawn up. He pulled back and started licking down the tingling flesh of my inner thigh. He kept up this mind-blowing technique until I was ready for him to put anything he possessed into me. With deft agile fingers he opened my lower fleshy protuberances and inserted a finger. Gradually he withdrew his finger and replaced it with his tongue. While his fingers manipulated and moved outside, his tongue was doing indescribable things to my warm weeping love cave. I tugged at his hair as though I wanted to pull it from its roots.
Leaving me a complete slobbering mess, Jean-Claude withdrew his troops, and, grasping me around the waist, he dragged my limp form off the table and turned me round so my chin rested on the table and my ass was up in the air. Roughly pushing my skirt out of the way he started to enter me from the rear. I had a moment of complete panic as the horror-stricken thought hit me that perhaps after years in the Middle East he had picked up up some nasty Arab customs! But my fears were completely unfounded. He pushed his sheaf between my legs and straight into the proper tunnel. Relief and ecstasy came at once! The force of his thrust propelled the table across the floor! By the time we were both spent, the table had traveled several yards and had come to a halt against the wall. As the table hit the wall Jean-Claude exploded into me with a whoop of joy. I followed him seconds later, raising my bottom to accommodate all that I could. My body ached from the friction against the hard tablecloth, but the tremor between my thighs dispelled all other discomfort. We must have looked like the grand finale of a silly symphony a la Ken Russell, but neither of us cared about appearances. Our recently shared experience had been a splendid cacophony of sensual pleasure. Jean-Claude leaving me ass-high in the air eased out and lapped up my love juices with his tongue. I righted myself, and we said little, but grinned a lot like two people who had just won the Grand National and weren't quite sure what to do with their winnings!
"I knew you had eet in you," he smiled at me.
I replied, "I think you had it in me!" I tidied myself up, Jean-Claude returned me to the hotel.
I was at reception asking for my key from the swarthy, good-looking receptionist who looked knowingly at me when Hilary arrived in a disheveled state with the captain.
"Where the hell did you get to?" he demanded to know, looking at me with eyes of ice-cold fury.
"Oh, I've just had it off with the most delightful Frenchman on a table in the middle of my dinner," I replied flippantly.
He glowered at me in disgust and disbelief and strode off to the elevator. Hilary and I went up to my room and compared notes. Apparently I had caused quite a rumpus by rudely leaving the oil mogul's emporium. In fact, they had started to "disthoub" and expose their under-beneaths to Hilary, believing she would do the same, and that was how she came to be missing a sleeve from her dress. The "gallant" captain obviously couldn't allow one of his stews to be sheik-banged so he'd hurried her out, leaving them to play with themselves or whatever else happened to be handy.
"Fiona, did you really mean what you said about getting one on a table?" she asked, goggled-eyed.
"Of course!" I replied with a secretive smile, not wishing to tell her all the events of the evening. She calmed down and went to bed shaking her head in disbelief.
I had just slipped between the sheets when the phone rang. Jean-Claude's soft French voice said, "Merci mille fois, ma cherie. Dinner tomorrow night," he asked.
"Great," I replied, and added, "but maybe you've got a softer surface on which we can make love?" Feeling deeply contented and well and truly fucked, I fell asleep. My opinion of Kuwait was improving every second. There was more to it than sand, oil, and Arabs!
I was awakened long past lunchtime by a banging on the door. Pulling the sheets firmly around my naked body, I shouted, "Come in." A waiter entered carrying a tray. He placed the tray on the table on the balcony and left. Funny, I thought, I don't remember ordering anything the night before. I lifted the tray cloth, and there to my delight was a feast fit for a queen-a light fluffy omlette, masses of Arab bread, salad, a selection of fruit, a pot of coffee and, incredibly-this being an Arab country-a chilled bottle of an excellent white wine. A rose was pinned to the napkin, and the message on it read, "With the compliments of the manager." Some manager, I thought! Hilary joined me later, and we ventured out into the burning heat. She was thoroughly pissed off because she had spent a disturbed night keeping the lecherous first officer at bay from her bedroom door. We walked down to the bazaar and on the money changers' street where there were rows and rows of shops with different currencies pasted up in their windows and displays of gold bars in glass cases.
That evening Jean-Claude took me to the top of the Sheraton Hotel. Kuwait is a very ugly place during the day, but at night the view from the roof of the Sheraton Hotel is magnificent with the lights from the sheik's palace and the glow from the flares. It was almost as though a fairy had waved a wand across that unattractive patch of wasteland and turned it into a magical mystery tour. This time we could only drink grape juice, but we became quite intoxicated by the thought of the pleasure which was coming our way later on. We were serenaded by violins, and we held hands. This was quite sufficient physical contact for now.
After dinner, we drove out along the shores of the Persian Gulf and walked barefooted along the sands. I looked up at the stars, thrilled with my new love and my new life. If it continued this way, I would be more than happy. We returned to Jean-Claude's place and dissolved into each other's arms and spent hours touching each other's body with slow, sweeping caresses. There was not the breathless urgency of the night before, only the mutuality of our pleasure-a touching of breasts, the stroking of a slumbering weapon, awakening it to further prolonged delights. Each body aroused a soft sensuous awareness in the other and our lovemaking culminated in the whispers and sighs of pure unadulterated ecstasy. We parted friends and lovers, promising to meet again.
My flight was scheduled to leave in the late afternoon, when the searing sun began to lose its heat. As was the custom, all the crew met in the lobby of the hotel to check out and get into the crew transport. As I approached the receptionist, he said in a voice louder than was necessary, "No bill for you, Miss Richmond." The iceberg of a captain looked at me in complete disgust.
"What? No bill!" he exclaimed. "After two whole days! You silly girl! I suppose you've been starving yourself so you could save your allowances?"
I should explain here that "allowances" were doled out by the captain. You got a standard rate for each night out of the United Kingdom, then a lunch, tea, and dinner allowance. The amount varied according to the cost of living in each country. I didn't feel his comments were worthy of a reply. The other male members of the crew tut-tutted while the other two girls looked as pale and wan as they probably deserved to be while Hilary suppressed a giggle as she watched my face. I smiled at the thought of how well I'd been stuffed at both ends. It was none of the captain's business, but maybe it was a case of sour grapes on his part, as he hadn't got any oats so far-more like a mouth and an ass full of sand! I wasn't too concerned, as I wasn't there to be at the captain's beck and balls. As long as I did my job well on the aircraft, he couldn't complain. Feeling nicely wiped out, I set off on the next leg of my journey east.
CHAPTER TWO
Runway Five
We arrived at Kuwait airport a few seconds before the big "whispering giant" homed its way onto the tarmac like a giant eagle. Why a Britannia is called a whispering giant I'll never know. Although I came to love the aircraft, "bone-shaker" would have been a more appropriate nickname. Following procedure, I took over from the incoming Number Four.
"No problems," she said and gave me the requirements and times of feeding the mob of babies we were carrying; most of the passengers were trooping families which consisted of mums and their babies going out to join their husbands. After about forty minutes for refueling and taking food on we reboarded the passengers. We made sure they were all strapped in and the cabin was secure for takeoff. The Brit trundled along the runway like a large hippopotamus and slowly inched its massive weight off the ground. Soon we gained cruising altitude, and the seat belt signs were switched off. We served dinner almost immediately, and it was then that things started going wrong for me.
We had almost finished handing out the trays when-being extra clever and carrying more trays than I should have done-I turned to leave the galley and caught the corner of one of the trays on the bulkhead. The contents of the trays shot up into the air, and the salad landed right on the top of a lady's hat. The hat was one of those large formal affairs quite unsuitable for air travel. It was adorned with fruit and flowers. It now had quite an extra amount of adornment in the way of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato. I glanced at the formidable face under the hat. She hadn't yet registered that anything untoward had happened. Hilary, who had witnessed the whole scene, collapsed behind the curtain of the galley. I thought the shake of her massive knockers would upset the stability of the aircraft.
When we had both almost recovered our composure, we toyed with the idea of picking the excessive vegetation off the hat with a pair of ice tongs. Our hilarity (no pun intended) disappeared when we saw Captain Frozen Knackers making his way down the cabin chatting with the passengers. I'm ashamed to admit that I locked myself in the John. I couldn't face the captain if he should spot the lady, salad and mayonnaise garnishing her picture hat. Hilary buried herself in the galley. She almost had her head in the oven when Frozen Knackers poked his cold nose through the curtains.
"Where's Miss Richmond?" he asked.
"She's just popped into the John," Hilary lied. "She's feeling a bit queasy. After all, it is her first flight," she added.
"Hmmmmmm," he snorted and marched off back to the flight deck. I emerged from the toilet. After all, it was my job to spend three-quarters of the flight in those stinking little boxes trying to mop up spilled urine and vomit.
I decided there was only one thing to do. I approached The Hat and said, "Excuse me madam, there seems to be more decoration on your hat than there was when you boarded the aircraft."
She glared up at me. "What do you mean, young lady?" she boomed.
"Well, to tell you the honest truth, I dropped some salad on your hat, and it's all mixed up with the other foliage," I explained.
She reached up and angrily snatched the hat from her head. When she saw the expression on my face and the state of her hat, she burst out laughing. "Accidents can always happen, my dear. After all, I could have got off the plane never knowing the first thing about it!" she laughed.
"I must admit I thought of letting you do just that!" I replied. I took her hat away and cleaned it up until it was as good as new. I also entered the details of the accident and the flight number in the Voyage Report. I took her name and address and told her that if the hat needed dry-cleaning to send the bill to the company. After that she proved to be the jolliest passenger on board. Mind you, every time I passed her she did flinch sideways in her seat!
We settled down all the passengers for the night, dishing out blankets and pillows. Hilary and I took it in turns to patrol the cabin while the other two girls had a rest and a meal. We were supposed to patrol the cabin about once every twenty minutes with a flashlight. Everything was serene except for the drone of the engines, so Hilary and I snatched a moment to have a quiet ciggy. We pulled out a couple of food containers to sit on, crew-rest accommodation was nonexistent on these aircraft.
I had just taken a second well-deserved puff on my cigarette when a horrific scream rent the calmness of the aircraft. Grabbing our flashes we fled up to the middle section of the aircraft to find a hysterical mother. I managed to calm her down before she created pandemonium among the rest of the passengers. She gesticulated wildly to the skycot above her seat. (Skycots were contraptions that could be fixed on the racks to accommodate babies up to about the age of nine months.) I shone my flashlight into the skycot. The baby had vanished into thin air. I calmed the mother down and told her the baby had to be on the aircraft. All this commotion had alerted the Number One who was in charge of us and who was a stern matronly girl bearing more resemblance to a prison warden than a stewardess.
"Miss Richmond, what is going on?" she demanded to know.
I explained the situation at great speed.
"These babies are your responsibility," she said firmly. "If you had done your job properly and fastened the safety net into place, this wouldn't have happened." She stormed off saying, "You'd better find that baby or else."
Hilary and I exchanged looks. I said, "You look on the floor while I search the racks." Trying not to disturb any passengers, I flashed my light along the racks. Right at the far end, sitting on a blanket and making goo-goo noises, was this moon-faced child. He was precariously poised on the edge of the rack, as happy as the day is long. How he had completed the obstacle course, for it was nothing less than that, to have clambered over all the coats, hand luggage, and other bits and pieces and still remain intact remains inexplicable. I grabbed this sturdy little stud in my arms and plonked him on his weeping mother's knee.
Sour-faced Sally, the Number One, strode down the aisle and informed me that the captain wished to see me immediately on the flight deck. I entered the inner sanctum of the flight deck and stood behind the engineer's seat. Fortunately, that was the nearest I could get to the captain, who was strapped in his left-hand seat as though constricted by a straightjacket. From the expression on his face, it seemed as though he needed to be in a straight-jacket! He ordered the first officer to take over the controls, unstrapped himself, pushed his seat back, and said, "Miss Richmond, I understand you've lost a baby."
I replied, "Not exactly, sir. It just went for a walk."
His voice rose to a shout. "Please, just remember that babies do not go for walks on my aircraft, and if I have any more trouble from you on this trip, you'll never board another aircraft with this airline."
Overbearing, supercilious sod, I muttered to myself as I barged out of the cockpit. I returned to the galley, and Hilary, all of a quake, told me I had better keep my cool if I wanted to keep my wings.
"Wings!" I retorted. "When I think of what I went through to get them!" I sat down on the cold container and my mind drifted back to my training-six weeks of utter hell, during which time one's mind was crammed with vast amounts of useful and useless information.
The first day of training, I got into trouble, and it progressed from there. Our training units consisted of a a mock-up of a twenty-seater aircraft and a few concrete-block lecture rooms on the maintenance side of Heathrow airport, next to the massive hangars which house the aircraft. We were collected on the first day at Heathrow Central and taken across to the training area. Twenty were in the class, six stewards and fourteen girls. We were broken in gently, at least by their standards.
The Mama of the Stews came in the first day and gave us a lecture. It didn't exactly open my eyes, but it gave me a laugh. The first piece of equipment we had to get ourselves was a "plonky kit" which contained every conceivable item we might require during a flight-scissors, Scotch tape, bottle opener, can opener, needle and thread, rubber gloves, and so forth. Big Mama opened her lecture by telling us two very important things that as stewardesses we must remember: when handling equipment in the galley, her motto ran "Use it, wash it, wipe it, and above all, put it away"; and her second gem of information was that if on any occasion you should see the engineer come out of the flight deck with a tool in his hand, you should smile at him because your life might depend upon it. Of course, I just hooted with laughter because I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard and got sent to the back of the class for my trouble. I was marked out from then on, and a close eye was kept on me for the rest of the training period.
We had lectures on the theory of flight, how to conform to customs in different countries, and how to make up baby bottles, carry trays, mix cocktails, and clean up toilets. You name it, we learned it. For our further delight, we were show a series of films. One showed a baby being born; we were told how and where to cut the umbilical cord and to wait for or induce the placenta. The next film we were shown was a gruesome simulated air crash made by Americans in glorious Technicolor. We saw the plane crash, and all four of the victims stumbled out. Then we were shown gory close-ups of their injuries. One by one the stewards left the lecture room ashen-faced, clutching their stomachs. One of the victims had a large wound in the middle of his chest which spurted forth fountains of blood. Another had three-quarters of his intestines hanging out. The third had fractured legs with bones poking out at all angles from the bleeding flesh. The fourth guy, after vomiting violently, proceeded to show us how to deal with these wounds. After this we were treated to a slap-up lunch of which nobody could eat a morsel.
Day-to-day training took place mostly in the mock-up, with two members of the class taking it in turns to serve lunch to the remainder until bit by bit everybody had been able to familiarize himself with the galley equipment which he or she would have to use on the real aircraft.
There are many, many more aspects of training, but I won't go into every detail. I'll just acquaint you with a few of the more amusing ones. We did a crash course on first aid which included mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a life-size rubber doll. However, when it came to the exam, I was given a "patient" who was supposed to be suffering from a broken jaw which I had to bandage. The patient, in fact, was one of those really odious teacher's-pet type of girls. You know the sort I mean. Every school class has at least one. I couldn't wait to get my bandages around her, for she never shut up in the lectures and always had her hand up first with the answers! I got a large quantity of bandage, and much to the delight of the rest of the class. I proceeded to bind up her jaw and the rest of her head until she was completely mummified. The doctor came around to check what I was doing.
"Now, young lady, what is the matter with your patient?" he asked.
"I think she's probably dead of suffocation!" I replied. I could hear the others tittering behind me.
"A nice neat job," he said, suppressing a smile. "But I think you've been over-zealous. Now shall we undo her?"
The patient, of course, was livid and never spoke to me again during the rest of the six-week training, but I was the heroine of the day with the rest of the class!
We also had to learn how to give injections. If a dire emergency occurred we could, with the captain's permission, use the morphine which was carried on board. The girl whose head I'd bandaged backed away from me as she watched me fill my syringe with water. But in fact we tied bread rolls on each other's arms and practiced pumping these full of the supposedly dangerous drug.
How to react in emergencies-which was the most important part of our training-turned out to be the most fun. First of all came the fire training. We were taken along to a special area equipped to initiate novice stews into the art of using the appropriate extinguisher for the different types of fires one might encounter. We dressed in asbestos coveralls and went out into the bitter cold air. The instructor laid out the fire extinguishers and then lighted massive fires in long tanks. Flames shot twenty feet into the air. We were all doing reasonably well grabbing and operating the correct extinguisher for the appropriate fire until I got hold of one extinguisher and managed to cover the fireman and everything in sight with white foam. The thing had gone mad in my hand, and I lost control. Finally they wrested the uncontrollable extinguisher out of my hands and said I'd done enough. I thought that was an understatement. The next hazard was a little hut full of smoke, and we had to crawl around it and find our way out of it. It took me ages. I thought the bastard I'd sprayed with foam had closed the door, but eventually, black-faced and triumphant, I emerged into the fresh air!
Most passengers believe the primary function of a stew is to serve meals, but it's not. It is an Air Ministry requirement that a certain number of stewardesses must be present on every aircraft during flight to assist in the event of any emergency. The stewardess is there to operate escape chutes if the aircraft crashes and dinghies if it ditches into the sea. The session on the chutes was as much fun as bobbing up and down on a hobby horse at a fun fair. On the Brits some of the chutes were stowed on the racks and, after having located them, you had to attach them to the "D" rings on the floor and throw the chute out, making sure that two able-bodied men had gone down one of the escape ropes which were located at each emergency exit so that they could hold the bottoms of the chutes in place. You then took off your shoes and plonked your ass on the slide, taking care not to hold the canvas sides with your hands, as the speed and friction would burn them. Nowadays on the BAC One-Eleven 707s and 747s you actually have inflatable chutes which are attached to the doors at all times in flight, and the action of opening the door releases and inflates the chute so your pathway to safety is a lot less hazardous than on the old Brits. But we were stuck with the Brits and very pleased to be so!
The wet ditching drill was a riot, or at least it turned out to be a riot! We all congregated at the local swimming pool late one night in various types of swim wear, I of course in my teeny-weeny bikini. Those who couldn't swim were allocated life jackets. The two instructors for this drill were more than a little dishy. They were in fact ex-stewards now become instructors. We were shown a small canvas pack and told it contained a twenty-six-man dinghy. It seemed quite impossible that twenty-six men could get into this little pack. But one of the instructors pulled the static line attached to the dinghy and set off the COa bottle which inflated the dinghy. Suddenly it looked as though ten little boys were fighting to get out of a sack, heads bobbing in all directions. With a great snorting and flapping of canvas, like a gigantic cock swelling to preposterous proportions, the large circular dinghy-complete with roof-appeared before our very eyes. Then came the hard part. The instructors tipped the dinghy over so all that was visible was its large black bottom. There was a strap going right across the dinghy from one side to the other.
"Now, who's going to be first?" asked the instructor.
"Me first!" I shouted with girlish enthusiasm, dying to show off my scanty bikini and my swimming prowess.
"Okay, Miss Richmond will now give us a demonstration on how to right a twenty-six-man dinghy single-handed," said the instructor.
"I'm going to do what?" I cried. Before I could protest further, he pushed me into the pool. From the side of the pool where I had been standing the dinghy looked reasonably large, but once I was in the water with it, it took on unbelievable dimensions. I was told to climb onto the dinghy's slippery rubber back. I must have resembled a mermaid trying to mount a large blown-up rubber condom, because all the bystanders started to laugh at my efforts. I eventually made it and stood astride its uneven surface.
"Now," the instructor shouted, "stand on the extreme rim and grab hold of the strap to support yourself." I did as I was instructed. "Now lean backwards and pull on the strap."
When I started I was vertical, and the dinghy was horizontal, but by pulling on the strap and leaning back as far as I could, I made the massive dinghy rise inch by inch like a whale from the water. I pulled and pulled, and eventually the dinghy was vertical, while I was horizontal almost under water. Once the dinghy passed the halfway mark it came crashing down unceremoniously right on my skull. The sensible thing to have done would have been to swim out backwards as the dinghy descended, but I was mesmerized, and when the dinghy finally fell, I tried hopelessly to swim underneath it in the opposite direction. Every time I tried to surface, my head hit the underside of the dinghy, and at last it hit the C02 bottle attached to the bottom. Then everything went black.
I came to and found the instructor pumping water out of my lungs, using the Revised Silvester (chest-pressure-arm-lift) Method of Respiratory Resuscitation. I was fine, but decided to play possum because I was sure the next method attempted would be mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! I had taken a sneaky look at who was pumping away at me, and it was the beautiful blonde bombshell with his tantalizing thighs astride my head. What a position! As he tilted my head back and grasped my chin in the correct hold for your actual mouth-to-mouth, his mouth came down on mine, and I shot my tongue up into his wide gaping mouth. He drew back immediately and asked the crowd to back off, as he could manage on his own. He certainly did, too! We spent a sensational ten minutes having the best bit of resuscitation of all time! I found it very hard not to squirm with pleasure. I sat up, smiled at my rescuer, and said, "I think I'm cured!" I was pleased to see that his brief swim suit was hardly providing coverage for the growth that was swelling underneath the multicolored material.
The rest of the class went through the same routine, and finally we got into the dinghy and were shown the equipment and where it was all stowed-distress signals, paddles, a knife, fishing tackle, radio beacon, and equipment for removing salt from sea water and everything else we might need if we were cast adrift at sea. The object of this exercise was to show that if such an emergency happened, the chances of the dinghy landing the right way up in a swelling sea were almost nonexistent. So we had to know this essential maneuver.
The class broke up, but a few of us were asked to go and have a drink with the instructors. I noticed they had singled out the better-looking of the girls and none of the fellas. So we piled into our cars and drove off to a large terraced house which seemed to be situated at the end of runway five. At least that's what it felt like because once we were settled in the comfortable lounge on the ground-floor flat the conversation was blotted out completely every two minutes by the roar of an aircraft passing overhead. Duty-free drinks and cigarettes were liberally passed around and, having been submerged in water for the better part of two hours, we were all in the need of something. The girls outnumbered the fellas by about ten to two. It looked as though we weren't all going to strike it fucky. Mind you, the fellas were very strong and muscular, and maybe they planned to take us all on. I thought of shouting "Me first," again, but decided to cool it and wait for someone else to make the first move. Suddenly there was a screeching of brakes and slamming of car doors, and another eight fellas poured into the house. Our guys had obviously got the finish of a wet ditching drill down to a fine art and alerted the rest of their randy friends.
Everyone mingled very well. I'd become quite friendly with a very pretty plumpish girl called Erica who giggled nonstop about my exploits in the water. My mouth-to-mouth friend was giving me the nod and edging toward the door. While kissing him had been a very pleasant interlude, I wasn't sure if I wanted to carry it any further. There were now so many more fish in the sea. It was quite apparent from the conversation that they were all airline people. I getting slightly pissed off with the chat about what had happened "down route"-airline terminology for trips out of the UK-so I said in my best and loudest English accent, "Let's talk about fucking for a change."
You could have heard a prick drop. Everybody stared at me aghast. Hypocrites, I thought! After all, that's exactly what the fellas had in mind, so why not sort it out now? I decided this was a good line on which to exit, so I asked for the John and left them. I came out of the John switching off the light as I left, and found the place plunged into complete darkness. Whoops! Maybe all the girls had fled, and the fellas had decided I was the ideal object for their undivided attention. I edged my way back to the sitting room, where to my relief I saw a light coming from under the door and heard a great hubbub of voices.
I had just inched my way past a door when it opened and a hand shot out and pulled me into a darkened room.
"You want it, you're gonna get it, madam!" a rough voice said.
"Look," I said, "I have no idea who you are. You might even be one of the girls with a deep voice, but if you put the light on, and I can have a look at you, I may even decide I like you. I'm not into rape, and if you lay one finger on me against my will, I'll scream blue murder and kick you straight between the goulies."
"I thought you wouldn't say no to anyone," he said, with a laugh.
"I'm very fussy," I replied, "and you might not come up to my high standards."
So I repeated my request. "How about a light?"
He reached out and switched on a dim light. I saw that very conveniently we were in one of the bedrooms and that my would-be rapist was stark naked. I looked between his legs before I looked at his face. I just continued to stare arrogantly at his equipment. I sensed that he was the one who was getting a little jumpy now. My eyes traveled up his body and focused on his face. He had been one of the latecomers. Let's hope he was always that way.
I bent down, and if I'd had a monocle. I would have put it to my eye to take a closer look at what was being offered. I felt like a ringmaster about to crack my whip and make him jump to every flick of it. His member wasn't exactly flaccid. It moved gracefully toward me His balls hung down like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I wondered how he managed not to trip over them. "I asked him to lie on the bed while I prepared myself. Then I quickly snatched up all his clothes and fled the room, locking the door behind me.
I dumped the clothes outside the door and calmly walked into the living room. From the look on their faces one would have thought I'd caught them all with their drawers down and their cocks out. I don't think they expected to see me for the rest of the evening. My blonde mouth-to-mouth resuscitator looked delirious with delight. My locked-up rapist had obviously bet them that he'd have my panties off and legs apart in a flash.
I sat down and remarked on the disappearance of Mike. "Perhaps he's locked in the john," said one of the girls. I'd heard her earlier bragging about what a great lay she was. I, being one of the quiet ones, say little (except in print, of course) and do a lot, but I'm not and never have been in the habit of telling people I'm the greatest fuck of all time. (I just think it quietly!)
"Why don't you go and look for him, dear?" I said. I misdirected her to the john, and the next thing we heard was a scream of horror. Mike had pounced on her thinking it was me as she entered the room. Me thinks the lady didn't protest too much, we heard the sound of rapid quick-fire conversation followed by silence and the harmonious creaking of bedsprings at peace with the world. Every ear had been bent in the direction of the bedroom. Now every pair of eyes was searching out others in the hopes of getting their own beds creaking.
I'd found mine-Graham, I'd heard one of the others call him. I knew all along that it was going to be him, and I'm quite certain he received the message loud and clear. He was a little on the sturdy side with a mass of curly hair graying at the temples, a beautiful black Zapata mustache, and a square jaw. His lazy brown eyes said everything. When he spoke and smiled, his teeth gleamed beneath his dark mustache. He was dressed in an almost piss-elegant manner, giving the impression that he was gay, and yet there was such a strong smell of masculinity about him I just knew he couldn't be. His attire had just the right degree of camp and masculinity. He wore a beautiful black velvet suit with a hydrangea-pink shirt underneath. Although the room was warm, he'd kept his black fur-collared coat draped exquisitely around his shoulders.
He was for me. I was sitting dead opposite him and let my knees drift slightly apart while continuing to chat with the guy on my left. I immediately felt a red hot flame shoot into my loins. I knew Graham's eyes were fixed on my prettily displayed pussy. He'd hardly spoken a word all night, but he was obviously a man who didn't need to chatter on aimlessly and bore the pants off a chick. He would definitely have a more experienced way of getting a girl to drop them. I'd decided I'd had enough of aircraft chit chat and smoky, boozy, sodden air. I got up, making sure my skirt slipped a little higher as I did so. I turned my back on Graham and bent to retrieve my handbag from the floor. That way he got a good glimpse of a shapely long leg and even a hint of white lace panties. I knew all the others were looking, too, but Graham knew it was only for him. I put my coat over my arm, said my thanks, and made my leave. My resuscitator looked very dejected. I could almost see his disappointed dick droop in his drawers, but I knew he wasn't man enough to follow me. I'd just made it to the front door when I noticed a hot strong male smell behind me.
"Can I give you a lift, Graham?" I asked. I waited for his reply.
"Yes." Turning me around, he simply took my hand and placed it on his fly. He helped me into my little sports car and climbed into the passenger seat. I started the motor, and he calmly reached over and switched it off. It was freezing cold outside, and within seconds our heavy breathing had steamed up all the windows. It wasn't a matter of his place or mine. It was a matter of there and then!
He threw my coat on the back ledge and quickly unbuttoned my cardigan and blouse. I shivered as his cold hands grasped my breasts and his juicy mouth began to suck them fiercely. His mustache felt prickly, but very pleasant, and he bit my breasts like Adam in the Garden of Eden taking a munch of the Forbidden Fruit. I somehow maneuvered myself across the seat partition, with Graham helping me ease my legs over the dangerous looking gear knob. I was not looking to be stuck on that hard, plastic, unfeeling knob all night! I squirmed so that I was sitting facing him, legs squashed against the door and the gear-box casing. I tried to stand and nearly put my head through the canvas roof. Graham slipped off my cardigan and blouse and wrapped me in his heavy coat, placing it around my shoulders. I snuggled my bare breasts against the delicate voile of his shirt and nuzzled my face and cold nose into the warm V of naked flesh. He reached down and pulled my hair back so my face tilted up, and we kissed for the first time-a slow, soft exploring of mouths and tongues. The icy air in the car became electrified. His tongue went everywhere-flicking around my nostrils, behind my earlobes, into the complex curving of my ears, and deep down into the drums themselves. I was covered with goose bumps, but not from the cold, from the sheer pleasure I was receiving.
His tantalizing tongue was bewitching me! I hastily undid his shirt buttons and ran my hands underneath his shirt. I was really making a mess of his shirt. It was all crinkled and smudged with makeup, but he didn't care in the least. It certainly would have been a passion-killer if he'd said, "Just a moment while I fold my clothes and place them on the back seat." But his need for me had dismissed any such thought from his mind. By now I had unbuttoned the top of his trousers and was easing down his zipper. I struggled manfully with his underpants, and still kissing me he lifted his bottom off the seat to enable me to slide his trousers and underpants down. His cock looked like a pale silvery, tapered wand in the dim light which was filtering through the car windows from the street lamp-as did the fingers on his elegant hands. I must be quite honest and say he didn't have a terrific cock stand, which is hardly surprising in the arctic conditions in the car, but I was more than willing to help rectify the situation.
"My hands are freezing," I said, "but if you'll let me warm them up on you, I'll really get you up."
I slipped onto my knees and plunged my hands under his soft hairy balls. He yelped like a wounded dog as my icy fingers took a firm grip on him. I squeezed, massaged, and caressed the warm hairy well between his thighs. Within seconds the ice melted as my fingers plowed through the masculine mixture of fuzz and pliant balls. Graham laid his head back and spread his legs as far as he could, despite the fact that his trousers and underpants were constricting his ankles like a pair of bicycle clips. His penis was still shivering and shriveled with cold. I placed my fingers at its base, and while I moistened my lips I kneaded the base of his stalk. I didn't mess around with preliminaries, for his poor weapon was badly in need of warmth. I opened my mouth and bore down on him until the whole slim length was welcomed by my mouth like a train steaming into a warm dark tunnel. I let it stay still, and Graham was quite content not to let it slip out into the cold air. I sucked and sucked and sucked until I felt it begin to pulsate in my mouth.
Graham meanwhile hadn't been inactive-something I adore in a bed ... sorry ... car partner! He wasn't prepared to lie there just letting me take the stick. He had pulled his coat up over my head, lifted my skirt, and was valiantly trying to push my tights (must stop wearing them) and pants down the cheeks of my ass. While I was giving him head, he was slipping his slim fingers between my buttocks and around as far as he could reach. He pulled playfully at the growth of hair around my pussy like a doggie not wanting to let go of a fluffy slipper. Then he rubbed the steamy area between my legs with his whole hand. Not venturing inside, he moved with a gentle sweeping motion. His hand was becoming saturated with my love juices while my mouth was slobbering, stuffed full of cock. The slender wand in my mouth had turned into a wide wedge of solid manhood.
I quickly released my limpet-like grip on his cock, slid my head out from under the coat, and moved as fast as was possible in those cramped conditions. Keeping my hand at the base of his cock, I poised my pussy ready to press it home. Just as I reached the tip of his cock I thought a great draft of wind had blown into the car, for the wand below me went on the bend. Graham clasped me to him. "Angel, I'm so sorry," he murmured.
"There's no such word as 'sorry,'" I said, "and there's certainly no need to be. Don't be in such a rush."
I kissed him reassuringly. I wasn't going to let this divine creature give up so easily. I sat down very slowly on his drooping penis and gently rotated my pubes and soaking pussy on it. like a babe sucking at its mother's breast, it felt cosseted and comfortable in the surroundings which were best suited to it. Slowly its life force flooded back. I lifted off a little and said to Graham, "See, look what a fine creature it is! It only needs a light on its head, and it would look just like a glowworm."
Graham laughed, and his frustration with himself and the cold disappeared.
"Now you're going to fuck me nice and slow with that marvelous weapon. Go to it," I said. "I want you badly."
This time, not even a gale force wind could have bent his cock. Straight and sure, it rammed into me. I wasn't certain who was fucking whom in the end, but we were thrusting together. Graham came before I was ready and again looked dejected. I pushed him back in the seat and told him to remain perfectly still. I ground my pelvis 'round and round until my bones were almost scraping the skin and hair off Graham's lower regions. He tried to move with me.
I said, "Keep still. Don't move."
The rotation of crotch to crotch, the meshing and entwining of hairs, the sexual smells mingling together were all driving me wild! Just an inch of Graham's languid cock was within me. I came, snorting like a dragon, almost breathing fire and smoke from nostrils, navel, and cunt. Graham kept crying, "Angel! Angel!" over and over again.
But I wasn't finished with him yet. "What's your favorite position?" I asked.
"I love to eat pussy while my cock is being sucked," he answered, "but it's impossible in this car."
I immediately replied, "Where there's a will, there's a way." If I'd been a contortionist I couldn't have done a better job. I placed my hands on the floor and my legs over Graham's shoulders, and I grasped his head between my strong thighs. There was no escape. Pussy he had to eat. My lips could once more encompass his cock. His tongue was between my legs, and his cock, unlike previously, was rigid and mobile. He was obviously very fond of tongue-fucking.
My mouth found his cock, which tasted salty and sticky, but oh, so good! We were really having a ball when we heard footsteps approaching. A frozen face and a blue nose pressed themselves against the window pane. The uniform was immediately recognizable as that of a policeman on the beat! I dived to the floor. Graham covered me with his coat. I thought we were going to be treated to an "Evenin' all" or " 'ello, 'ello, 'ello. What's goin' on 'ere?" But the friendly face beamed.
"Are you in trouble?" he asked.
"No, it's okay, officer," Graham replied, winding the window down. "The lady lost her ring, and we were looking for it on the floor."
I popped up. "It's okay. I've found it," I said.
"Good, miss," said the police constable, and he moved off.
I slipped back into the driving seat, and returning Graham's coat to its rightful owner, I slipped into my own clothes and started the motor. The policeman was plodding his way up the quiet road and gave us a friendly wave as we passed. I dropped Graham off, refusing an invitation for coffee, as I was off early on my first flight the very next day, but we exchanged phone numbers. He worked in Admin, and I knew we'd be seeing a lot more of each other. He got out and thanked me.
I said, "Please don't. It was great!" and he replied, "Good night, sweet angel! You're so very good and above all generous in bed." I roared off up the road, ready to tackle the world.
Hilary shook my shoulders. "Get a move on," she said, "we've got to serve the passengers before we arrive in Colombo. You've been sitting there ages smiling to yourself. What were you thinking about?" she asked.
"Oh, glowworms," I replied.
"I think you're some sort of nut, Fiona," she said. "Get a move on. They're hollering to be fed and watered."
Duties completed, I strapped myself into my jump seat, wondering what lay in store for me in Colombo. No doubt something would come my way...
CHAPTER THREE
Tasting the Tea Leaves
If Kuwait had felt hot to my unconditioned skin, Ceylon was like stepping into a steam bath. As we got off the aircraft I said jokingly to the captain, "Well, there won't be any shakedowns or ups here!"
He was not amused. His face remained set in a rigid mask of superiority. I watched his tall figure in the neat black uniform, the four gold bars on the sleeves shining brightly in the sunshine as he walked across to the shack that served as the airport terminal. He certainly was a fine figure of a man! I wondered briefly if anything could crack that icy exterior...
My first impressions of Sri Lanka-as Ceylon is now known-will stay with me forever. I was overjoyed at the lustiness of the masses of green vegetation and at the rivers jam-packed with naked babies laughing and kneeling women doing their weekly wash. As we drew nearer to Colombo, the loveliness of the countryside was desecrated by the squalor of the filthy little huts which served as houses. My heart and soul were horrified by the abject poverty and misery of thousands upon thousands of Sinhalese. At night every step, ledge, and conceivable flat surface served as a bed for the homeless. In the daytime they squatted on the pavements of the filthy streets or in the doorways of their dingy hovels.
People with mutilated arms and deformed legs hobbled along the streets. Nothing was bandaged or camouflaged. You could see the begging children walking on the knotted stumps which had once been legs. I was told that a lot of parents maimed their children at birth so they could go out into the world in the lucrative profession of begging. There was also a good trade in the hiring of dead babies. Women would hire a dead baby and go around begging for money. They'd shove the dead baby in your face and say, "My baby's dead." These poor little creatures were passed from greedy hand to greedy hand until the dreadful stench became too much for even them to bear. The filth, dirt, and poverty really depressed me, but sad to say, after several visits to Sri Lanka, one gets used to it, stench and all.
The hotel we put up at was an hour's perilous drive from the airport. How countless crews hadn't been lost on this journey. I'll never know. It was certainly more hazardous than flying! The crew transport consisted of a ramshackle old bus which made its way along the road in a procession of geriatric vehicles-pre-war London buses, trucks, taxicabs, van, and bicycles. The driver of our crock wrapped his dhoti around his knees and placed his large black bare feet on the pedals and plowed on regardless. He traveled the tortuous road at immense speed while bull shit, carts, dogs, and people fled out of the roadway. It was either that or be mowed down on the spot! After several of these trips I learned to lie down on the back seat of the bus, close my eyes, and pray that we would reach our destination in one piece.
The hotel was slap-bang in the middle of scurrying scurvy-smelling Colombo. The entrance hall was a huge marble affair. The ice-cold air gave me the same welcome as my cunt would give a stiff cock-it was sheer heaven! The only furniture in the massive entrance hall were two gigantic peacock wicker chairs. Reception was very polite and formal, and we were quickly allocated accommodations. The room numbers were chalked up on our suitcases, and the bearers hurried them off to our rooms, which were as tacky as the lobby was lovely. There were just the bare necessities, plus a shower and a view out over ratty buildings and the occasional palm tree. My room had the added luxury of a rattrap, complete with dead rat! The shivers ran up and down my spine as I screamed at the bearer to remove both the rat and the trap!
On a subsequent sexually less active trip to Colombo, I came into very close contact with a rat, the four-legged variety and by no means my favorite animal! I was fast asleep on my little narrow bed when I suddenly awoke to see something with two piercing eyes, a large fat body, and a long tail wandering nonchalantly up and down the coffee table which was adjacent to the bed. I sat bolt upright and screamed my head off when I realized my night visitor was the biggest, most vicious-looking rat I'd ever seen! The rat was advancing along the table top toward me when my unearthly shrieking stopped it dead in its tracks. It scrambled off the bed, across the floor, and ran up the wall behind the curtain. I was still screaming when a bearer ran into the room wagging his head.
"What's the matter, missy?" he asked.
"There's a rat in my room!" I screamed.
He searched everywhere. The vermin had vanished. The bearer's brown face broke out in a huge grin.
"Oh, no, missy! No rat here!"
Then he left me, still wagging his head. I turned the coffee table upside down, armed myself with books and shoes, left the light on (precautions I always took after that incident), and eventually fell into a fitful sleep. When I awoke in the morning I found that all that remained of a bag of apples I'd brought off the aircraft were four cores. My rat had at least been well fed before he'd left. That was the last time I left any food lying around in the hotel, but I was to encounter many more rats.
At the airport we had had to fill in currency forms, stating exactly how much and what type of currency we had. Hilary had warned me in advance not to declare all the sterling I had, as the black market rate for the pound was three times that of the official rate. So I had stuffed twenty quid in the sole of my shoe, in order to purchase the already bargain-priced goods at even lower prices. (I actually bought a python handbag for four pounds!) Money changing on the black market could prove to be a very dangerous pastime, as the engineer on our crew found out. He'd flashed his fivers in front of the hotel, and was taken by a wizened Sinhalese in a filthy dhoti down alleyways that became progressively narrower and darker. He woke up sitting in the gutter with an egg-shaped bruise on his head, stripped of all his cash and valuables. I was more cautious for once and got one of the hotel bearers to change money for me. That way I got slightly under the black market rate, but didn't put myself in any danger. Every time you change money officially, the authorities stamp your currency form. Obviously you had to change some money officially, because the authorities wouldn't expect you to live for days in a country without spending a penny.
We were invited along to the captain's room for the inevitable crew party I described in a previous chapter. The atmosphere was getting icier as the countries got hotter. Hilary and I knocked back a swift drink and pleading exhaustion, beat a hasty retreat to "The Tatty Cat," which was the crew's nickname for the nightclub in the basement of the hotel. This was a notable pick-up place for the young "tea leaves" of Sri Lanka. At least, that's what the majority of the jealous middle-aged flight crew called them. "Tea leaves" were young, good-looking, and nearly always spoiled young men who worked for big tea companies as tasters; they were all English.
Hilary and I sat down and ordered two crab au gratins and surveyed the very promising scene. The place was packed with diners and dancers, the latter of whom were stuck body to body on a dance floor about the size of a large dinner plate. A dusky sari-clad girl was doing her very best to sing to the diabolically bad local band. We were soon joined by some crews from other aircraft, and eventually the "tea leaves" muscled in.
The atmosphere was hot and heavy, and Hilary and I were in the mood for a little romance. I was asked to dance by a big, frightfully English ex-public-school-boy type of "tea leaf." He had a mass of unruly hair and a very pleasant manner. I knew the male members of the crew were watching as we glued our bodies together and undulated to the slow tempo of the music. I liked the frank, open manner of Peter.
"How do you like meeting your first 'tea leaf'? " he asked laughingly.
"Why are you called that?" I questioned him.
He replied, "I suppose because we drift from one stew to the next!" he joked. But it was no joke. "As you must have realized," he continued, "there aren't very many white women around, so we make hay while the sun shines. There's a never-ending flow of airline girls in and out of Colombo, each eager to see the sights and romance a little to the sound of the Indian Ocean."
He was playing the same game as I and enjoying every fresh, fragrant fuck that came his way. Take a good-looking chick, the torrid tropical air, white thighs spread open in abandon, and Peter was in as quick as a flash. He only provided what was wanted. However, some girls, although willing to get laid, wanted these guys to stay as pure as the driven snow until their next visit, which could be anything from two weeks to two years-the price of opening their legs. No way! These fellows really had to keep on the ball and work to an incredible schedule so they wouldn't get a convergence of five randy stews at one time. Peter told me he got into a terrific rumpus one night in "The Tatty Cat" when two of his regular screws-sorry, stews-flew in simultaneously, one westbound, the other eastbound. They'd actually come to blows over his favors, and fought on the ground like a pair of no-holds-barred wrestlers.
Hilary had by now picked her man and was smooching along beside us. Her fella was very dark with a terrific tan, but slightly smaller and stumpier than my Peter. They were roommates, and the two of them had a quick confab. We were all obviously content with our partners. The boys suggested a moonlight flit and a midnight feast. Hilary and I were both dying to get out of the club, which was beginning to smell of sweat and stale pussy.
We walked up the staircase past the stuffed and mounted leopard from which the club got its real name, The Blue Leopard. I of course noted immediately it had no genitalia and commented on this fact. Hilary told me that one of our engineers had thought it a huge joke to cut them off and put them in the unwitting navigator's suitcase. So, when clearing customs out of Sri Lanka, the poor nav was horror-stricken to find those ghastly goulies in his case. He had had a hard time explaining to customs exactly what they were and how they had come to be in his suitcase! The rest of the crew who had been let in on the secret shook with mirth behind the red-faced nav.
Peter was just about to open the door at the top of the stairs when it sprang open, and Captain Frozen Knackers' classic face appeared.
"Tired, eh?" his voice rang down the hollow stairway. Then he added sarcastically, "You must be on your way to bed, girls?" looking mockingly at Hilary and me.
"Of course," I replied, "there wasn't enough room back there to have it away on top of the dinner table, so we thought we'd go somewhere more comfortable."
Peter and his friend Stuart raised an eyebrow inquiringly at me while Hilary, much to their delight, began to shake those massive knockers. Underneath my apparently cool exterior I was seething with rage. At the precise moment I would have liked to have done to the captain what the engineer had done to the leopard! Frozen Knackers was always cropping up where he wasn't wanted. He swept imperiously past us.
"Who the hell was that?" Stuart asked.
"Our illustrious captain, the sperm head," I replied.
"Is he always that charming?" Peter asked.
"Without exception. I think he's taken a strong dislike to me after I lost a baby on his aircraft," I replied.
Peter swept his lips across my forehead and traced down my nose with his finger. "How could anyone not like a delicious creature like you?" he asked.
"Flatterer," I said, but was nonetheless very pleased.
The boys told us they had the use of a beach house about fifty miles along the coast and asked if we would like to go there for a barbecue. While we went upstairs to get our bikinis they dashed back to their apartment to get some food and drink for the feast. Hilary and I pushed our way through the beggars who were permanently installed outside the hotel and quickly got into the waiting car, winding up the windows so they couldn't continue clawing at us. I sat in the front with Peter. He had a new car which was quite a strange sight in Colombo. He'd waited three years to have it imported.
We traveled along the road, past the legendary Gaw Face Green where the locals, the women in colorful saris of soft flowing silks and the men in white dhotis, promenade along the shores of the Indian Ocean. In the daytime it's a favorite spot for children to fly their strangely decorated kites. We were progressing at a modest speed along Colombo's only motorway at the time-which consisted of a few hundred yards of dual carriageway-when we met a bullock and cart and then a car coming down the fast lane toward us. Peter skillfully avoided a head-on collision while I covered my face with my hands. Cars would wait until you were approaching and then shoot out of the side road, right in front of you, almost as if the sight of an approaching car were the signal for them to proceed. I was thankful that Peter was quite used to these motor maniacs.
We continued along the road until we turned off in the direction of Mount Lavinia, which must be one of the top beauty spots in the world. The Mount Lavinia Hotel is perched on the rocks above a bay scattered with palm trees-surrounded by sands of pure silver, whispering soft air, and the gentle wash of water on the beach. We sat and sipped our cocktails on the terrace looking out across the magical Indian Ocean. It was hard to believe that the horrors and seediness of Colombo were just a few miles away, disguised by a blanket of twinkling lights. Reluctantly, we left this precious pearl and sped on to our destination.
The beach bungalow was on a little island in the river which ran out to the sea. We climbed into a small boat and pushed off from the shore. Peter and Stuart each took an oar and we were across the small stretch of water in a flash. The bungalow was big and almost luxurious by Sri Lanka standards. We walked into a large living room which was furnished with rush mats and wicker furniture. A large, well-equipped bar stood in the corner. Peter opened the french windows on the far side of the room.
They opened out onto one of the most glorious stretches of beach I'd ever seen.
The boys hurried to light the bonfire while Hilary and I changed out of our evening dresses and into our bikinis. We rushed to cleanse our sticky bodies in the silken surf. Looking back, we saw the glow from the bonfire lighting up the sky. We ran along the beach and found Peter and Stuart roasting our supper of wild boar and baked potatoes. Dessert was grapefruit, freshly plucked from one of the trees behind the bungalow. The boys, too, had changed and had wrapped towels around their waists. We ate ravenously. I looked at the bodies of the boys, both firm and brown. The flickering light from the fire shed an unreal luster on our naked flesh. Our faces were glowing with health and heat from the flames of the fire which were shooting high into the tropical star-spangled sky. Peter looked more like an athlete than a timorous tea-taster. Glistening droplets of water were running and dancing on Hilary's body and mine.
We finished the meal, and Peter grabbed my hand and sped toward the ever inviting water. He dropped his towel at the water's edge and ran on ahead of me. I got a glimpse of his firm white buttocks before he plunged into the foaming sea and was lost to view. I tumbled in beside him, and we chased each other around in the water, splashing and shouting like kids in a wading pool. I could hear shrieks of pleasure coming from a little farther up the beach and could see Hilary and Stuart similarly engaged. Hilary had lost her bikini top and her large white water wings were bobbing up and down like two fluorescent buoys in the ghostly light. Stuart was trying hard to submerge her, but her titties remained pointing skyward! Peter lunged at me, pulling my bikini bottom off and knocking me down in the shallow water. He fell on top of me. Salty lips encompassed mine, and his wet hair fell all over my face. We kissed as the gentle surf slapped around us. He was very modest, for I'd hardly had a glimpse of what was very shortly going to penetrate my salty pussy. His hands pushed up my bikini top roughly and sought out my boobs. His mouth bit each nipple hard. The more I cried out, the more he bit into my flesh. He suddenly stood up over me. In the moonlight all I could see was this huge figure, legs astride, and the outline of his balls and penis dangling between his legs.
"Fiona," he said, "you look just like an exotic mermaid washed up from the mysterious unknown depths of the sea."
Fine grains of shingle were clinging to my body. My hair was spread over the sand, and wave after gentle wave buffeted my body. The sensation of the water swishing between my legs and playfully plucking my pussy was increasing my need for Peter's dong, which was ding-a-linging in the breeze above me. He stooped down and, as though I were weightless, lifted me high in his arms and made to carry me off to the bungalow.
"Put me down," I said softly, "and kneel in the water."
He did as I requested, kneeling facing the sea. I knelt opposite him and very tenderly caught his penis in my hand. As the waves approached, I cupped water in my other hand and carefully wiped his weapon and balls free of every particle of sand. (This romantic gesture was in fact a precautionary measure against getting a pussy full of sand!) I felt as though I should warn Hilary, but decided that, as a fully trained stewardess, she should have enough sense to care for her own cunt. Apart from getting rid of the sand, I was giving Peter a soft caress, stretching and squeezing his weapon until it was almost ready for action. Luckily he had no foreskin, as we would have been in the water the best part of an hour, rolling it back and forth trying to relieve it of sand. I anticipating eating it later, and there was no way I wanted sand in my sandwiches on the bed! When I'd finished with him I lathered my pussy with the bubbling foam, scrubbed my tangled bush and washed around all the secret folds of flesh that lay between my thighs. Peter was itching to help. In fact he was getting quite agitated, so I held his hand in mine and guided it around my honey-pot.
I think he would have stayed on his knees glued to me forever if I hadn't suggested we move up to the beach and back to the bonfire. Grabbing my bikini, we ran hand in hand back to our barbecue blanket to find that Hilary and Stuart had beaten us to it. They were firmly installed upon the blanket and each other, judging from the white and brown thighs thrashing and the brown hands juggling with the monstrous milky white breasts. Peter and I stood back a little and watched Hilary and Stuart. She was really giving him a good seeing to, and he was having the time of his life. He was without a doubt a boob man and couldn't believe his luck at the handfuls Hilary had to offer. She lay back with her legs spread apart. She was a very big girl, but not fat-just very well covered and shapely. I noticed that, although her hair looked naturally blonde, her bush was almost black. It was a neat little triangle that looked as though it was kept in trim by a weekly visit to the barber's. While Stuart fought manfully with her breasts she grabbed and pulled on his penis. It was on the small side, but very thick. Stuart decided he needed two hands and a mouth to cope adequately with one large tit. The areas surrounding her nipple were the size of saucers while the nipples themselves could have been two small cocks.
I've always preferred to be a participant rather than a voyeuse, but I had to admit that I was very turned on by watching the pair of them. Peter left my side and walked over to where Hil's free booby was bouncing. He crouched over her and started touching and stroking it. She moaned with pleasure. Then she suddenly opened her eyes. Four hands were manhandling her breasts. She started in horror and pushed Peter away and buried herself into Stuart. I laughed as Peter returned sheepishly to me. I told him he shouldn't butt in where he wasn't wanted and that he would soon find out he had more than enough on his plate when he got down to me.
There was no way we could share their blanket or get it away from under them so Peter raced into the house and fetched another big peach-colored blanket. He spread it out on the other side of the bonfire so the dying embers of the once formidable fire were between us and the other two. Their sighs and squeals, moans and groans were audible in the still hushed air.
We lay close to the glow, huddled together, our dripping wet bodies sliding and slapping around like wet fish at the fishmonger's. We were soon dry with the combined heat of the fire and the warm air. Peter pinioned my arms to the ground and lay on top of me. His bulky frame crushed me into the sand. His kisses still tasted of salt water. He started very, gently licking the remaining trickles of water off my body. He lowered his head and sucked all the moisture from my unruly wet pubes. With his fingers he twisted the tuft around, remarking how like a cockscomb it was. He pulled it upward until it bore a resemblance to the fanned-out top of a palm tree-minus coconuts. The only nuts near me were soft human ones. Having finished with my cockscomb, he stealthily slid his way up and back on top of me. I felt a rod of steel slip between my hot receptive legs. He didn't try to ram it straight in, but let it lie and acquaint itself with its new surroundings. It did a quick reconnaissance of the outer portals, then drew back slightly and cocked its revolver ready to fire. He could have been a doctor with a syringe, so quick and painless was his entry.
Once inside me, Peter's cock didn't move at all. I thought for one horrified moment that we had fitted together so well that we'd got stuck and would need someone to come and throw a bucket full of cold water over us or pour a pint of oil into my pussy to lubricate his barrel into working order! But this was Peter's own special method of making sure he didn't come off too soon, leaving me high and dry, frustrated and unfulfilled. While his cock remained static, his fingers manipulated the lips of my cunt seeking out all the points of pleasure, and depending upon my silence or moans of delight he soon found out all my weak spots and worked on them until I was shaking as though the ground below me was caving in. His tongue rasped around my breasts and nipples. Suddenly he shouted, "Hold tight!"
I gripped him. He rolled over and pushed me up, all in one swift movement. The length of steel hadn't budged an inch, and now I was kneeling astride him! He placed his two strong hands around my waist, and, raising himself slightly off the blanket, he lifted me up so his pole sidled out an inch or two. He then let me drop so that I crashed right down onto his upright stalk. No sooner was I nicely settled on it than he lifted me up again. I don't know whether he was trying to impress me with his strength, but he certainly impressed me with the permanent rigidity of his cock. There must have been a steel girder inside the fleshy exterior of his member. Although he repeated this procedure over and over again, never once did it falter, tilt, or show any signs of flagging. I was quite exhausted by being thrown up and down in the air like a jack-in-the-box. I was very happy with the jack that was inside my precious box, but desperately wanted more than the occasional feel of that granite strength against my moist rubbery insides.
There's not an awful lot of difference between pain and pleasure. I could bear it no longer. The pleasure was becoming painful.
"Fuck me!" I whispered in his ear, not quite out of breath. After all, I could have done just as well with a vibrator buried in the sand beneath me.
"Fuck me!" I whispered again. "Fuck me!" I repeated over and over again.
With the same neat, swift movement as before, he reversed our positions and once again he did it without removing his prick from my pussy. I was now lying on my back, Peter between my legs fucking me with long rhythmic strokes which were steady, strong, and sure. Much to my surprise, the pleasure was becoming more-not less painful, and eventually I slipped into unconsciousness while Peter banged away at me to his heart's content. I don't know how long I was "out," but when I regained consciousness I saw that Peter's face was contorted with ecstasy as he exploded into joyous orgasm.
Without a murmur or caress of consolation for my much-mutilated minge Peter fell fast asleep. I got up. My annoyance vanished as I became once more enraptured with the utter beauty of that night sky, the sweet smells that wafted on the breeze, and the sound of the surf. I made sure Peter was well wrapped up in the blanket and took myself off to the bungalow and bed.
Sometime during the night while I slept soundly someone entered my room. The blinds were drawn, and it was pitch black. My most comfortable sleeping position is like a fetus. I rolled over in my sleep and encountered a cock pushing its way between my parted lips. Not sure if I were awake or dreaming, I sucked away contentedly as a baby would suck its thumb in sleep. I curled my hands around this cold weapon so that it could share my warmth. I pulled it further into my mouth. It gave me comfort, but felt as though it belonged between my legs. When I was done I drifted back into the land of dreams.
When I awoke in the morning, I suddenly remembered having had a cock in my mouth in the dead of night. I sat up in bed. Whose was it, I wondered. For I was all alone in bed. An interesting thought crossed my mind. Maybe it hadn't been Peter (whom I had taken it for granted it was), but Stuart. Perhaps they had decided to swap partners in the middle of the night. I went in search of Hilary, who was beaming from ear to ear. We had a quick swim while the boys cooked brunch.
"How did it go?" she asked me, her blue eyes shining.
"So-so," I said.
She had fallen madly in love with Stuart and couldn't stop raving about him. They'd spent a glorious night, hardly sleeping a wink except when Stuart had mysteriously disappeared and then reappeared after ten minutes. So it hadn't been a dream, after all, and now I was certain it was Stuart's sleepwalking cock I had sucked with such fervor! I decided to keep quiet about the incident, although a little later Stuart came up to me and softly congratulated me on my cocksucking.
"Don't worry Hils," I said, "you'll soon get over it. You've just got a bad case of Sri Lanka, sun, sea, surf, and semen!"
Her cheerful face puckered in a frown, and she shrugged her shoulders. "I expect you're right," she said, "but it was still divine. I suppose we'll have to go back to the hotel and the grindstone."
We weren't flying out until the next evening, but we shouldn't have left the hotel for any length of time without telling the captain of our whereabouts. We returned to our rooms to get dressed. We both exited simultaneously from the doorways and exclaimed in unison, "But we've only got evening dresses with us!"
I said, "Well, we can't walk into the hotel lobby stark naked. We'll just have to manage."
We sat outside on the verandah under the shade of the trees to eat our meal of fresh pineapple, mangoes, grapefruit, eggs, toast, and coffee. Peter and Stuart laughed at the sight of us, Hilary in a long-skirted silver two-piece gown and me in a white backless evening dress sitting in the shade digging into an enormous breakfast. We stuffed our bikinis into our small evening bags and, hitching our skirts up, clambered into the boat and headed for the mainland.
We hit Colombo about three in the afternoon; the stench and fiery heat rose to meet us as we approached the hotel. We were all fairly silent on the way back-the way people frequently are after a good fuck, each occupied with his own thoughts. Peter was very keen to see/fuck me again. I'd had a super time. He'd really looked after me well, even if by my standards he hadn't many tricks up his dick. Maybe the poor love was sexually worn out by the continual flow of stews through Colombo. He'd really done his best, I'm sure, but he could have used hours of coaching on the pre-and after-care of lovemaking. I certainly couldn't complain about the length of time he'd kept his pecker up, but I'm not over fond of the main course. It's all those little extras that turn a plain meal into a banquet. They promised to pick us up for dinner later that day and left us standing in our evening dresses amidst the beggars in front of the hotel.
I looked at Hilary and laughed.
"Now, shoulders back, chest out, and walk through the lobby as if you always walk around in mid-afternoon in your evening dress!"
I went first, trying very hard not to laugh at the reaction of the people in the lobby. Hilary strolled nonchalantly beside me. Suddenly we saw the most unbelievable apparition. The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Captain Frozen Knackers and the rest of the crew in full uniform! Hilary and I stood rooted to the spot in absolute panic. This was one mess we wouldn't get out of in a hurry. His face went puce.
"Where the hell have you two been? To a tea dance? I've been trying to contact you since eight a.m. The aircraft is arriving a day early. I've got two other girls from another crew standing by. We leave in fifteen minutes. If you're not down here by then, we'll go without you, and you'll have to find your own fares back to London," he concluded.
"Yes, sir!" we chorused. No smart-ass reply from me this time!
We fled upstairs. I threw everything I had into a suitcase, jammed on my uniform minus all regulation underwear, tore downstairs, paid my bill, and climbed into the crew bus. Hilary arrived two seconds after me. The punishment we were given fitted the crime. Nobody spoke to us except when absolutely necessary. The only worse crime we could have committed was to have got sunburnt, which was classed as a self-inflicted injury, and the punishment for this was as follows: when you were fit enough to travel, you paid your own fare back home, and your employment was terminated. Hilary and I sat in silence on the back seat while the others all ganged together at the front.
While waiting for the incoming aircraft we approached the captain and apologized profusely, adding that we were quite unaware of the possibility of the aircraft coming in early. He just grunted, so we worked like troopers on the next leg of the journey to Singapore, with no further mishaps. I was so excited at the prospect of seeing Singapore for the first time that I completely lost the depression cast upon me by my misdemeanor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Big Ben Strikes
Singapore-the heartbeat of the Far East-was the most exciting place I had been to during my short life as a stew, and it had an added bonus; I had friends there who were stationed at RAF Changi. Customs at Singapore airport rummaged through my luggage, and they thought it a great giggle to open a box of Tampax and undo one, pulling it about and dangling it by its tail as though it were a white mouse. They twittered like canaries as they discussed what this could possibly be used for.
Normally the crews stayed at the Ocean Park Hotel in East Coast Road, but this time we were put into a modern monument type hotel. On later visits, I came to love the Ocean Park Hotel with its rooms off long, open corridors and its superb dining terrace outside. You were at least aware of being in the East in this hotel, but once inside the superbly air-conditioned Americanized hotel you could have been in any city in the world. At the front desk we met another crew out of uniform. They'd all been out to visit the famous Tiger Balm Gardens. Girls and flight deck crew alike were all very friendly and asked us to join them for some refreshment in one of their rooms.
They were a complete change from our group. We chatted for ages. I really fancied the first officer. His name was Ben, and we called him Big Ben. He was a deeply tanned man, very well built with powerful muscles bulging in his arms and legs, midnight blue eyes, and a fat cigar permanently stuck between his lips. He had a deep booming voice and kept us all amused with hilarious stories of all the wild things he had got up to in his twenty years of flying. His manner suggested he'd had more girls than he had flown aircraft, and that must have taken some doing!
Hilary and I decided the room needed a little more decoration, and as everyone was getting slightly high they were open to all sorts of suggestions. (I should say that Captain Frozen Knackers had left after one drink. I don't think he could stand such jollifications.) Hilary and I collected as many potted plants from the corridors as we could find so that we could have our party in a jungle atmosphere. We were all leaping among the plants to the music of a portable record player when there was a great hammering on the door.
One of the more drunken members of our party shouted, "Come on in if you've got a drink; if not, piss off!"
The voice from without replied, "I'm the manager of the hotel. Open the door, please."
Hilary and I and a few others who were more or less compos mentis grabbed the plants and stuffed them into the bathroom-filling the bath, bidet, basin, and john, and we had just managed to close the door when the manager burst into the room.
"I've complaints about the noise coming from this room.
A drunken voice slurred, "Whassa matter?" It was the dour little Scots engineer from our crew. "We're only having a ... hie ... quiet drink," he added, prodding the manager in the chest with his finger. However, his dourness was disappearing fast as the thin blood in his veins was being replaced by vast quantities of Scotch.
I turned to look at the bathroom door, and to my consternation I saw a large green leaf poking out from under the door. It looked like some dreaded green lurgie which was about to creep under the door and take over the whole place.
The manager's eyes followed mine. "And what, may I ask," he screeched, "is that?" pointing at the foliage seeping under the door.
"I was just watering one of your plants which was looking in need of resuscitation," I replied.
"We are quite capable in this hotel of caring for our own plants," he retorted and strode to the bathroom door.
We all held our breath. He managed to inch open the door to the sound of shattering plant pots as they fell crashing down from their precarious positions. The manager emerged on all fours covered with dirt and green leaves. He looked just like a soldier camouflaged for a jungle expedition. He jumped to his feet and attempted to brush the filth off his white tropical suit. "You!" he said, pointing a finger directly at me. "Put these plants back immediately! You certainly haven't heard the last of this!" He left, banging the door behind him.
The laughter which had been contained with great difficulty now exploded. Everyone cracked up in glee and set to more drinking. A few of us returned the somewhat battered plants to their former places of honor and rushed back to the party. The music was still blaring, and the wee Scotsman Jock was doing a highland fling over two crossed toothbrushes, which he had placed in the middle of the floor while the others cheered him on. Suddenly he wobbled and gracefully slumped to the floor. We tried to revive him, but he was out for the count.
Loud-mouthed Big Ben came up with a wild suggestion. Two of the fellas hurried off in search of one of those mobile tables which are used by hotels to serve meals-on-wheels in your room. By the time they returned with the table we had completely stripped Jock. I remarked on how well-equipped he was for such a wee man. We took the dirty dishes and cloth off the table, laid Jock out on it with his arms folded across his chest, and placed the tablecloth over him so he was covered from top to toe. Then we wheeled him down the corridor and into the elevator. We summoned the other elevator at the same time and piled into it, and we sent Jock to the ground floor by pushing the button and stepping out quickly before the doors closed. We got to the ground floor just in time to see the other elevator doors open and the table-with Jock's unconscious body on it-roll out of the lift.
Two little old American ladies were waiting to get into the elevator when this apparition passed them. The sheet got caught by the closing doors, and Jock's naked body sailed across the lobby floor like a steamship traveling at forty knots. The two old American dears screamed and fainted. The whole lobby broke out in complete pandemonium as the white corpse progressed on its way.
We disappeared faster than a bullet out of a gun and regained the comparative safety of our room. The manager arrived seconds later to find us sitting quietly drinking and chatting.
Beside himself with rage, he spluttered, "Now you have really gone too far!"
We all stared at him and asked him what he meant because we hadn't left the room since his last visit.
He said chokingly, "There's a naked man in the lobby, and he's one of you!"
We stared at him in disbelief. "Nothing to do with us!" said Big Ben.
The frustrated manager left, a gibbering, incoherent wreck, shouting, "You crews will never stay in my hotel again!".
True to his word, we didn't, but I understand the final straw was when one of our stews sent him a Christmas card wishing him a venereal Christmas and a syphilitic New Year. He endured us for the remainder of our stay, but all the fun we had from then on was out of the hotel. Having decided we'd probably done enough damage for one afternoon, we all went off to our beds in various states of sloshiness. We arranged to meet for an evening out later on.
I'd no sooner slipped between the sheets than there was a great commotion outside my door. I wrapped a towel around me, opened the door, and found Big Ben and the tall slim-hipped steward from the other flight standing on my doorstep. They were having an argument about who had arrived there first.
"Who got here first, and for what?" I wanted to know.
Jack the steward behaved rather like a person in an elevator looking down at his feet as though he'd never seen them before. Ben just kept grinning and winking.
"I'm tired, and whatever it is you both want, you can go and get knotted. I'm ready to crash." I smiled sweetly and slammed the door in their faces.
I was just drifting into slightly drunk slumber when a pounding on the door stirred me awake. Not willing to open the door, I sh'outed, "Who is it?"
A soft Malay voice tinkled, "Room service, miss."
I replied "But I haven't ordered anything," and the Malay voice answered, "Oh, yes, miss, definitely room 405."
Dragging my weary bones once more from my bed, I grabbed the towel and opened the door. There was a giant Malay waiter with his back to me. I didn't know they grew them so big. He backed into the room, pulling the table with him. Still with his back to me, he closed the door. The only contents on the table were a bottle of champagne, a bottle of Scotch, and two glasses. I suddenly got a strong whiff of cigar smoke. The waiter turned around, and I found myself face to face with Big Ben! He was grinning lopsidedly with his cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. He looked so ridiculous with his vast body stuffed into some poor little waiter's clothes that I just collapsed on the bed with laughter. He roared like a bear and leaped on top of me.
"You really are a sperm head," I said. "Of all the daft things to do," I added.
"Well, I wasn't going to let any two-bit steward beat me to the post," he replied.
"Do you always go to these lengths to gain entry to a lady's chamber?" I asked him.
"No," he replied, "I normally just have to knock and doors-and-all open immediately. But I like a bit of a challenge. So now that's over get them off and we'll begin."
I was too weak from laughter and too much booze to protest, and apart from this I had gone overboard for this burly man as soon as I set eyes on him. "Don't you ever take that cigar out of your mouth?" I asked.
"Only when I've got something better to suck on," he replied, looking me straight in the crotch.
"Well, seeing as you've brought me a drink, you may as well open it and pour me a glass." The ice-cold bubbles tickled the back of my throat and revived me.
It wasn't only the champagne which raised my flagging spirits. Ben's presence had a lot to do with it. He grabbed my arm and said, "You're a little on the thin side. I normally like more meat on my birds." He pulled the towel away and examined my boobs. "Hmmmmmmm," he said, "very nice, very nice indeed! But I do have a preference for enormous boobs and I like a girl with good big thighs to wrap around my head, but you'll do," he concluded.
"Don't do me any favors!" I retorted, feeling like a horse being examined for auction. I expected Ben would open my mouth next and inspect my teeth.
"It's your funny little face I like best and especially that mobile mouth. It's always on the move, even when you're not talking. It's always showing some expression, and for that reason I can forgive your slender body. I would succumb just for the sake of those lubricating lips. Here," he continued, "wrap them around this," and he unzipped his fly and almost poked my eye out with the end of his cock! "Come on, funny bunny, get to work on this delicious morsel," he added.
I sat and surveyed this bear-like man sitting on the end of my bed squashed into the tight, ill-fitting uniform and blowing his own trumpet. I wondered why-he seemed to be so good at everything-he didn't try a little self-fellation while I sat and watched.
He looked incredibly funny and yet sexy at the same time with his large slug-like cock bursting past the zipper of his trousers. They could hardly contain his vast bulk. His weapon was looking very angry as though it would leap out at me and come crashing down on me, ripping the material of his trousers. I smiled as I looked at it.
"Don't you think you'd better let it out of its bag?" I said. "Otherwise you're going to have a nasty accident."
He undid his trousers and managed with a great effort and much heavy breathing to get them off. He struggled out of his underpants and waiter's jacket and shirt and stood there before me with his large brown-skinned sexy frame. He took a flying leap and jumped on the bed on top of me. It's a wonder we didn't go crashing down into the room on the floor below, the sound was so loud! The bed caved in under his weight. He forced up my knees and pulled them wide apart very roughly. Then came the surprise.
He moved his mouth over the entire surface of my body with lips as feather-light as the tip of butterfly wings over summer grass. He didn't lick or probe with his tongue, not even once. His mouth moved with moist and parted lips all over me, barely touching my silken skin. Shivers ran up and down my spine. He starting on my toes, he inched his way up over the arch of my foot, around the ankle bone and crept up my leg, hardly making a sound except for the occasional murmur of pleasure. I lay there, clutching the sides of the bed, trying not to writhe or push my body up. It was a great effort to keep perfectly still. The feeling of his lips sweeping, skimming, scarcely touching my body was strange. He mouthed his way all over my breasts; there was no hard biting, only continuous open-mouthed kisses. He carried on around and around, down to my stomach and into the insides of my thighs where heaven sits on a tiny pink flesh button. His lips pursed and puckered on my man in the boat and then on to the pubes themselves; the tap-tapping of Ben's mouth made them feel as though they were being brushed by the best bristle brush in the whole wide world. Then he traveled back down until the subtle suction from his lips manipulated my clit. He still used the some open-mouthed movements; the tongue was not used. Once he arrived at the very heat of the fire he blew little puffs of air, cooling me down.
His lips swept on to my buttocks. He turned me over and continued in delicious, delectable patterns over my rounded buttocks to the soft, warm hollow between. Oh, the feeling! The incredible soft sensuousness of being gone over like that! I could have let him do it forever, and it seemed as though he had every intention of doing so. He sat astride my back with his cock lying between my buttocks, and after his open lips had gone around the nape of my neck he sat up on me and pushed his cock in hard between my buttocks. He gently massaged my back. Oh, I can't describe the sensation it created of luxury, warmth, and sensuality. Everything was divine, perfect bliss! He worked his fingers down my back into that very special place, that little hard bone which gave away to the crease of my ass. He massaged it with his fingers until I almost passed out with joy and pleasure. My tired, aching, sleepy body stirred to his every touch.
He turned me over and pushed his head between my legs. His mouth closed around my lower lips, and then suddenly his tongue-a hot quick wanted tongue-flicked into me, far into me. I lay there like a rag doll, giving myself up to this feeling, to this big rough, tough, loudmouthed man with his soft, sexy lips and tongue wrapped around my cunt. Oh, for once I did nothing! I lay back and enjoyed every single moment! I was drifting and dreaming. He was obviously enjoying my cunt more than the cigar which, luckily, he had taken out of his mouth! The tip of his tongue felt red-hot as though he had shoved the tip of the cigar up inside me. But I could smell it burning in the ashtray so I knew I was quite safe; all that was inside me was this hot tongue. It was hardly minutes before I erupted like a volcano, flooding the earth with my hot molten lava. I flooded and gushed all over Ben's face. Finally there was so much love juice that his tongue just slipped from within my love cave. I looked down the bed at him at his cheeky grin and blue eyes! He had my come on the end of his nose and on his lips.
I was ready then to say good night, good day, good afternoon. What time was it? Where was I? I didn't know. I had been to another place, another world. I had drifted off, dream-like. One of the wonders of orgasm is when you lose time and space, and you also lose yourself; the only thing you're really aware of is the person who gives you the pleasure, that he is there making you feel like that. Everything else is blanked out, has disappeared, is gone forever. He came up grinning. I could have rolled over and gone fast asleep, selfishly sleeping forever, completely relaxed.
Up he jumped and poured me a glass of ice-cold champagne, while he helped himself to a Scotch. The sight of his erection was beginning to turn me on again, although in my present state of mind I could quite happily have given it a pat on the head and said, "Go way! Come back another day!" But this one wasn't coming back another day. He was coming here! And now! And any second!
We finished our drinks. Ben lay on his side, and pulled me to him. He put his leg over mine, and I put my leg through his. Within seconds I had sucked him into me. He didn't thrash about wildly like some men do. His was more of a circular movement, around and around, gently. Almost hypnotic was its effect, around and around he went. It felt very, very pleasant. I knew I wasn't going to have another orgasm. It's funny how you get the feeling; sometimes you just know that you won't, but you can still enjoy every inch of the stiff cock within you. And this was the case with Ben. His fingers played around with my bottom and toyed with the edge of my lovely little ass-hole. His tongue now pushed into my mouth. His mouth was the only thing I didn't really like. It smelt of cigar and Scotch. I normally love the smell of cigars, but not on the end of the tongue, although it wasn't too strong because it was mixed with the smell of my love juices which were sweet, like honeysuckle on the spring air. He circled his tongue in my mouth as he circled his cock in my cunt. There were no hard thrusts, no great let-me-show-you-I-can-get-it-right-up-as-far-as-it-will-go-so-it-comes-out-of-your-mouth. I was fully conscious of him as he came. He clasped me closer to him. There was no violence-not great thrusts-just soft rotation, and he slipped his fingers down and sank one deep between my buttocks. The feeling was unbelievable, and although I wasn't coming with him, the sensation was something close to orgasm, but orgasm with awareness. It was perhaps even better than the orgasm I had just had. He slowly ground to a halt, clutched me, and we fell into a long, deep, and dreamless sleep with him still inside me.
We awoke about eight in the evening thus entwined and were just going to begin a second bout when the door burst open and in rushed the rest of Ben's crew and Hilary. Ben dived under the sheets and made like he wasn't there. I quickly pulled the pillows in front of me and did my damndest to disguise Ben and his morning (read evening) cock stand.
"We're all going out on the town," they shouted. "Are you coming?"
Just at that precise moment Ben with typical finesse stuck one of his fat fingers straight up my cunt. I shot up in the air and squealed with delight.
"Have you seen Ben?" they asked me. "He seems to have disappeared without a trace," they claimed.
"No, I haven't seen him, and you'll have to count me out of tonight's festivities. I'm completely pooped and have every intention of staying in bed," I replied.
They all pleaded with me, but to no avail. So they trooped out to indulge in the delights of the Lion City, as Singapore is known. Hilary remained behind for a second, looked at the telltale cigar butts in the ashtray, gave me a wink, approached the bed, and plunged her hand under the covers. I can only guess what she got a handful of, but Ben bellowed like a bull, and Hilary fled laughingly from the room.
Ben emerged with a red face like the inside of a ripe watermelon. "Who the hell grabbed my dong like that?" he asked. "A lady with very large boobs," I replied, "but you've missed your chance to get a feel of those. She's gone," I explained.
"Oh, I'll catch up with her later after I've done with you," he answered.
"You're all wind and piss, Big Ben" I replied.
With that he slipped straight into me and told me he'd show me that he might be full of wind and piss, but also full of spunk. He had the horn, and I was certainly going to let him make music with me. We came together, a very quick, satisfying bang. I nearly always feel randy enough for this type of treatment in the morning-of course, it was evening in Singapore-but flying so completely disorients me that I was starting the evening instead of the day with a bang.
We showered. Ben went in search of more suitable clothes. I decked myself out in the flimsiest of white voile dresses in preparation for the heat outside. We bargained with the tri-shaw owner for the fare to Fatty's, a well-known street-stall restaurant in Albert Street. The slow pace of the tri-shaw was by far the best way of seeing Singapore.
Everything amazed and delighted me, and I even began to get used to the heat and heavy odor in the air. Singapore is the super simmering center of the Orient. The city caters to every caprice, panders to every perversion, and is a Shangri-la for shoppers. Ancient and modern cohabit in decaying splendor, a perfect hotchpotch. Sex and Singapore are synonymous, and where better to go to glimpse the seamier side of the city than the crossroads where Albert Street intersects with Bugis Street?
We arrived at Fatty's, which is a slightly more posh eating place than most. Apart from the tables in the street, he also has an inside eating thing upstairs-that's the only way you can describe it. Unless you are well acquainted with the fare, you point to one of the thousand and one species of animal, fish, octopus, and all manner of weirdies hanging up in the street. The waiter rushed to the balcony and chanted something quite unintelligible to the cook on the pavement below and-hey presto! up came a selection of delectable dishes. We were given piping hot white towels after the meal for our own private wash and brush-up. The bill was chalked up on the table by the agile little waiter as we consumed the food, and an old tin receptacle was placed under the table to throw in our bones and other rubbish. We thanked the proprietor, and his happy rotund face beamed with pleasure.
Ben and I staggered heavy-gutted up the road to arrive at the crossroads of Albert and Bugis Streets. The whole area was covered with tables and chairs and locals selling their wares. Wizened little old men sat in doorways puffing their opium pipes. We even passed a matelot giving a local girl a knee-trembler against a wall in the full harsh glare of the lights.
I remarked to Ben, "That must be the cheapest live show in the world."
We grabbed a ringside seat and waited with bated breath for the midnight parade to begin. We were surrounded by grimy little shacks with only tatty remnants of curtains at the windows to keep the outside world from looking in. We were pestered by scruffy kids with angelic faces begging for Missy to play tic-tac-toe. Of course I never won, and each time I was relieved of a dollar. Midnight chimed, and like the wooden figures on the chiming clock at Wells Cathedral, they sauntered out, an array of finely plumaged peacocks, the-likes of which will never be equaled. They came in all shapes and sizes, catering to all tastes, the rough and the smooth. They were slim, petite, flaxen-haired beauties; tall, willowy, wand-like wisps of girls; amazons with knockers that brought tears of joy to Ben's eyes. They were all decked out in extravagant ball gowns, and droplets of pearls in their exotic hairstyles made Sassoon look like an amateur. We watched while they pulled a few, lost a few, but eventually only the soiled-looking goods were left, pitifully begging for favors. Soon all the birds had flown to their dismal little love nests until once more, about half an hour later, the whole procession recommenced. This nightly ritual goes on until the early hours of the morning. Many customers are satisfied, but many more become distraught. Because every one of these visions is male or certainly started out life as male. Whether it's tucked up or cut off I've no idea, as I've never had the opportunity to find anyone willing to tell me what went on behind those thin partitions, and the gilded lilies themselves were uncommunicative on the subject.
Ben told me there was a place of further delights to be found in the swampland behind Bugis Street. Ben and I found it not so much delightful as hysterical. A seedy guide wheedled a vast sum of Malay dollars from us and in return took us down a muddy path and across swampy ground to a place known as The Shack. Here we were treated to nonstop blue films, the-likes of which I had never before seen nor hope to see again. They were badly made and badly done. All sorts of animals performed quite a remarkable variety of acts-I never knew donkeys were so agile! Ben and I giggled like schoolchildren, not being turned on in the slightest by the happenings on the screen. Suddenly, as so often happens at The Shack, there was the loud sound of a whistle being blown, and a breathless Chinese ran into The Shack screaming, "Police raid!" Ben and I moved across the swamp ground as fast as an aircraft on takeoff. Mud-soaked, but none the worse for wear and still splitting our sides, we regained the bright lights of Bugis Street.
Ben and I wandered the streets, amazed that people could survive in such closely confined and crummy dwellings. The population of Singapore is at its busiest at night. Their nocturnal pastimes are screwing, eating, laughing, chatting, and generally enjoying the hubbub of life. Eventually we'd seen enough and hailed a cab for a quick, hairy drive back to our hotel. We crawled onto the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheets over us.
When I awoke the next morning, Ben had disappeared. The only indication of his presence was the large impression his vast body had made on the bed. I was half sorry and half glad he'd gone, for it's nice to be alone for a while and do all the little feminine jobs that girls like to do in privacy. He'd left a note which read, "Get a trip with me sometime, and I'll really show you a ball." Talking of balls, I hardly remember seeing his, but I certainly remember every inch of the superstructure above them. He was off, back home to London. I was to travel the globe in search of more romance. We were transient people, airline crews, never knowing where or when we'd meet again. In fact, I rented a flat in Chelsea with four other stews and shared a bedroom with one of the girls; I only saw her once in six months, and that was in Kuwait!
Our next stop was Darwin, in the wild Northern Territories of Australia. As we flew out of Singapore I gazed at the tangled mass of hotels, shacks, and houses. The streets below looked as though they were bathed in great pools of blood. In actual fact, it had been Chinese New Year a few days before our arrival, and the red pools were the remains of millions of firecrackers that had been let off in celebration of this great day.
The rest of the crew had warmed to Hilary and me, especially Jock, who had awakened naked in his room none the wiser about his nude tour of the hotel lobby. Captain Frozen Knackers was cooler than ever.
We were all set for takeoff, with a full load of Greek immigrants; the doors were shut, and all four props were rotating for takeoff when the captain demanded a glass of lemonade. Much to Hilary's horror, because this was her responsibility-none had been uplifted. The captain switched off the engine, recalled the steps, and delayed the flight, letting all the crew and passengers sit in the sweltering heat until lemonade was brought on board for sir. Once again we were prepared for takeoff when I heard a strange noise coming from one of the props. All engines were switched off while the engineer got out to investigate. He soon realized that one of the props was out of alignment. He twisted it back into fine pitch. With all four props rotating correctly we set off with a load of not-too-confident passengers and a petrified crew-that is to say, me!
Hilary and I were at the back of the aircraft, setting up the rolling cart for a bar round, when suddenly the aircraft hit freak turbulence. Hilary, the cart,, and I sailed gracefully to the ceiling as though we were weightless and then crashed to the deck with the most almighty bang. We were both badly bruised and shaken, but worse still, a woman passenger beside me had started to scream hysterically. Her mouth gaped like a cavern, and she screeched horrifically. There was only one thing I could do to stop her hysteria from spreading to the rest of the passengers, and I did it: with the full force of my hand I slapped her across the face as hard as I could. The effect was instantaneous. There was complete silence at first, and then she started to cry softly. I thought her husband in the adjacent seat was going to thump me, but I explained as best as I could, his knowledge of English being very limited, that this action was necessary for the sake and safety of the other passengers. I put my arms around her and gave her a brandy, and she soon recovered from her two nasty shocks. Hilary and I cleaned up the mess and resumed our bar service.
CHAPTER FIVE
Brace, Brace!
You could hardly call Darwin a town. It was a collection of small motels, a hotel called Fannie Bay, and sprawling houses on stilts which were highly necessary because although the heat in Darwin is horrific so is the Wet. I've never experienced such rain in the whole of my life as in Darwin during the Wet. Darwin is situated on the Timor Sea, which is a magnificent stretch of water, and the buildings on Fannie Bay were dotted around it. Our motel was like something out of the ark, a long cowshed with thin partitions dividing off the rooms. Each had a front and a back door, and I discovered on a subsequent journey to Darwin that the path leading to the front doors was used in the morning by room service delivering breakfast, and the path leading to the back door doors was used by the guests scrambling to get back to their own rooms before the arrival of breakfast, having spent the night elsewhere!
Each room had a large circular fan suspended from the ceiling which battled in vain to keep the fierce heat outside at bay. The furnishings consisted of the barest minimum, but there were gecko lizards in the thousands everywhere. Once you got used to these little creatures, it was advisable to let them stay in your room because they ate every other creepy-crawly in sight, including the mosquitoes. Hilary and I managed to get rooms next door to each other and could literally carry on a conversation through the thin partition. The captain was allocated the room on the other side of me.
We went to bed to rest during the afternoon because the Saturday night shindig that evening was to be attended by all the big brawny Aussies in town. I awoke to the sound of Hawaiian music and thought, "Where the hell am I?" I opened the door a crack and saw that the dance floor, which consisted of a small bare patch between the rooms and the main building, was seething with dancers. The men were wearing the strangest attire: formal dress at such a function consisted of a shirt, Bermuda shorts, and long socks, the latter being compulsory in the same way as black ties in England, and guests were turned away if they weren't wearing them! They looked a very weird sight to me coming fresh pussyfooted from the UK. I must say that it really isn't my favorite turn-on gear for a fella to wear, especially if his legs aren't all that hot. Hilary and I quickly went out to join the festivities.
One Aussie sauntered across to me and said, "D'ya want dance, sport?"
I replied, mimicking his Australian accent, "Too flamin' true," so I jumped up and tried my best to follow him in what was more of a kangaroo hop then any kind of dance I knew. It turned out to be a fun evening, but feeling completely wiped out and not imagining a man in sight, I went to bed.
The next morning, I was awakening by a voice with an Aussie twang shouting, "One egg or two?"
I replied, "Two," and got up to find it was seven a.m., and a huge breakfast of steak and eggs had been pushed into my room on a tray. (If you didn't have breakfast at that hour, you got nothing at all. Consequently we used to get up, have breakfast, and then go back to sleep feeling positively ill!)
Later that morning I was sent a message to go and see the captain in his room. I found that Frozen Knackers had not only melted, but had completely disintegrated. The poor man had become very ill with a severe dose of influenza. Hilary and I were pressed into service and took turns nursing him. This was the most time either of us had ever spent with him (not counting the hours passed in the air). We found that he was originally from Australia, but little else. Aside from that one lucid statement there was nothing more to be learned from the delirious ramblings caused by the high fever. Eventually the captain recovered and regained his icy composure.
One night I was lying fast asleep in my bed when I awoke with a start. I had a spine-chilling feeling someone was in my room. I looked up to see an enormous man hovering over my bed. Pulling the sheet around my naked form I asked coldly, "What the hell are you doing here?"
He replied that he was looking for a handbag one of the other girls on the crew had lost and thought might be in my room.
"You don't say, blue?" I replied imitating an Australian accent.
He moved menacingly toward me unzipping himself as he did so "Is this what you want, you Sheila?" he asked, exposing himself to me.
I winced at the horrid expression and glared at his exposed tool as if I could make it disappear. "I wouldn't want that even if you put it on a gold platter. Get out of my room this instant. The captain's room is next door, and one yell from me and he'll come running."
But my attacking Aussie, cock in hand, kept advancing toward me. "Lie back and relax. You're really going to enjoy this," he said.
As he pounced I dived to one side, opened my lungs, and screamed for all I was worth. The captain was in the room in a second, and he heaved the guy off me and kicked him in the ass and straight outside with his dick dangling in the breeze.
I was quite incoherent, babbling away about rape and forced attentions. I lay back on the bed, and gradually the captain calmed me down. He began to massage my temples softly with his fingertips. I must have dozed off because the next thing I felt was a naked body lying close to mine in bed and something very firm pressing against my outer thigh. Could it be a boomerang, I wondered? I looked through heavy-lidded eyes and saw the captain's dark head on the pillow next to me. His big almost black eyes were looking at me with great concern.
"Sweetie," he said, "are you all right? I only wanted to comfort you. I'll go now if you're okay," but I replied, "Don't you dare! What's happened to the ice, Frank?" I asked. "I can see it's all melted! Why do you disguise the fact that you're a warm-hearted man behind that insupportable superior facade? After all, you're a man and surely love the feel of warm, willing flesh next to yours."
The captain smiled. "I've wanted you since the first moment I clamped eyes on you, Fiona," he replied.
"Well, you certainly didn't give me the slightest indication," I answered.
"I love the way you stick up for yourself. You always come up with an answer and a cheerful smile when things are getting you down," he responded. "I love the way you seem to enjoy life to the full. You see, I've always been very reserved and correct in my approach to women."
Then he flipped completely. He clawed at my body, bit my boobs, and raked his nails down my back. His mouth and tongue pulverized mine. I was amazed at all the pent-up passion in this seemingly cold, reserved man. He went wild, forcing my legs apart. It flashed through my mind that I'd got rid of one rapist only to be saddled with another. (I had fancied him all the way from London, and what you can't have becomes infinitely more exciting!) He pulled my arms above my head so that I was stretched out as though on a torture rack. But oh! What torture! He bit and licked his way down the inside of my arms and gnawed ferociously into my armpits. His body pinioned me to the bed. I was completely immobile. It felt as though I was being mowed down by a Brit on the runway. Frank had taxied to the end of the runway and turned to commence takeoff. I wanted to shout, "You've forgotten the check list, and the cabin isn't secure," but it was too late. We were passed VI! No chance to abort! V2 and he was at full throttle!
The force of his entry nearly lifted me off the bed. As it was, my head was banging against the wall. He shouted obscenities at me about my cunt and his prick and how he was going to fuck me as I'd never been fucked before. His sheer brute force broke loose the wildest passion in me. I freed my arms and clawed and bit him in return. "Go on then, you big cold-hearted bastard! Fuck me rigid! Stick your frozen icicle in my cunt, and my warm love juices will melt it to marshmallow softness!"
He screamed at me, "You fucking bitch! I'll fuck you and fuck you till you beg for mercy."
(I smiled knowingly because I knew that I would last longer than he!) We tore and scratched at each other. He bit my body until it was a mutilated mess of teeth marks and bruises. I fought back like a tigress. Frank's body was looking red and raw as my nails did their worst. The more I hurt him, the more he retaliated. We went at each other like two fierce cocks at a cockfight. Big red welts covered his buttocks as he continued to fuck me like a boar. He bit my bottom lip, and I felt the taste of blood against my tongue. I embedded my long red fingernail straight between his buttock, which only excited him more. He tore at my hair, forcing my head back and ripping my legs apart until I thought he would tear me limb from limb. Then came the crash landing.
"Brace, brace!" he cried as he spurted into me. ("Brace, brace," is an airline term used to alert passengers on the aircraft when, about to crash land, you want them to get into the correct position. Frank was so highly trained to act in an emergency-and for him, losing his cool was an extreme emergency-that he automatically gave the warning.) I stifled a laugh and let my battered body succumb to every drop of jism that came my way. As he finished, I started. He stayed with me until my violent spasms had subsided. We fell apart like a couple of souls who had spent days shipwrecked and had finally been washed up on a desert island. My mouth was cracked and dry longing for some form of liquid. Frank lying beside me like a stiff. Neither of us spoke a word. I didn't think either of us came out with more marks than the other: each passion engendered was met by equal passion.
"Please forgive me. I must leave now," Frank said. And slipping back into his terry cloth robe he left without another word.
The next day, when I was trying to dress for lunch, I discovered that all my bras and pants were missing. My first midnight caller had turned out to be a panty-snatcher. Over lunch, all the crew roared with laughter at the thought of me going home all the way back to London pantyless.
"Quite appropriate," remarked Jock with a twinkle in his eye. Even Captain Frozen Knackers' face broke into what could almost be described as a grin. Apart from that, he treated me exactly as though nothing had happened between us, but I did notice that, like me, he had tied a scarf around his neck to cover up the scars of the previous night's battle.
Hilary and I went off to sit on the edge of the rocks to get some sun. It was very hot and windy, but not a bit sunny. When I took off my beach robe, she gasped at the state of my body.
"Who the hell did that to you?" she asked "I heard a dreadful commotion in your room last night, but presumed you were having your usual ball," she said.
"It was the captain, actually," I replied. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "It was more of a no-holds-barred wrestling match than a ball," I continued. We sat on under the leadened sky and eventually made our way back to the motel for a light dinner and an early bed; our call was at six the following morning.
About four in the morning, I could hear Hilary rapping on the thin partition and calling my name urgently. Flinging on a robe, I ran into her room. At first I wanted to burst out laughing at her condition, but then realized how serious it would be for her if she were found like that.
Her eyes were swollen like two puffballs, and the top and bottom lids were irrevocably joined together. This was the result of her sitting so long in the hot wind the previous afternoon. The dangerous rays of the sun had filtered deceptively through the clouds. I'd been wearing sunglasses, and although my skin felt a little flushed and still very bruised I had no other symptoms. But Hilary's pale milky skin, especially the delicate areas around the eyes, had really suffered. I got some cotton wool and poured some ice water from the Thermos jug on it and placed the two cold compresses over the eyes. Although it eased the pain, the swelling remained, and she was completely blind.
I stayed with her until just before call time, told her not to worry, quickly packed, and put on my uniform. Then I dressed her and finished off her packing, put a pair of sunglasses on the end of her nose and put my arm through hers. We stuck together like two Siamese twins. The crew of course made snide comments about our blossoming friendship. I managed to get her on the transport, through customs, and onto the aircraft without anyone noticing anything was drastically wrong. (After all, we weren't behaving any more strangely than we normally did!)
By the time we were ready for takeoff, Hilary had regained partial vision in both eyes, but she kept her dark glasses on throughout the flight. At one point, as she was responsible for feeding and watering the flight deck crew, I took the teas in so the captain wouldn't comment on her dark glasses. As I reached across to place his tea in the socket in front of him he quickly looked around-the engineer had his back turned and was chatting to the nav, and the first officer was busy with his headset on giving our position-and as I made to withdraw my scratched arm Frank gently brushed it with the tips of his fingers.
Our destination out of Darwin had been changed from Sydney to Perth. I was very excited about this, as I have a brother who has been living near there for five years. I say "near there," but it hadn't dawned on me what a big country Australia is. Actually he was living in Albany, and as I was only in Perth for two days, I didn't get to see him because Albany is such a distance from Perth. I asked the captain if I could catch a plane or hire a car to visit my brother, but the answer was in the negative-he couldn't risk it in case I didn't get back in time, and one of the locals in the bar told me that, if I tried to drive, my first 'roo would be my last 'roo, as they hop across the road at terrific speeds. If you were unaccustomed to this, a collision with one of these animals could mean almost certain death. However, I was able to have a long conversation with my brother on the phone. He confirmed the story about the kangaroos because he had had one land on the back seat of his car! I must add that it didn't sound like my brother over the phone, for he had inevitably picked up an Aussie twang.
We lost our flight deck crew in Perth and were to pick up another. Captain Frozen Knackers, Jock, and the other two got a new set of girls and flew out while our cabin staff had to wait another day for our new flight deck crew who were arriving on an aircraft from Sydney.
CHAPTER SIX
Shampoo
Perth is a very pretty, quiet rural town on the banks of the Swan River, but it wasn't overactive at nighttime. I decided my hair needed doing, so I wandered along to find a hairdresser's which appeared reasonably modern. The clothes I saw in the shop windows looked almost Victorian. I'm sure Perth has grown up and outward since I was there, but after visiting most of the other big town, I liked the countrified atmosphere of Perth best of all. It was like a large English market town of many years ago.
I found a hairdresser's, but they were just putting the Closed sign up when I managed to sneak in. I went past the receptionist and up to a small, neat, tanned, big-boobed girl who turned out to be the owner of the salon. I pleaded with her to do my hair. She said she'd do it herself and sent all the juniors and the other stylists home. She gave me a gown and led me to the basin. I lay down with my feet up and my head back while she shampooed and massaged my head with her experienced hands. I love having a really good head massage. In so many places they slop water all over your head, and most of it goes down your back, but to have an expert and lengthy massage during a shampooing, whether it's done by a man or a woman, always produces a lovely tingling sensation all over my body. We said a few polite words to each other, and then I lay back and enjoyed this very fine feeling, almost as good as an excellent blow job.
As with all good things, it came to an end. My hair had been washed to perfection. She sat me in front of the mirror and remarked that the ends of my hair needed a little trim. Although she had used plenty of conditioner, the ends were still very dry. One of the penalties of flying is the drying up of the skin-and hair.
She asked me if I would mind standing up as she preferred cutting hair that way. I did as I was asked and stood up. She came very close to me and started trimming the ends of my hair starting at the sides and working around to the back. She was slightly shorter than I, and I could feel her hot breath on the nape of my neck and the gentle pressure of her body on my back. It was as though the contact were accidental. It was so slight that you couldn't take offense, and yet if you wanted to take advantage and give her the smallest encouragement, you knew you wouldn't be rebuffed.
I was still tingling from the massage. The contact between our two bodies was producing an electric current which transmitted little shock waves at intervals between us. She was busy at the nape of my neck with the scissors and a comb. The gentle clip, clip, clipping of the shears and the feeling of the hair being lifted up from the nape of my very sensitive neck was sending very fast signals to my crotch. As she came around to cut my bangs, she moved in closer, and the heaving of her huge breasts was busy sending messages all of its own. After the roughness of Aussie Frank, this super-soft seduction was like a soothing lotion to my aching bones.
She sat me down and proceeded to blow-dry my hair. I let the cape slip from my shoulders and unbuttoned the front of my dress to brush some of the hair that had fallen down between my bare breasts. She switched off the hair dryer, put down her brush, and helped me with my task. She reached out for a little soft bristle brush, and taking the initiative, she unbuttoned some more buttons and swept her brush with soft strokes around my breasts, drawing it back and forth over my erect nipples. We hadn't spoken a word except for our early brief exchanges.
I pulled back the chair and slipped as if in a coma to the floor. She opened the rest of my dress and pulled off my panties. Then she left me for a moment, but soon returned with a dollop of shampoo on the end of her finger and worked it into my pubes. She treated my bush as though it were a very small delicate head of hair, massaging in the shampoo, her fingers kneading, stroking, caressing. My pussy had always received some attention during lovemaking, but never for so long or with such expertise. I thought I would pass out from the sheer pleasure of it all. Whatever else might be lacking in Australia, their hairdressers were the best in the world! (At least the one I had found was!)
I looked down at her fine soft hands as they toyed amongst the thickening foam. Once more she left me and came back with a little bowl of water to give me a rinse. She cupped the water in her hand and let it trickle all over my cunt and down between my legs and onto my dress. She repeated this delightful procedure until the hairs on my pussy were completely free of foam. She then got her hair dryer and switched on to a medium temperature. She aimed it so the warm air blew across the top of my pubes. My tuft looked like a fertile Cornish field of corn, rippling under the soft summer breeze. She then changed direction and blew the warm air straight between my legs. She moved the dryer up and down and in circular movements so that the warm air breathed into every part of me. I kept quiet and kept coming and coming and coming. She made no attempt to release her throbbing breasts from the constricting bodice of her dress.
She turned the dryer on to cold and ran it all over my body, around my neck and armpits, over my boobs, around and around my tummy and up and down my thighs. She aimed one cold blast right between my legs and then switched it back to warm in order to finish me off properly. How it was possible I don't know, but as soon as that warm stream of air hit me directly between the legs, I came again. She switched off the dryer, got a brush and comb, and proceeded to comb out my hairs. She parted them in the middle and brushed away at them, softly smoothing them out to the sides.
She got up with a smile and said she'd finished. I fumbled back into my panties and buttoned up my soggy, crumbled dress. I reached into my handbag for my purse. After all, she had washed, cut, and dried half the hair on my head.
"No charge," she said opening the door and letting me out into the street.
I stumbled the few blocks to the motel. Although I was quite dazed by it all, I couldn't help but notice the stares of the passers-by at my hair, one side completely dry, the other side soaking wet, and my sodden dress. I ran the last few steps to the motel, dashed up to my room, and sat down on my bed to ponder on what had happened.
like everybody, male or fernale, I have always wondered what it would be like to make love to a member of my own sex, but have never gone out of my way to find out. I don't really know the reason why I have never pursued this. I suppose on reflection it's because I've always been so nuts about men and perfectly satisfied with their equipment and the feelings that we have produced together. (Not all of them have been fantastic, but you can't expect perfection every time. You certainly can't have an orgasm to order.)
I have always enjoyed exposing my body to a new man. His admiration at the sight of my body always excites me greatly. The thought of him undressing me and seeing everything I've got for the first time turns me on above everything else. The men I've slept with have always been appreciate of my body. They have always touched, kissed and caressed me and have been eager to thrust their weapons between my legs. Perhaps I fear a woman would be jealous of my body and therefore not desirous of it. From my own point of view, however titillating the foreplay has been-the pussy licking and cocksucking and all the other marvelous acts a man and woman can do together nothing-beats a man's hot hard penis sticking into the depths of your womb if you are brought up to the perfect pitch. He's the superb end to a superb fuck. I think that although the sensations produced with this girl had been great (and I'm sure many a woman has felt herself slip into this semi-coma at her hairdresser's) it left me wanting, wanting something only a man can provide. Men, I love you!
Hilary burst into the room. "Where have you been, and what have you been up to?" she asked.
"I went to have my hair done," I replied.
"Well, I know things are a bit primitive in Australia, but surely they could do your hair better than that and without soaking your dress," she added.
"I've just had the best blow job of all time," I explained, sitting smiling like a cat which has just had a saucerful of cream.
Our new flight deck crew arrived, four merry men bringing us the joyous news that we were taking the aircraft empty to Singapore! I was to find out that empty sectors like this occurred quite often on the return run from Australia because they were immigrant flights: the government paid for the return trip, so if the airline couldn't find any passengers to bring back to London the aircraft returned empty. This was fantastic for the crews. We took it in turn to look after the flight deck, slept, read, and fucked intermittently during the flight!
The four men were all ready for a bit of fun-Captain Fred, First Officer Bill, Engineer Ernie, and Navigator David. They'd flown out from London together and got on like a house on fire. They even got Sally and Joy, the other two girls on our crew, to come out of their shells a bit. We spent a nice time having dinner together, as we were leaving the next morning.
We piled out to the aircraft, stowed all our luggage, and sat ourselves in the back of the aircraft because it helped with the weight load on takeoff. We'd been going about an hour when Hil and I thought it would be a nice idea to change into something cooler than our uniforms. So we slipped into diaphanous nighties and went to serve the flight deck a cup of tea each. They roared with laughter at the sight of us, and soon everyone from the captain down was in night attire! The flight deck crew looked ridiculous sitting flying the aircraft in their striped pajamas!
The first officer got out of his seat and let me get into it and have a bash at flying the aircraft. The captain took it off automatic pilot, and keeping a firm grip on his own joy stick, he instructed me on what I should do and which dials I should watch. I had a hell of a job stopping the aircraft from banking too steeply to the right and left. I was also going cross-eyed watching the dials to make sure I kept the aircraft in a straight line. Sally came tearing up from the back of the aircraft and said, "Get that lunatic out of here. I've just hit the ceiling three times." And just when I was beginning to get the hang of things-or so I thought!
Hilary and I decided to go a little further in our game of undress so the next time the flight deck buzzed for refreshment, they were served by the two of us (Sally and Joy had retired to the far end of the aircraft in disgust) wearing nothing but our hat, gloves, and shoes! They cracked up! It was a good job the aircraft was on automatic pilot, as we might have gone into a steep dive.
I must have been getting a thing about first officers, because here was another one! I fancied Bill. He was slim and blonde with Nordic features and a mouth that almost cut his face in half when he grinned. He left the flight deck and came to the galley where I was sitting stark naked except for my hat (we had been told in training that the first thing to do in an emergency was to put our hats on so we were easily recognizable by the passengers). Bill came and sat on a jump seat beside me.
"Fancy joining the 'mile high club'? " he asked, giving me his ear-splitting grin.
"I'm all for it if you are," I replied, "but I don't particularly want an audience," I added. "Do you?" I asked.
"No," he answered. "Then there are only two places," he pronounced, "the hold or the John."
So we tried it in the forward John. I was perched on the basin, my legs apart and dangling down while Bill tried to stand on tiptoe to inch himself into me. We looked so daft and laughed so much that we called the whole thing off and decided to head for the hold. We drew the curtains across the midship's galley. Bill lifted off the cover, and we crawled down into the hold. It was bitterly cold and very uncomfortable, but at least there was enough room for me to lie down and for Bill to get on top of me. There was no romance or passion-a swift kiss, a quick fumble with my cunt, and Eureka! Bill was inside me! I didn't even experience the beginnings of an orgasm, but then that wasn't the object of the exercise: I simply found it incredibly funny to think we were flying high up in the sky at goodness only knows how many thousands of feet and banging away, in the dirty hold of an aircraft! How Bill managed to retain his erection with me lying giggling below him. I just don't know! I really enjoyed it, but it was more the sheer devilment of being able to carry out the deed than any pleasure one might get from doing the deed itself. Not that having Bill's nicely proportioned cock inside me wasn't a great feeling, but it was the sense of achievement at having made it at all that gave me the greatest pleasure.
"You're the only girl who has giggled and laughed all the time I've been fucking her. You weren't exactly a great help," he gently chided her.
"I know, darling," I replied, "but the whole thing was simply too much for me to keep a straight face. I think you were marvelous to keep a straight dick."
He pulled his pajamas together, tied the cord, and helped me crawl back out of the hold. We were both freezing, so I went into the galley to make us a nice hot cup of tea only to find that I had turned the water on to fill the water urns before we'd left, and the whole place was awash with water. I quickly turned off the water supply and mopped up the mess. If it had been left any longer, it could have been very dangerous with all that water seeping into the electrics. Bill helped me, and soon we had the galley spick and span. I wrapped myself in a blanket, and we sat down together with our steaming hot cups of tea. I promised him that at Singapore I'd really give him the works. After all, I had to make up for my behavior-or, rather, lack of it-down in the hold. He quite understood and cuddled me until I was warm and gave me a kiss and said, "Now, don't forget. You've promised me your body in Singapore."
We all changed back into uniforms for our arrival in Singapore. But bad news was waiting for me. The Number Four on a flight into Bangkok from Hong Kong had gone sick, and I was flying there immediately to replace her. As our crew had six days to spend in Singapore, they could easily find another girl to take my place and make up their crew. I said a tearful good-bye to Hilary, not knowing when we'd meet again. At this rate, I'd never get back to the UK. Bill was desolate and livid at the same time, for he had been lusting for more of my body.
"Never mind," I said. "We'll make it soon, I'm sure."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Don't Bangkok
I changed out of my uniform in the airport john and took the next available That International Airways flight to Bangkok. The airline had to book me first class as there was no room to sit economy, and they needed me urgently in Bangkok. So I sat back in my seat sipping Singapore slings and immensely enjoying being on the other end of the stick-until we hit a bit of turbulence. I began to feel very sick. Then I had a sneezing fit and began to shiver despite the coziness of the cabin.
I arrived at Bangkok shaking like a leaf, took a cab to the hotel, and reported to the captain whose crew I was joining. He took one look at me and ordered me straight to bed. I had at this time seen very little of the city which I was dying to visit. A doctor was called in who diagnosed flu and a very severe case of upset stomach.
I saw at once that the doctor was more interested in me than in my condition. He took a very long time examining my chest, although it was as clear as a bell, and then insisted upon listening to my heartbeat (first time I realized my heart was below my navel!) by placing his oily little head right against my left breast and telling me to breath hard.
"You stay bed," he said. "I see you tomorrow."
At nine o'clock the next day, I was awakened by a knock at my door. I opened it; the doctor walked in.
"You better, no?" he asked.
"No!" I replied sharply. "I'm still asleep," I added. "Good," he said. "I listen to your chest and heart, please."
We went through the whole rigmarole again. When it was over, he sat down on the edge of my bed, smiled politely and asked, "London girls very sexy, no?"
"No, not this one," I replied. "This girl very ill. This girl not like men."
He bowed and smiled. "Dr. Chang" (I can't give his real name in case he's still in practice-which I doubt) "very interested to go to London," he said.
"Good for Dr. Chang," I said.
Dr. Chang told me London was naughtier than Paris.
"Now, look here, Dr. Chang!" I said. "Fuck this! Let's talk about me!" I demanded.
"You say you want to fuck me?" Dr. Chang asked.
"No, Dr. Chang. No, no, no!" I insisted, for he was getting closer and closer.
"Ah! I see," he said. "You fuck tomorrow. I take you to see lovely house of entertainment." He bowed and left.
I was all alone without a friend in the place. The crew had gone, the captain giving instructions for me to fly home on one of our other aircraft as a passenger as soon as the doctor said I was fit enough to travel. The next day the doctor called punctually and once more carried out his examination. He couldn't have paid more attention to my heart even if I had been suffering from angina. Then he resumed the conversation where he had left off the previous day.
"You say yesterday you visit house of delightful entertainment, no?" he asked.
I gave up. "Which house?" I asked.
"Bangkok special place of pleasure called House of Lotus Blossom," he answered.
What goes on there?" I asked, wondering if this screwy little idiot was planning to take me to some sort of garden.
"Whatever lady like," he replied, and with a bow or two he backed out, nearly shutting himself in the door.
The next day I was definitely a little better, but very weak, and having awakened early, I was dressed by the time the doctor arrived. He displayed no emotion, but before leaving he said, "I call this evening for visit to House of Lotus Blossom. I hope you in athletic mood."
I felt like saying, "Look, you little creep, why don't you get lost," but instead I asked, "What is the House of Lotus Blossom?"
Without replying he bowed profusely and backed out of the room. I suppose it was sheer curiosity and boredom that made me go. Three days sick on one's own in a Bangkok hotel is enough to make anybody go anywhere. I'd done as the doctor had instructed and rested and read in my room all day.
He arrived punctually at eight-thirty, and we went to a smart restaurant. I won't deny that I looked around to see if there were somebody else I could ditch him for, but I was out of luck, as the only alternative males were Chinese and over seventy. Dinner consisted of about a hundred different courses and took about a hundred hours to' eat. If I partook of one dish he would say, "You like, no?" If I refused a dish, he would say, "You no like?" By eleven o'clock I was ready for bed, but he was ready for the mystery house.
We arrived at last. On the outside it was a simple building of four stories. We went in, and a smiling That greeted us and exchanged whispers with the doctor, who eventually turned to me and said, "We will make a tour. You choose what you imagine, like dinner dish."
By this time I could hardly wait to find out what all the mystery was about. However, it didn't take me long to discover that I had been taken to what must have been the most extraordinary brothel or house of pleasure in the world. (I purposely write "have been" for I heard afterwards that it was closed by the American military authorities, probably rightly so, because it was having a bad influence on personnel on leave from the Vietnam war.) With discovery came determination. At no price was I going to have any part (especially that little protuberance between his short legs) of that creepy Dr. Chang, but at the same time the idea of the inner workings of the place appealed to me.
We walked from the hall into a long broad passage with scrolls hanging from the walls and a large seated Buddha contemplating his navel at its end. We passed a series of doors behind some of which considerable activity seemed to be taking place. Then our guide approached a door and opened it, standing back bowing for me to enter, and I walked in.
At first I thought I had strayed into a children's party. Two little girls about twelve years old were seated on cushions in front of a low table with a teapot and little round teacups placed on it. They rose and twittered. I was really embarrassed and sat down. They passed me a cup and poured out tea. Dr. Chang sat opposite. The guide stood bowing. For once I felt flummoxed. What on earth were these children going to do? We sat for a few moments in silence, which made me drink more tea than I'm accustomed to, and this made the little girls pour out all the more of it. I wondered how long this would go on.
Dr. Chang watched us smilingly. "You no like little playthings?" he said at last.
Suddenly understanding the implications of what he had said, I jumped to my feet in horror, knocking over my teacup. The little girls looked disappointed as I backed out of the room. Once outside I asked Dr. Chang if we could see some of the other sights. We went into another room a little farther down the corridor. I was greeted by a very beautiful girl of about sixteen, but I had had enough and refused to sit down. Dr. Chang then showed some sign of emotion for the first time.
"You no like young lady for pleasure?" he asked. I wasn't about to divulge my experience in Perth to this nosy little blighter and the fact that I was still very much into men.
"Look," I said. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't like young or, for that matter, old ladies for pleasure."
He looked as amazed as a nun at an orgy and bowed and asked if I'd like to go home. This threw me into a quandary for I wanted to see more of this fantastic place, but I didn't want to become involved in it. I said I would like to look around and asked if I could please do so without getting mixed up in it, at least until I had made up my mind that I wanted to. (After all, there might have been an attractive young stud behind one of those ornate closed doors!) I knew this was dishonest, but Chang was such an awful horror I didn't really feel guilty.
The next stage was a change of scenery, for we visited two little boys who were also drinking tea. (I couldn't help wondering how much of the stuff was consumed there!) Hoping I would embarrass Dr. Chang I asked him if little boys were to his taste, but he only bowed politely and quoted an old Chinese proverb about pleasure being everywhere if you only take the trouble to look for it. Then we saw an assortment of males and females who would appeal to all tastes-the men were dressed as girls and the girls as men (as at the Elle et Lui Club Paris).
While we were walking about every now and again a door would open and an inscrutable Asiatic or a bewildered Westerner would come out. I couldn't help noticing the difference in their expressions. The Easterner looked perfectly matter-of-fact and pleased whereas the Westerner had that hangdog guilty look which comes of partaking of delights which though enjoyed at the time are abhorrent in reflection.
After we had visited a number of rooms on the first two floors, I began to understand the set-up. There were young boys and girls, then pairs of each as well as mixed couples of boys and girls on the ground floor. There were also singles. There were transvestites of both sexes on the next floor. In another room on the same floor there was a gigantic Negro who looked at me the way a bull looks at a cow. He was one of the largest men I've ever seen. A boy was lying on a bed, and an assortment of whips and canes hung on the wall. When we came in he turned over and showed us his buttocks, which were red and bleeding from a recent beating. There was a girl in the next room whose ass was in exactly the same state. There was also a room with chains hanging from the walls while a naked girl lay manacled to the bed. For the first time in my life I was now right off sex-if that's what sex is all about! I would have screamed if Chang had tried to touch me.
We climbed to the third floor, and here for the first time the guide appeared almost human. "I speak English," he said. I looked amazed and asked, "Why didn't you say so before?" He merely looked at Chang and smiled.
"This is the most interesting floor," said the guide. "Here we pamper to extreme personal tastes. In this room we provide ducks for pleasure. You would be surprised at how many requests we have for them. They accommodate the penis with ease, and the sensation is very pleasant."
(I made a mental note never to eat duck in Bangkok. Maybe that accounted for all the stews who were stricken ill there. You could never tell what your duck had been stuffed with, or by whom!) The room was empty, but smelled of poultry. The guide continued his commentary.
"The vocal cords of the ducks are cut so they are perfectly silent during sexual intercourse."
I couldn't imagine anything funnier than the thought of a guy fucking a duck while it quacked happily away! We went into another room.
"Here," said the guide, "we serve refreshments and discuss special requests."
Dr. Chang tried to get me to say something, but I ignored him. The guide was far more interesting and seemed to have no plans to involve me. We sat down to the inevitable tea.
"Yes," said the guide. "This is the floor of requests One of the most difficult requests came from a woman who had traveled the whole way from Paris to make love to a monkey."
Finding a monkey which can make love to a woman is apparently not difficult. (Girls, please note if you're feeling that way inclined!) Unfortunately, however, a monkey is liable to bite when passionate. He told me this quite seriously. He tried to explain this to the woman, but she wanted a monkey which would: one, make love and, two, not only not bite, but kiss her instead! The guide explained that this is a very hard thing to find. The hilarious thing about this story is that it was told in the matter-of-fact way a garage mechanic in England might say it's hard to get a certain spare part.
"We experimented with several monkeys," the guide continued, "but none of them could be trusted. The woman was offering a huge sum of money. At last somebody had a good idea. Why not extract the monkey's teeth, and then the woman would think it was trying to kiss her when in fact it was actually trying to bite her! This plan was adopted, and everything turned out all right in the end."
I only just managed to keep my tea down! Now that the guide had broken his silence, there was no stopping him. He went on to say how popular animals were and how they usually exhausted two donkeys every year. I asked him what sort of clients he had.
"The very best in Bangkok," he replied. "We have politicians, soldiers, businessmen, and a surprising number of foreign visitors." He added, "I was at an American university and I can see that you are shocked by the goings-on here. Westerners are very hypocritical. Here in the East we are realistic. You are not. Let me give you an example.
"Three years ago a very beautiful American girl came here after working in Vietnam. She believed in free love and had a very nice partner on the ground floor. She told me she was completely emancipated, and she certainly was sexually. One night I took her to dinner with an old client of ours, a very, very distinguished Chinese and a collector of porcelain, from which he had made a fortune. He was an old man and belonged to the past, but was a clever and civilized man, and such men will soon be extinct. This American girl was always going on about how she wanted to meet a real Chinese, and that is why I had asked him if I could bring her to dinner, for she was a real beauty, and he was an admirer of beauty of of all kinds.
"Well, everything was fine to begin with. There were eight of us. We talked of the folly of the Vietnam war, which pleased the girl. Then we went to have dinner. Out of politeness to the girl, a special gourmet treat had been planned. We were to have fresh monkey brains. Now, if you have never had them, let me tell you that few things are more delicious, far better than your British oysters, and like them they have to be eaten alive. However, monkeys being more active, this is much more difficult than eating oysters. The traditional way of preparing the monkey (which was the way our host chose of honoring his guest) was to bind the monkeys tightly to upright pieces of wood with the tops of their heads sticking through round holes in a flat piece of wood attached to the upright stakes. Then the tops of the monkeys' skulls were removed with a sharp knife, and their brains were eaten while still moving. They're delicious, very expensive, and one of China's oldest delicacies.
"When the monkeys were brought in, the American girl screamed and rushed to free her monkey and took it to the window threatening us with her knife not to stop her. One by one she did the same to the rest of our first course. Naturally we were all too polite to say anything, but our host was very shocked. For the rest of the dinner, conversation was strained. The American girl glared at us and refused to eat or to answer if she were spoken to. I was very angry by the end of the meal and rose to apologize. The American girl left without even thanking her host. When we were in the car I tried to reason with her and said that when I was in restaurants in New York where they boil lobsters alive I didn't take them out of the restaurant and free them in the street. But she slapped my face and called me a savage and opened the car door and jumped out while we were still moving. That was the last I saw of her. Now, don't you think she was both hysterical and bad-mannered?" he asked.
I was so amazed at this story and his indignation that I couldn't speak. All I could think of was how much I wanted to meet this American girl and shake her by the hand! (I suppose our own country is just as cruel in different ways.) I didn't say anything, but sat wondering how soon I could get out of this place before I was asked to partake of monkey's brains or bullock's balls or something even more repulsive.
"However," he continued (and as I had decided he probably wouldn't repeat his material, I stayed on to listen) "hypocrisy is your worst vice. In the East if a man comes in and wants to beat a woman or go to bed with two boys, we understand because we know we all have such feelings sometimes. Everybody in the West pretends to be shocked by things they probably want to do themselves in secrecy. However," he said getting up, "Let us continue our tour, for I have talked enough, and it is for you to choose what you imagine for your pleasure with Dr. Chang."
But for once Fiona had really had enough. "No, no, no!" I cried. "Thank you very much indeed. I think my period has just started, so I must go home."
It was the only excuse I could think of to put him off, but I should have known nothing would ever put Dr. Chang off. He said something disgusting about that suiting his imagine if I didn't mind. Recoiling at the thought of his repulsive little head between my legs I said that I did mind very much and was going home.
We walked down the stairs, and it was all I could do to stop myself from running because I was in such a hurry to get out of that awful place. He offered me more tea in the hall, which I declined. His eyes then caught sight of a large glass bowl on the table.
"Ah, please let me tell you a very funny story before you leave about a countryman of yours, an Englishman of great note who was in Bangkok. He came to us and said he'd heard it was possible to get a certain fish with a big mouth by which it attaches itself to other fish. If a man inserted his penis into the fish's mouth, the fish would suck him off. Apparently it takes three fish to jerk a man off, and it's supposed to be a marvelous sensation. Well, it's always our intention to satisfy our clients, so we said we had knowledge of these fish and would procure some for him. However, we added that it is not a pleasure we recommend in the House of Lotus Blossom. He came back in two weeks' time and was very generous. He asked if he could have three fish and one of our beautiful girls in a room. We provided him with the young lady and the fish, but we understand that it was by no means a success. The experience caused your countryman a great deal of pain-which served him right! Apparently the fish had sharp bones in its stomach, but we know it did him no serious harm for we have seen his name in the papers, and he must be alive and well."
That was the last straw-first the monkey and now the fish! I decided to disappear like a gust of wind up a panty leg while I was still in one piece. Remembering the American girl, I left without saying good-bye. The guide is probably to this very day saying the English are ridiculous.
"Do you know," he will recollect, "one of them darted out of the room when I told her one of her countrymen had once made love to a fish!"
Dr. Chang, however, was not so easily shaken off. Indeed, he seemed determined to send me right out of my mind by requesting that we return to his house so I could smoke a pipe of opium. I told him frankly that in my view it was absolutely disgusting for a doctor to propose that one of his patients should indulge in narcotics and that my one wish was to be taken safely and swiftly back to my hotel. He didn't say another word until I was getting out of his car. He leaned forward and asked if he should send the invoice to the hotel or to the airline. (I was now fit to travel and only too delighted to leave!)
"You send it where the hell you like," I snapped. "In fact, you could try sticking it up your ass. That should give you great pleasure to quote honorable Chinese proverb," I shouted at him and continued, "If you think I'm going to pay a man who suggests I smoke opium with him and who takes me to a disgusting place like the House of Lotus Blossom it's you who needs a doctor, not me!"
As I lay in bed I realized on reflection I was being unfair to Dr. Chang, because Bangkok has a lot of marvelous things to see and do, and I was really very pleased to have seen the House of Lotus Blossom. On subsequent visits to Bangkok I had a marvelous time visiting all the glorious temples of the famous Buddha and spending money like mad on silk and gold. However, I never went back to the House of Lotus Blossom. A flight was coming through Bangkok the next morning, and I was home sweet home, back to England and to the lovely-pint-of-beer-in-the-local type of Englishmen.
In the morning I struggled into my uniform (in those days we had to travel in uniform even if we weren't a part of the operating crew) and found that the skirt was inches too big around the middle. I pinned it around me so it looked reasonably respectable, and I went to the airport with the crew who were taking the aircraft to Colombo. I was flying straight through to London Heathrow.
I tried hard to rest, but it was a trooping flight. I had a seat next to a snotty-nosed kid who kept asking me why I wasn't working because I was dressed like all the other "Ladies," and they had to work. There was no other empty seat on the aircraft, so I was stuck with this horrible child all the long journey to London. Occasionally I'd go up into the forward galley and chat with the girls. They were very nice and extremely sympathetic about my plight, especially as it was my very first flight.
There was another change of crew at Colombo and a stopover of about fifty minutes before proceeding on route. The new crew were very friendly. I was feeling a little stronger, and the galley girl asked me if I'd like to make the captain a cup of tea and take him a few biscuits. Only too eager to please and of course to look the men over, I went to the flight deck with the tea and biscuits. The men were all busy at their various tasks. I returned to the galley.
A second later, the engineer dashed out and asked for a sick bag for the captain and dashed back into the cockpit. A little later, the captain buzzed for me. I went in. He handed the engineer a soggy, very full sick bag, apologizing profusely. Before handing the bag to me in order to dispose of it, the engineer stuck his hand into it and licked his fingers clean saying, "By God! That's good!"
I turned green and ran out of the flight deck. They all burst out laughing. I was standing in the galley clutching my none too steady tummy when the engineer came out and said, "It's okay, luv. It's a joke we play on all new stews!" The captain only poured the tea into the bag and added the biscuits. I stared at him in disbelief and then started to laugh. I went back to the flight deck and told them how horrible they were!
I slept the rest of the way to Kuwait and yet another change in crew. There was a steward in charge of cabin staff this time. I'd heard about him. He was supposedly the biggest bastard in the world to fly with. I must say he looked pretty mean, because he was so big and boot-faced. In other words, he looked a real tough nut to crack! His name was Tony Walters. The three girls with him looked very unhappy.
After we had taken off he called me into the galley and started chewing me out because I was sitting down while the others were working. He said there was nothing wrong with me and that I was just faking: I was exhausted from the long flight, and the strain of my illness was beginning to make itself felt.
"Look," I said, "I've been really sick. I'm not on your crew, and I'm not bothering you. You leave me alone!" I demanded.
"You just wait till I get you on a flight with me. "I'll make you work your ass off," he added.
"I always work my ass off," I replied and turned my back and walked away from him.
When we landed at Heathrow I took the crew transport across to the maintenance side of the airport where my car was parked. I also had to check with crewing on my next flight. Tony came along, too. I looked for my name on the board and saw that I had a week's leave to recover before going off to New York with none other than the sperm head Tony Walters as my Number One! I was just getting into my tiny sports car called Oswald when Tony thrust his bullhead through the window.
"Lucky you," he said. "A flight with me! m get you, you lazy little bitch!"
I wound up the window, almost trapping his red face and bulging neck in it, and roared away from him.
I drove like a mad thing back to my apartment in Chelsea. All my roommates but one were away down route. Jackie, a tiny dark-haired girl, was cooking herself breakfast. I changed out of my uniform and sat down to tell her some of the things that had happened to me. I told her about that bastard Tony. She knew him by reputation and wouldn't swap her flight with me, although I begged, pleaded, and bribed. I was stuck with it, but I had a whole seven glorious days off! I decided to whizz down to the south of France for a bit of sunshine and to escape completely from airlines and airline crews!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lie Down, I Love You
I tell you of this following affair-or whatever you like to call it-with reluctance. It seems so odd that I sometimes wonder if I dreamed the whole thing up. But I knew I didn't! The whole adventure was right out of character for me and out of keeping with my life, but it is one of the most extraordinary things that has ever happened to me.
I hit the south of France before the main season of very hot sex and sun had started so it would be comparatively quiet. Therefore I decided I must have an adventure that would make up for the lack of excitement. I packed my clothes carefully. They were chosen to hide as little of me as was decently possible. I also packed four bikinis that you could hardly see. Thus armed, I set off. The first two days were lovely, so I had a quiet time and got myself a beautiful golden tan. Then I was ready for action. The question was where and how.
I have always been one to play along with hunches, so I decided to put my finger at random among the advertisements in Nice Matin and follow my fate. When I opened my eyes I nearly closed them again, for my finger was squarely placed on the casino at Monte Carlo. I don't know if you've ever been to a funeral parlor: if you have not, but have been to the casino at Monte Carlo, you need never bother, for the two are identical; half the people look as if they came in to die, and the other half look as if they are already dead. However, I had placed my faith in fate, so I decided to give it a try. I came in from the beach and had my hair done. I had something light to eat and decided to sleep until eleven p.m., at which time I had ordered a taxi. At ten p.m. my alarm went off, and I awakened with a start, thinking it was morning. After a moment I got up, showered, and stepped into a yellow silk dress which enhanced the golden color of my skin.
I arrived at the casino trying to fight off my gloominess. I walked in through the great doors and looked around. The roulette tables were sparsely attended by women who looked as though they had been sitting there for the past sixty years-and probably had been. I was convinced one of them had a cobweb on her nose!
I cashed twenty pounds and put fifty francs on number seventeen. I was testing my luck. I collected my earnings and moved on to the blackjack tables. In no time at all, my twenty pounds became a hundred. The omens looked good, but I still had not set eyes on a man under a hundred.
The baccarat table was the last chance. I walked over. A huge game was in progress. If there is anything I hate in books, it's detailed descriptions of card games. To begin with, seventy-five percent of the readers don't play the game, so the description is double-talk to them. I'm not going to inflict that on you. It's enough to say that the play was dominated by seven players. Two of them were old hags whose hands were so heavy with rings that they had difficulty in holding their cards up. One was a rich young playboy who would soon have only himself to play with. Two were Greeks who were happy to lose as long as they lost more than anybody else. The sixth was a hard-faced woman who looked as if she would always win at cards. And the seventh was a man aged between forty and forty-five. He had slightly wavy iron-gray hair and was one of the best-looking-but slightly hard-faced-bastards I have ever seen in my life.
I was sizing him up when he looked at me and with a charming smile moved back the chair beside him for me to sit down. When he smiled, his whole faced changed. The contours softened. He still looked domineering, but his smile made me think that being dominated by him would be a very pleasant business. I went and sat down, and he introduced himself as Richard. I examined him out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing an impeccable tuxedo obviously from Savile Row, a very plain but expensive white shirt, and a large black bow tie. His hands had long tapering fingers. I could criticize nothing, but it wasn't his obvious good taste and richness that appealed to me. (Good taste can be sickeningly snobbish, and money often accentuates a man's faults and conceits.) It was the aura of power which he exuded that fascinated me. Here was a man with whom one couldn't have an equal relationship. He would insist upon domination. The question I asked myself was, would I be dominated? Normally the answer would have been no, but I was bored stiff after two days on my own. I was ready for anything so I thought, why not?
I was putting the pros and cons to myself when something decided me. A man in evening dress suddenly appeared by my companion's shoulder and was given instructions by him. I could see they concerned me, and I knew they were talking in German.
Richard turned to me and asked, "Have you the key to your hotel room?" He went on to explain this strange and unexpected request. "I am sending my chauffeur to collect your luggage and settle the bill. Please let me do this," he added intensely and urgently.
It was this last sentence that made me accept, for I thought it showed not only that he would dominate me, but that he would do it in a charming way, and that would be interesting. So I said yes and gave his man the key and the address.
Then Richard said looking at his watch, "I think it will take him an hour and a half before everything is ready for you. Would you allow me to play a few hands on your behalf?"
The sums they played for were alarming, but Richard seemed like some gambling hero from fiction, calm and fearless. At the end of the hour he had won two thousand pounds for me.
"I'm sorry," he said, "it is not more, but my cards have not really been good, and I think if I go on, I shall lose it all. I'd rather you had it than the casino! Let's have a little champagne, and then we shall leave."
A black convertible Bentley stood at the door, and as we drove away it seemed to me that things were far too good to be true. I had won over two thousand pounds. I had found a very attractive man. It was a beautiful night. The stars were shining, and I was in an open Bentley on the Cote d'Azur. At one point when we reached an open space at the side of the road we stopped and looked out at the moon shining like a bar of silver on the sea. Richard leaned toward me, and I let him kiss me gently to begin with and then harder until his tongue was against the back of my throat. His hand cupped the back of my head and held it firmly. I felt trapped and excited.
For obvious reasons I cannot say exactly where Richard's house was, but it was located a few miles west of Monte Carlo. We drove through great stone pillars up to a large house covered with ivy. He got out and opened the door for me. He helped me out carefully. There was no fumbling or clumsiness about him. The kiss over, he behaved as normal again. (If only more men knew when to stop fumbling a girl.) We went into a long and beautiful room with Impressionist paintings on the walls. More champagne was on ice.
"Would you like to see your room?" he asked, leading me upstairs to a large room with a balcony from which I could see Monte Carlo shining in the moonlight. A large white four-poster bed was in the center of the room.
"I'll leave you to change into a swim suit," he said, "and then we can go for a dip in the sea:"
I went into the beautiful white marble bathroom which was en suite and looked at myself in the mirror. I asked myself what the snags were, but seeing none, I changed into a white bikini, which always looks best at night. I went down. He was pouring himself a whisky and soda, but offered me champagne.
"Why not?" I said and drank it straight down in one gulp.
He smiled, gave me another and said, "We can take the bottle down to the beach. Nothing is more refreshing than a little cold champagne when you come out of the water after a swim.
The beach was small, but private, with a little summer house behind a stretch of soft sand that led to the sea. He took off his toweling wrap, and I could see in the moonlight that he was wiry and strong with a flat belly and long legs.
Once again, he behaved in a civilized manner, swimming a bit away from me and lying on his back. The water looked inviting and felt lovely. Swimming was such a pleasure without somebody trying to spoil it by giving me water kisses. Men can never leave you alone if they're intent on fucking you. Richard, however, let me enjoy my swim in peace, and my swim was all the nicer for knowing he was near, but ignoring me. Besides, I knew I had only to show the slightest sign, and he would take me to bed.
After about twenty minutes more I swam ashore, took off my bikini, and returned to the water. I did this because I love the feel of the water swirling around my cunt and to give him a sign that I was ready when he wanted me. He understood and swam up to me in the water and reached out and touched my breasts. I replied by taking hold of his balls. A firm hand stopped me.
"I'm sorry, but I like no movement when I make love," he said. "I like to touch, not to be touched," and then he smiled his charming smile. "I do hope you understand."
I understood all right what he wanted, and we moved back to the beach.
"Come into the summer house," he said. The spider must have said something similar to the fly. "Have a shower, Fiona, and then I will dry you. Please do nothing yourself."
I obediently did as I was told and had another glass of champagne. When I had been dried he led me into a back room which had a sofa and chairs, but no bed.
I looked surprised. Where was the action to be? I saw a protruding cupboard against the wall. He opened it and let down a shiny leather contraption covered with odd straps. He pulled it down until its legs rested on the ground leaving it about a yard above the floor and two yards out from the wall. The more I looked at it, the odder it seemed, for there was a big round hole in it about a yard from the end. I won't deny that the thought ran through my head that I had shacked up with a madman who was about to cut me in half, but I decided to play it cool.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Thank you," he replied. "I knew at first sight you were one in a million. Please lie with your head near the wall. Have no fear and do exactly what I tell you to do. And thank you once again for being so understanding."
I lay down with my head near the wall, and Richard came and inserted two pegs in holes each side of my head. Then he put a mesh over my face and connected it to the pegs. I felt as I imagined a butterfly must feel under a collector's net. I couldn't move my head an inch under the taut meshing. I could only look straight up at the ceiling. I fought to keep calm. After all, one should try everything at least once, but I had a funny feeling at the same time that I wasn't going to like this one bit!
I felt him take hold of my arms, stretch them out level with my shoulders, and tie them up tightly with straps at the side of the bed. I couldn't help thinking of an Italian film I'd seen about the crucifixion. I had to try and steady myself again, and I was doing all right.
I said, "I have never been fucked this way before!" (I thought I might just as well try it, not that I had any choice at that moment!)
"You are perfect," Richard said, "but please do not speak again. Although I like you to cry out with pleasure, I want to hear no other sound from you. And you can be sure I will make you scream with sheer delight." He added, "I have never beheld such a body. Your waist is the slenderest I've ever seen. I can assure you I will satisfy you."
It takes all sorts to make the world go around, I thought. Having finished with my arms, he started on my feet, holding me more like a masseur than a lover. He parted my legs first and then strapped them firmly down, my ankles about twenty inches apart. Then I heard him sit down and take his shoes and clothes off.
However much I tried, I couldn't move, and if I had given in to fear I could easily have been overcome by claustrophobia and could have started screaming for release. The next thing that happened was hardly reassuring. It seemed to me that the bed was moving, and my legs were being drawn apart gradually. I felt them widening and widening until they were more than a yard apart. I must have looked completely spread-eagled. What I couldn't understand was how he was separating my legs and how he was going to fuck me. Later I saw that my cunt was at the edge of the round hole and that he had by the use of mechanical devices divided the bed-and me with it!
It is odd to look back on what I was worrying about. I don't think that I was basically terrified. I had some sort of trust in him, and he was and is too well known to go around murdering girls. My thoughts, I remember clearly, went along curious lines. I started to wonder how one would go about ordering such a contraption. Would one go into a shop and order one, or visit a carpenter with the details for one to be built? For several quite illogical moments I thought about nothing else. It even began to worry me.
I must say I wasn't feeling the least bit sexy by now, but suddenly this situation changed. Something soft, yet rough, was very gently stroking me. It started at my cunt and went down to my right foot and then to my left foot and up to caress my pubic hair. From there it went to my navel and to each nipple and then down again. It was unbelievably exciting, especially as I didn't know what sort of weapon was being used on me. I tried to move, but found that I was bound rigid. I was defenseless and at the mercy of this thing that was stroking me. I began to long for a cock inside me to relieve the pressure. Suddenly it stopped. My nipples were now being gently kissed instead, and the kissing trailed down my tummy to my bush. I felt I was going mad with pleasure. I strained and strained to no effect. Above all I wanted Richard's cock inside me.
"Fuck me, fuck me!" I screamed deliriously, almost beside myself, but the kissing continued.
Finally the kissing stopped, and I felt him move away from me. He returned in a moment and dropped some warm oil on my breasts. It smelled so good that I wanted to lick it up as it spilled onto my titties. He gently massaged it into my breasts. How can I describe the softness with which he did it? I cried out for him again and again. Very gently I felt his fingers touch my bush and part the moist lips.
A feeling of exquisite torture then came over me that made me want to break out of my bonds and fall upon him and pull his cock into me. The pain then started again. Something that felt as big as a spear was entering and reentering my tiny tunnel. Each thrust was making me wilder. I couldn't tell if it were from pain or from pleasure. My heart began to beat as if it would burst, and all my body seemed to throb with it. I wanted to cry out to him. Nothing in the world seemed to matter except that he should bring me to a climax.
Suddenly it was happening! My clitoris began to feel like my cunt, and quite convinced that his cock was in me, I came with a great rush of relief. Nothing deterred him from going on. If I could have moved, I would have seized his hand and stopped him using this spear which was sheer torture to me after I had already come. Straining and crying once more I got caught in its rhythm. I came again, and it seemed to me again and again, but how could I tell, for I had entered a state of mind in which the whole world seemed to be my cunt, and the whole of life this terrible spear which went on thrusting into the heart of my very being? Time became meaningless. It may have been only minutes, but it seemed like hours before I was released from this terrible alternation of pain and pleasure. I lay there and felt as if a steam roller had driven back and forth over my body. I was straining no longer. For the first time in my life I had absolutely surrendered myself. I felt almost as if I would welcome him killing me.
Whether I slept or fainted I don't know, but I certainly lost consciousness. I came around to find him kissing my pussy. He was licking it gently. It seemed to me as if this kind of healing action were designed by him to make up for the terrible battering he had inflicted upon me. I found myself relaxing again and letting the tension escape from my body. If my arms had been free I would have flung them around him and pulled him to me, holding him so that he knew he belonged to me and had to surrender in his turn. The kissing stopped with one long kiss in which he drew my clit into his mouth and masticated it gently. Something else was rubbing it: although I couldn't see, I knew that at last he was drawing his cock slowly up and down between my legs. I didn't believe I could come again. However, Richard inserted his cock, and as he gave one long thrust which I thought must end in my mouth, we came in a great flood together.
This was the end. Nothing could have revived me now. I was barely conscious of his untying my arms and legs and pulling out the pegs which together with the mesh had held my head in such a vice. Dimly I remember him lifting me up while I flung my arms around his neck and cried out that I loved him and kissed him as he carried me out of the little house and through the garden into the big house where cool lavender sheets enveloped me. I then fell into the deepest, most satisfying, sleep I have ever known.
I awoke in the morning without having any idea where I was. Dazed, I walked out onto the balcony. Suddenly every detail of the previous evening came rushing back to me. Taking a deep breath and inhaling the wonderful smell of the pines that came up from the garden, I went back into my room and sat thoughtfully on my bed. Looking at the telephone, I saw a note telling me to ring with instructions for breakfast. This at once made me feel very hungry, and I was soon drinking coffee and eating bacon and eggs as if I'd been starved for weeks. A maid had taken my clothes and returned to say that Mr. Richard hoped I had slept well and would see me directly after he had finished his business. I sank back onto the sheets and thought things over. The emotion I had felt the night before was different from anything
I had ever known before. I believe the basis of modern lovemaking is equality of approach and technique, and there's not much equality when you're strapped to a torture rack! Yet I had honestly found it as sexually exciting as anything that had ever happened to me.
Richard entered the room. He was good-looking and neat, an entirely different man from the one who had tortured, teased, and loved me the night before. He kissed me good morning and sat down on the edge of my bed. I said I had slept well, and he told me his motorboat was coming at ten-thirty to take us water-skiing. I said I thought I was much too stiff, but he insisted it would do me good.
It was such a lovely day. I only fell over once. Richard said I was very good, all of which made for a fabulous morning. We sat down to a late lunch about three o'clock. I felt relaxed enough to question him on something that was puzzling me. Over chilled champagne and cold lobster I asked him quite simply and directly, "What did you stick up my pussy last night?"
He smiled and replied, "I know it felt like a sword, but you will be amazed when I show you what it was."
He went away and came back a few seconds later and put something into my hand. I looked down and saw a tiny brown feather, very fine and slim with a pointed end. I burst out laughing.
"It felt so enormous and sharp!" I said.
He told me it was a pinfeather (whatever that may be) from a woodcock. Richard had been taught how to use it by a very old French count who had told him it was an ancient custom in parts of Normandy.
After we had finished lunch, we sat in the shade and drank coffee. I began to feel pleasantly fatigued, a feeling produced by the drowsy sounds and sweet smells of a Mediterranean garden.
"You go and rest," he said.
The thought of that cool, comfortable bed was too much to resist. Richard made no attempt to come with me. He merely kissed me and told me to ring if I wanted anything. Tact had again won out in the end. Had he pressed himself on me (literally or otherwise) I would have left immediately. I woke up at seven-thirty p.m., slipped into a robe of white silk embroidered with lace and walked down the steps to the sea. My favorite time of the day in countries with a hot climate is the evening, and as the heavy heat of the day evaporated the soft-scented evening air-a heavenly mixture of pine, flower petals, and the sea-appeared in its wake. I felt life flowing back into me, and a sensuousness came back into my limbs. The time, the place, the perfumes were all too perfect and would have stirred all but the most insensitive among us. I began to look forward to what this evening would bring.
We dined at the Chateau Madrid, and Richard calmly accepted as his due the deference paid to him by the waiters, as well as the best table in the place with a view of the whole coast. He ordered dinner with great care, having consulted me as to what my favorite dishes were. He asked if I would leave the wine to him. I remember it so well. We drank an ice-cold Chablis which was so light and good that we polished off two bottles, and by the time coffee came I was pleasantly high, yet aware that I had told him everything about myself and learned not a single thing about him.
As I realized this, I looked at him, and as if reading my thoughts he said, "I would like to thank you for asking me no questions and for accepting everything on face value. I am grateful and would like to tell you a little about myself. Even as a child, I knew I was going to be very rich and decided very early on that I would devote a large part of my life to beautiful women. The other part of my life concerns making money and doesn't interest you. By the time I was twenty I had made love to perhaps fifty beautiful girls, but I loved none of them. What drove me mad about them was that while I was immersing myself in their loveliness they would say something silly that would make me want to jump out of bed. Irritation and desire for perfection have prevented me from marrying (I am now forty-two) and the longest liaison I have ever had was with a famous film star. She was an idiot, but she had the great virtue of silence on all occasions. When I made love to her, for example, she just lay there like a beautiful corpse looking up with expressionless eyes and saying nothing-except at the moment of passion when everything is excused, and the aura of her perfect body was shattered. I was very, very sad when she died, and my life has been one of constant change since then."
Reading this must make him sound very cold and hard, yet I didn't find him so. There was a great gulf between what he was and what he said he was. I found that he still had two qualities that were irresistible-his charm and his certainty. These carried me along with him. To put it in very basic English, I still found him fascinating and attractive and immensely fuckable! But how strange rich people are ... they have an air of unreality about them which makes any life I have ever tried to have with any of them unreal, as well. To be quite honest, I like people to have both feet (and if it were possible their dicks, too!) on the ground. However, I found him interesting and different, and that is what a girl's basically looking for in a man.
As we drove back, I felt a real thrill of excitement looking at his handsome face and wondering as to the night's performance. It was as if I were dreaming and looking forward to the next dream. We bathed in the sea again, but naked from the outset this time. I felt close to him and was pleased when he kissed me as we came out of the surf together. But I felt the slight reservation of one who doesn't quite know what is expected of one and so fears making a mistake. This time he took my hand and led me past the little house and up the steps until we reached my bedroom. We had a shower together, and then having dried my hair and myself I lay down on the bed.
He came in and lay down beside me and said, "Fiona, you are a remarkable girl to make love as you did last night. Tonight I want you to lie quite, quite still when I make love to you. Cry out passion words if you will, but nothing else. This is important, and if you can do that I would like you to stay here."
I didn't want to stay on (not on those terms, anyway), but I wanted to please him and meet his challenge.
"All right," I said lying back and opening my legs. "I will try."
Then he went down on me without any other preliminaries. His tongue licked, and his lips sucked. I lay as still as death. I wanted to shout out how much I loved him and his tongue, but restrained myself. He parted my pussy, and once again I felt the touch of his little feather like a terrible electric shock. I couldn't keep still, but writhed and moaned, and the feather was once again inserted into the center of my nervous system. However, I moved again and then fought against my determined will power to stay still. I wanted to beg and implore him to give me his cock and to fuck me. I lay back and reminded myself that unless I could rationalize this I'd go completely mad, seize his cock in my mouth, and spoil everything.
I told myself it wasn't a spear between my legs, but a little woodcock's feather that was tearing me apart. Then a terrible thing happened. I felt nothing except that a stranger was touching me with a feather. I felt completely detached, devoid of any passion, lacking in lust. He did some more things to me-God alone knows what. I didn't care. I was cold. He lay on top of me, fucked me and came, and it was all over. I felt as though I had drunk a glass of ice-cold water. He got up. I never spoke a word. I saw him go out with a look of total satisfaction on his face. He came back and put something in the little leather box on my dressing table. I felt so detached I cared for nothing and no one.
I slept a dreamless sleep, awoke at nine a.m., rang for a taxi, packed my things, and left the house without seeing a soul. I drove to Nice and booked on an aircraft that afternoon. Then I went to a small restaurant on the beach and sat in the sun.
I was back in England that night and rang up Adam. When he answered, I asked him if he would help me.
"How?" he asked.
"Come 'round and fuck me," I replied.
He came around. I fucked, I shouted, I yelled, I bit him, I bounced on him, and finally I left him in such a state that he staggered off shaking his head. I felt better for having screwed and fucked the way a man and a woman are meant to.
I felt ill again the next night, for on opening my little leather box I found an emerald bracelet so beautiful that I could hardly bear to look at it. So I didn't-not for a long time, anyway. I sent it to the bank first thing the following morning, and I pretend I don't even own it. For otherwise I might feel I have to answer in the affirmative to the occasional polite letters I get from Richard asking me to return. I fear that if I went, I'd get into the habit of not moving in bed, and that's not the sort of reputation I would ever wish to acquire. Richard, thank you and good-bye!
CHAPTER NINE
Making the Mafia
Back from the south of France, I was very rested. I'm not sure if it's quite the right phrase to use, but I'd had an unusual time, and they do say a change is as good as a rest. I was fighting fit and ready to tackle anything, even the dreaded Tony Walters and the promised flight to New York. I checked in for the flight extra early (normal check-in time for a long haul was one-and-a-quarter hours), but I got there well before that. There was no way I wanted to start off on the wrong foot with the lovely Mr. Walters.
He came into the crew room exactly at the appointed hour. He was as big and ugly as ever. He gave us the briefing for the flight. We had a load of American students. He snorted in recognition and pounced on me to recount my emergency drill and the complete location of all the emergency equipment on the aircraft. Luckily I was one step ahead of him. That was the one subject I always made sure I knew a hundred percent. I'd passed my exams, but I studiously applied myself to the emergency section of the manual before each flight. We had several types of Britannias, and the location of emergency equipment varied slightly on each. The bulk of them were 308s, the type we were flying that day. He couldn't catch me out on one question, even down to which dinghy I took charge of if we should come down in the sea. This wasn't because I was exceptionally brilliant; it was a simple fact of self-preservation. I wanted to be able to get the passengers out in the un likely event of an emergency, but most of all, I wanted to get out myself, once I'd evacuated them from the aircraft. He made no comment, and we left for the aircraft in the crew bus.
I was flying as a Number Three in charge of the forward galley this trip. My duties were to heat meals, make tea and coffee, and tend to the flight deck's needs. Tony made me make the announcement over the PA to the passengers so I went to the nav and found out our flight time, altitude, and all the other necessary information. I started the announcement, and I got to the part where I informed the passengers we were now leaving for such and such a place, and then I had a complete blank! I couldn't for the life of me think where we were going!
I turned to the other girl in the galley and asked, "Where the hell are we going?"
"Unfortunately I had forgotten to depress the receiver, and my question blasted down the whole length of the cabin, causing great mirth among the passengers, but not in Tony.
He came tearing into the galley and asked, "What do you think you're playing at, you twit!"
I didn't answer him, but apologized to the passengers and continued with my announcements. He stood and glared at me, the veins in his neck threatening to burst at any moment.
"You feather-brained little goose! How could you make such a complete cock-up of such an easy job?" he asked.
"Quite simply," I said. "I just had a mental block," I explained. "I suppose you've never had one," I added.
He then took over the PA while the two other girls and I demonstrated the life jackets to the passengers. Tony announced to the passengers over the PA, "To inflate your life jacket, pull the red knob down smartly."
I touched the knob very gingerly. (It would be just my luck to become overexcited at the thought of touching a knob and pull the thing down too hard and inflate the jacket!) Fortunately I kept my wits about me and got through the demonstration in time with the announcements. I even pulled my whistle out at the correct time. I pointed out the emergency exits, and the ordeal was over. The rest was yet to come.
We took off and immediately did a bar round and meal service. I spent my time in the galley taking the trays from the containers, unstacking them and laying them up for the meal. As fast as I dished them up and placed them on the slats of the door, Tony and the two girls snatched them away. When it came to clearing up, I put a big trash bag below the slats of the door to tip the rubbish into. I had to salvage the cutlery and insets. Muscle man Tony took great delight in showing his strength by bringing at least a dozen trays back at a time and leaving me in one hell of a mess. The other two stews were in tears as he screamed at them throughout the whole meal service. At last I cleared up the mess, and Tony came into the galley and asked for a cup of tea.
"Why don't you just fuck off and make your own tea, you mean bastard?" I replied. "You're just a big bully, and you like to prey on weaker people. You don't scare me, you sod. It's just a shame the bulge in your trousers isn't as thick as your head."
He stared at me in amazement and then laughed. "You're the first girl in ages who hasn't been terrified of me," he said and then added, "You didn't do too badly for your first time in the galley."
I couldn't believe it. He was paying me a compliment. I must have excelled myself. When he relaxed, his face was attractive in a hard sort of way. He was the sort of a man you couldn't get around with tears or other womanly wiles; you had to stand up to him. He delighted in breaking spineless girls down into gibbering wrecks, but he'd met his match with me.
The American students then started pressing the call buttons like mad, saying, "Ma'am, I want this, I want that" without a single please or by your leave. They were drinking the ship dry, so I said to Tony, "I've got a good idea. Why don't we set up the bar kart across the door leading to the forward compartment. There are no passengers there."
He said it wasn't allowed, but I persisted. "I'm sure you and the two girls don't want to spend the next eight hours tearing up and down the cabin with drinks."
We put the plan into operation. Tony and I manned the bar. We proved a teriffic team and soon had the passengers tired out, well oiled, and sleeping, leaving us in peace until the snack service in to New York.
"You've the makings of a very good stew," he said.
"I've the makings of many things. Try me," I said.
He laughed, groped at my boobs, and said, "I'm sure you have."
His mouth sought out mine, and he went into a passionate clinch in the middle of the galley. We couldn't carry it any further, but it excited me very much to think I had tamed this big brute. He was really quite a softy under his hard exterior. I lowered my eyes. He certainly wasn't soft in his lower regions, but we had no more time, as we were due to land at JFK in twenty minutes, and we parted, each at a high pitch of excitement. However, those few minutes together had been quite thrilling.
We checked into a hotel just off Fifth Avenue, and Tony came straight to my room. To hell with the crew party-we were going to have one all our own! Tony came with a full bottle of Scotch and proceeded to demolish most of it himself. He ran me a bath and massaged my neck and back as I lolled in the warm water. He went back into the bedroom, leaving me to finish my bath. I did so and came out to find the room full of smoke. He'd fallen asleep and dropped his cigarette on the mattress. I made my way through the thick smoke and woke him, and together we plunged the smoldering mattress into the tub. It sizzled and sank like a wounded hippo. The stench was awful. Fortunately it hadn't burned right through the mattress, and we turned it over and put it back on the bed. We remade the bed and climbed into it.
Tony was far too gone with booze to do very much. He rolled on top of me and tried to pop his sloppy cock into my hot oven. It was like trying to get a marshmallow into a money box. The box was warm, tight, and receptive, but Tony's cock wasn't even beginning to rise to the occasion. In fact, after a few whisky-laden attempts to land his mouth on mine, he fell into a deep drunken sleep on top of me. I heaved him off, and he rolled off me and on to the floor with one hell of a crash. The only reaction that produced was a snort and long rasping snores. He lay on his back with his mouth open. I was really turned off and very thankful that he hadn't been able to make it. Maybe that was the reason he was such a bastard on the aircraft. He had a tremendous chip on his shoulder caused possibly by this inadequacy. He had to have a drink in order to do it, but then imbibed too much to make it. That's enough to turn anyone into the sort of beast he was reputed to be. However, he had a soft streak underneath. Maybe I could penetrate it, I thought, later. I like to help people with their problems when I can.
I got up and dressed in the lightest of garments, for 'it was midsummer, and I can assure you the heat is no fun in New York. A simple cotton dress and drawers were all I needed. I left a note for Tony saying what a fantastic lay he'd been! After all, the poor guy would never know if he'd given me one or not, and there was no point in lowering his ego. It was at rock bottom now.
I made a phone call to an old friend and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of a New York afternoon. I walked a few blocks to his office, and he greeted me seconds later and ushered me into his luxurious air-conditioned office. It was heaven to my overheated body.
Scott was a small, dark, compact man, good-looking in a swarthy Italian way. I had originally met Scott in England. We were both fighting to get the same cab on one of London's unusual-ha! ha!-rainy evenings. We decided to share it in the end, and he invited me to join him and some American friends for dinner. Scott and I had clicked immediately, and we have remained good friends ever since. He was overjoyed to see me on his home ground at long last.
I could never get to the bottom of what he did for a living. I knew he organized junkets from New York to London. (Junkets were organized planeloads of passengers flown across to the UK specifically to gamble in casinos.) That's all the information he would ever give me about his business life, and I didn't care to pry any further. He'd always been a charming and courteous companion. Wherever he went, he was accompanied by "de boys," a couple of thickset fellows from Brooklyn with accents you could carve up with a knife. They didn't speak much, but when they did, it was quite amazing. I thought people only talked like that in old American movies. Normally when we went out to dinner Scott ordered for them without consulting them, and they in their turn silently ate everything that was placed before them. I wondered about this set-up. I used to tease them about being "heavies." I'd frequently phone Scott at his London hotel and ask, "Is dat de hood's hideout?"
He would always scold me, but not too severely. A few years later, I found out that my fears had been justified. He and "de boys" were proved members of the Mafia and deported from England. I couldn't believe that such sweet people could be real live thugs. They were always so super to me. I once overheard "de bovs" talking about how they would kill someone for money, and how they considered it just a job like butchering a pig. They said it half jokingly. I told them they were shooting their mouths off and wouldn't really do anything of the sort. Now it makes my blood run cold to think they really meant it and how near I came to becoming a gangster's moll!
However, Scott was a kind, thoughtful man who always announced his arrival in London by sending three dozen red roses to my apartment. Somehow we'd never made it in bed together. Maybe that was because "de boys" were always stuck to him like Siamese twins. Today they were nowhere to be seen. In retrospect, I realize they were probably out on "a contract." Scott and I sensed the moment had come, and we both spoke at once.
"I suppose a fuck is out of the question?"
We laughed, and I said, "Of course not! Your place or mine?" I asked.
"Where are you staying?" he inquired.
"Just around the corner," I replied.
"Let's go, honey," he rejoined.
As I turned the key in the lock of the door to my room I suddenly remembered Tony! I started to giggle.
"Surely the thought of going to bed with me isn't making you laugh?" Scott asked.
"No," I replied. "It's just that I left a sleeping drunken man in my room. I forgot all about him. Do you mind?"
"As long as he's out for the count, it doesn't bother me!" he replied.
We entered the room and were greeted immediately by snores from the far side of the bed on the floor. We moved forward and approached Tony's inert form. He was fast asleep with a beatific smile on his face. His mouth was closed, and he looked quite desirable again. I pondered on the thought of waking him up to join the party, but Scott was already undressed and obviously wanted me to himself.
He lay down on the bed and pulled me on top of him. Before I crashed onto him I naturally noticed he had a magnificent cock. (I'd always imagined he would have!) It had a monk's hood over its bulbous head. It was a good size and rising rapidly to meet me, but I still had my clothes on. Scott yanked the zipper down the back of my dress and threw it on the floor.
"Hey, steady on," I said. "We've got plenty of time."
"I haven't," he replied, pointing to his cock.
"Too bad," I said. "You'll just have to wait. I like to take it nice and easy. You've waited months. A few more minutes won't make any difference," I concluded.
Saying this, I stood up, took off my shoes and panties, and then snuggled up next to him in bed. He turned to face me and his hardening weapon pressed against me. He moved over and climbed on top of me, pushing his loaded revolver between my thighs. Scott kissed me expertly, easing his agile tongue in and out of my moist mouth. He started gently, and then, as his passion mounted, he increased the pressure on my mouth. I ran my fingers through his thick black hair and pulled his head down onto my breasts. His mouth, moistened by a mixture of my saliva and his, closed over my nipple. It was like having my nipple drawn in by the feelers of a sea anemone. I loved the soft, sexy suction. As a kid in Cornwall I used to love putting my fingers into an open sea anemone and feeling its feelers close around them. This sensation stirred much more reaction in me. I can never have too much attention paid to my boobs. Scott was starting off on the right track. He didn't need to ask if I liked what he was doing. One look at my face was enough to tell him. He was an extremely sensitive man in bed. He sensed when it was time to give up the suction and moved down to minister to my by now crazy crotch.
He buried his head between my thighs. As he did so, I saw Tony's eyes open, stare at us, and shut very fast. I looked down at Scott's black head. He showed no signs of giving up his current pastime. Tony appeared to have gone back to sleep. He was certainly breathing heavily. Scott was making a four-course meal out of me. Mind you I was flooding enough to supply liquid refreshment for twenty men. Scott lifted his head and licked his lips.
"You've got the greatest-tasting pussy T've ever sampled, and that's quite a few, I can tell you!"
He came and lay over me, his face beaming, split in two. Tony's eyelids were on the blink. He was taking everything in, but pretended to be asleep. There was no way I was going to let him or his presence stop me from getting my oats. After all, Tony had let me down badly. T wasn't about to advertise the fact that our corpse had awakened, because I wasn't sure how Scott would react and I couldn't cope with two letdowns in one day.
Scott had by now scored a hole in one and was humping away on top of me to his heart's content. His movements were smooth and rhythmic as he plunged into me again and again. His eyes were closed. I turned my head to one side and saw that Tony had undone his fly and had his cock in his hand and was jerking awav merrily. He was quite oblivious of the fact that I had turned my head and was watching him. His eyes were trained on the spot where Scott's weapon was dipping in and out between by thighs. I did the only thing I could do, and that was to let everyone carry on to their culmination. Tony hadn't had his this morning and probably not for a long time before that, judging from his earlier performance. Why not let the poor bugger have himself a quiet jack-off! After all, it wasn't his fault he woke up and found us at it. Scott kept fucking me, and Tony kept jacking. It was really turning me on to see two men so excited over me. I began to wonder which one of us would come first. I hoped it would be Tony-otherwise Scott would realize he'd had an audience.
Sure enough, as though a fairy had waved her magic wand and granted my wish, Tony's eyes glazed over, and a hot shower of semen spurted into the air. Tony and I watched with fascination as the shower turned into a trickle, and drop by drop every last bit of spunk dribbled from the end of his cock until the well had run dry. Tony didn't bother to put his now deflated cock away. He just rolled over on his stomach and presumably fell back to sleep.
Scott was sweating profusely, and great floods of water were dripping from his face and soaking mine below his. He was huffing and puffing his way to orgasm like a steam engine rattling along the track at full speed. I was excited by his strength and length. The duration of time he was poking me was quite fantastic. Normally I would have climaxed long before this, but I hadn't been concentrating or giving myself entirely to him. And although I had been tremendously turned on by watching Tony jerk himself off while I was being fucked by Scott, it wasn't a satisfactory arrangement as far as I was concerned. Perhaps it would have been better if Tony hadn't participated and had been just a voyeur. Then my emotions wouldn't have been divided between the two of them. I looked down and watched Scott's pink cock disappearing from view behind my curly tuft and then reappearing as he withdrew almost the whole length of it. I took a quick look at Tony. He was still face down on the floor. I reached out for Scott's body-and pulled him down into me hard. I lifted my ass from the bed and pushed against him as hard as I could.
He started shouting. "Now! Now! I'm spurting into your delicious cunt!"
I held him tightly until my hipbones were almost demolished by his flesh. "Go on, baby! Do it to me now!" I screamed back at him.
We were locked together. Then I lost him and went into a delicious delirium. I came back to earth shaking and trembling, knowing we had made it together. I looked up and smiled at Scott. My heart was so full of happiness I felt it would burst. He opened his eyes and looked down at me.
"I've never seen anyone look so happy after they've been fucked," he said.
"That's because you did it so well, sweetheart," I replied. "You timed me to perfection."
He kissed my smiling lips.
"I've never seen you look so beautiful. You look magnificent lying there. You should be fucked all the time if that's what it does for you," he said.
"I do try to be," I answered with a laugh.
Scott looked behind him and saw Tony's still prostrate form lying on the floor.
"I forgot all about him. Are you sure he's okay?" he asked.
"Quite sure," I replied. "Just very, very tired."
Leaving me in bed, Scott got up, showered, and put on his clothes. "I've got to get back to the office, but I'll pick you up at nine, and we'll have a celebration dinner," he said.
"What are we celebrating?" I asked.
"Our first glorious fuck!" he replied and left me.
I lay there staring up at the ceiling and gradually realized how long I'd been without sleep. The effects of the time change were catching up with me, and I drifted off into a deep sleep. I awoke about eight p.m. to find Tony had vanished but had left an answer to my note. "You're quite something yourself in the sack! Do you normally fuck two guys a day? See you later. If you can stand up, I'll take you out for dinner. Love, Tony." When Scott called to take me out on the town, Tony still hadn't reappeared, so I left a note for him at the desk. I literally crawled into bed as the sun was rising after a night out in New York with Scott and "de boys."
CHAPTER TEN
Best in the West
Having said good-bye to Scott, T found that the flight I was due to take back to London had been delayed for four days. Without letting Scott know I was still in town, I telephoned a friend of mine in San Francisco. Lionel wasn't exactly a lifelong friend. He had in fact been a passenger on a flight I had done to Rome and back. He was on the aircraft on the return flight to London, and we'd managed to chat, as the flight was only half full (which was most extraordinary for a charter). I liked him immensely at first sight. He was a very cool gentleman. He was American, impeccably dressed, tall, and dark with a broad nose and a brilliant toothpaste-ad smile. His hands fascinated me most of all. He used them a lot when he talked, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. His fingers were as long and elegant as super-luxury-length cigarettes, the nails manicured to perfection and scrupulously clean. In the course of our conversation I asked him what he did for a living and was not surprised to find out that he was a surgeon. He had a fine, deep, very educated voice with only the faintest hint of an American accent.
We had swapped names and addresses and extended reciprocal invitations to each other. I had hoped our friendship would blossom into romance in London, but he was catching another flight straight home, and I had to content myself with the thought that I would get to San Francisco soon to see him. I was glad that he would be delighted to see me and have me stay with him as a guest as long as possible. My heart was beating in my breast at the thought of seeing Lionel again and of all the lovely things we would be doing to each other. For there wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind that he was as eager to get my panties off as I was to take them off for him.
I stepped off the aircraft and hurried to the arrivals hall as fast as my feet would carry me. I saw him immediately, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. He brushed his lips across my forehead in greeting, and I went moist all over at the nearness and smell of this divine man. He grabbed hold of my small overnight case (that was all the luggage I had for my three-day stay), took me by the other hand, and led me out to his car.
I looked at his strong masculine profile as we drove at high speed along the roads, which were as steep as mountain slopes. He was even lovelier than I remembered. We flashed past cable cars packed to overflowing with people hanging precariously from all sides. I had already fallen a little in love with Lionel, but absolutely head over heels in love with San Francisco. It was a joyous, vibrant place teeming with all sorts of humanity-people of every color, race, and creed. The sight of the gigantic Golden Gate Bridge took my breath away. The magnificence of its superstructure looked as though no mere mortals had built it, but rather that some giant god had brought it down from the skies and carefully and lovingly put it in its resting place. The shops and restaurants abounding on Fisherman's Wharf were a delight to the eye and an onslaught to the senses. I was deliriously happy with so much loveliness next to me in the car and such pulchritude all around me. Things were looking more than a little bright. I was dazzled by everything.
We arrived at Lionel's home, which was as impeccable as the man himself. All the rooms were a blend of white and brown with an occasional flash of yellow or orange. What is very unusual for a bachelor abode, there were flowers in each room, all toned in with the color scheme. Lionel showed me to the guest room and told me to make myself completely at home. It was early evening, and unfortunately he was on night duty and had to leave me, but he had managed to get a couple of days' leave so he would be entirely at my disposal. He kissed me good-bye gently on the lips and let one of his fine hands brush almost accidentally over my left breast. My nipple immediately shot up. I was surprised to see it hadn't pierced a hole in the thin material of my T-shirt. Then he left, leaving me with one nipple up and excited, and the other neglected, down and sad.
I made myself completely at home as he had instructed. I had a shower, wrapped myself in one of the enormous chocolate-brown towels, and went to the refrigerator. It was packed with all sorts of goodies. I made myself a light, fluffy cheese omelet, a mountain of green salad, and opened a half-bottle of some delicious dry white wine. I settled myself in front of the large color TV and had a marvelous evening flicking the remote-control switches from channel to channel. The wine made me sleepy, and I crawled in between the sweet-smelling yellow sheets. I let my hand stray down between my thighs and started imagining it was Lionel's exquisite hand and fingers that were playing with my pussy. As I worked myself up, I thought of how Lionel's body must look when he was naked. I pretended he was there with his skin gleaming like satin in the soft lighting. He was like some proud warrior-the last of a great race. In my reveries he was commanding me to spread my legs and play with my pubes and push my fingers deep into my juicy love cave while he watched, silent, erect, and proud. Soon I was moaning and thrashing about in the sheets as my body became totally committed to the fingers that were working within my cunt. It seemed as though I had hours of pleasure before I went into the final throes of orgasm. I was wrapped in a dark, warm blanket of sensuous self-indulgence. My body started to vibrate as I came and kept coming thinking of Lionel. When I was done I opened my eyes expecting to see Lionel standing over me, but I was quite alone. I drifted off to sleep and I dreamed wild erotic dreams of Lionel.
I was awakened at eight in the morning by the sound of someone entering my room. For a moment I thought I was back in my New York hotel, and the waiter was bringing me breakfast. It wasn't a waiter, but Lionel, the center of my erotic dreams, bearing a tray. The only garment he was wearing was a short white towel (and a smile) tied around his torso above which his ebony chest and arms gleamed. He deposited the tray on the table by the bed and bowed low to me and said, "Have brought missy breakfast. Missy wake up now, please." He laughed with wicked glee and came and sat on the bed beside me.
I looked at the tray. He passed me a huge half of an orange which had been cut like a grapefruit. I was very thirsty and gulped down a large segment of orange. It was ice-cold and fiery hot all at once on the back of my throat. Lionel was watching my face intently.
"You've doctored my orange," I blurted out accusingly at him.
"Yes, indeedy," he replied.
"What did you do to it?" I asked with great interest while I gobbled up the rest of the orange at terrific speed.
He got off the bed and left the room and returned with a mighty syringe. He approached me as though he was going to stick it in me. I cowered under the bedclothes.
"It's okay," he said. "Don't be alarmed. It's not for you. I just fill the syringe with vodka and inject it through the skin of the oranges. Then I put the fruit in the fridge over night and eat them in the morning," he explained.
"I know," I said. "Don't tell me you like to start the day with a bang," I added.
"You bet your sweet ass I do!" Lionel replied. "Move over and let me into your bed and between your luscious legs!"
In my haste to accommodate him I dropped my orange to the floor. It tasted fabulous, but the thought of Lionel's bold black tool penetrating my pink lower lies was much more thrilling. With a graceful flick of the wrist he dropped his towel. I bit my lips so that I wouldn't yell for joy at the sight that confronted me, but he only allowed me a fleeting glimpse of a sizable tool and a wiry black tuft before he slid with deer-like grace between the sheets. His flesh was cool and firm against my warm body. It was like going to bed with a beautiful sonnet. Every movement, every touch was executed with ease, elegance and skill. The antiseptic smell of hospitals still lingered on his body, but it blended beautifully with his own sensational unique fragrance.
He wasn't too rough or too gentle. He led, and I followed. He threw back the sheets. What turned me on immediately was the color of his skin against mine. After my week's "rest" in the south of France I had a reasonable tan, but as his black limbs entwined with mine I resembled a pale arum lily. His superb hands closed over my breasts. I lay back, hardly able to move, so overcome was I at the sight of his hands going over my body at long last. He touched and stroked every hillock, vale, and deep valley until I was a quivering wreck. His soft skin slid over mine with all the ease of a serpent slithering through the grass. I put my hands on his buttocks. They felt like two smooth firm apples.
Lionel lay on top of me, breathing kisses of fire into my ever-ready mouth. His hands pushed my hair back from my forehead, and his tongue slid down my throat. It's very true that the unusual or the unique is often more exciting than the norm. Everything was a new sensation with Lionel. His cock had by now found its way between my thighs. It felt as though it had been spun by silkworms, but it also felt as though its base was embedded in a Brillo pad. As with the contrast in skin colors, the chafing of his wiry pubes against my soft satiny ones was making by blood boil over. I must be fair and say that part of my great excitement was due to the fact that he was and felt totally different from any other man I had been to bed with. All my senses were heightened. What could have been an ordinary lay became an exceptional one. He wasn't the most superb lover of all time, but he had fantastic fluidity of movement. Everything coordinated and clicked.
He moved down and spread my legs apart. I wasn't really interested in whether or not he had perfected the art of cunnilingus. I was too turned on by the sight of his black head and face wedged between my translucent thighs to care what he did with his tongue. As it happened, his tongue did a great job, but the thought of the tip of his purple-headed penis pushing into my rose-pink cunt was becoming too much. I'd waited all night for this moment. I put my hand down to his cock and gave it a tug which brought his head up and his body over me. I parted my legs until I thought I would split in two halves and lay back and waited. He no sooner entered me than I came, gulping in great gasps of air. He held me close until I had finished, and then he started toward his own pleasure peak.
Never once did he jerk or thrust too violently. like a well-oiled piston he moved silently in and out. As his cock reached its full penetration I felt the rubbing and rasping of his wiry tuft against me. It would leave me briefly, then grind and grate against me. I put my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. I kissed, licked, and sucked his lips. Then I ran my fingers down his strong black back until I reached the rise of his buttocks. With faster movements, but still as graceful as ever, he rode until he spewed forth into me. He stayed on top, and after a few minutes of perfect peace and solitude he withdrew and lay panting at my side. Then he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the shower. He soaped and hosed me down all over, aiming the strong jet of water straight between my legs. I cried out as the cold jet of water shot up me. Lionel pulled me to him and gave me a wet kiss. Then he dried me with great care, and I sat on the edge of the tub watching him as he dried his magnificent body.
We both dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and Lionel made us some coffee and eggs. Over breakfast we discussed what we should do with the golden day that lay ahead of us.
"I know," he said. "Would you like to go sailing?" he asked.
"I'd love that," I replied.
He made a phone call to a friend who had a boat, and he said we could borrow it with pleasure. Therefore we set off with a picnic lunch and a few bottles of wine. We went to a marina situated near the Golden Gate Bridge. I know absolutely nothing about boats except that they make me sick with the slightest of rolling motions. The boat Lionel had borrowed was a super-luxury speedboat with a closed-in cabin all done out with navy blue carpet cosseting ceiling, walls, and floor. There was a long curved settee which was very soft to the touch. It was made of a deep navy blue leather.
We sailed all day on a sea as smooth and unwrinkled as Lionel's ass. Then we returned to our mooring. We sat and talked and drank until midnight. We found we had run out of ciggies. We were both in the mood for more cigarettes and wine. I noticed that the lights in the boat next door were on, and a great cacophony of music was blaring from the portholes.
The boat was one of the weirdest sights imaginable. Its decks were covered with plants and flowers. The curtains were a chintzy mess of multicolored flowers. It made me think of the African Queen. At any moment one might expect to see Katharine Hepburn or Humphrey Bogart appear on deck. Lionel said he would go in and ask to borrow twenty cigarettes until we could replace them in the morning. I watched as he disappeared into the bowels of the boat.
Suddenly he dashed back out, but with no cigarettes in his hand. "Quick, Fiona!" he exclaimed. "You must come and have a look at this."
All I had on was a white shirt of Lionel's. We went onto the boat together. I went first down the steep ladder that led to the large saloon. The scene that confronted me was nightmarish. I stood stock still and looked around the large cluttered smoke-filled saloon. The flower theme had been continued there with even greater gusto than on the decks. The decor was a horrific mess; the curtains, cushions, and carpets were all of clashing floral patterns, and a potted plant stood on every available ledge. They obviously thrived on this sort of atmosphere.
The people there were even more extraordinary than the decor. There was a sprinkling of elderly would-be hippies, including a very strange Englishwoman in her forties called Vinnie. She looked so out of place one could picture her at an English garden party on a softly undulating green lawn with the pungent smell of new-mown hay in the air. She would have looked much more at home seated in the shade of a spreading chestnut tree, presiding over a silver teapot, bone china cups, and wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches instead of sitting drunk out of her mind on this floating greenhouse.
There was a dark girl sitting cross-legged on the floor at a low table. In front of her was a small polyethylene bag containing a quantity of pot. She never said a word or smiled, but sat rolling joints and passing them out to the waiting hands with all the speed of someone doing piecework on a factory floor. There was a white-haired elderly American who was grabbing the joints with the same eagerness I might grab hold of a cock which appealed to me. Vinnie was also having a deep drag whenever the opportunity presented itself. I stood very close to Lionel and was delighted to see that, like me, he refused to partake of the pot.
There was an assortment of young people dancing together. Mostly, though it was hard to distinguish, boys were dancing with boys and girls with girls. One pair ,of girls were particularly outstanding in their appearance, movements, and behavior. Their pussies appeared to have been stuck together with glue, but their sensuous, lithe, almost boobless top halves swayed and gyrated to the pounding rhythm. The butch number had on very tight jeans and a man's shirt, and her very short hair was blow-dried back off her high-cheek-boned, haughty face. She drew on her joint like a man. Her partner was one of the sexiest movers I have ever seen. She was as slim as the slimmest of reeds, with an abundance of long dark hair flowing down her back. The front of her long blue dress barely covered her tiny breasts while the back of it started well below the crack in her bottom. I was fascinated as I watched them kiss each other full on the mouth and caress each other's pert pink nipples.
I took a quick look at Lionel and saw from his expression and the way he was clutching his glass he was terribly turned on. I dropped my eyes to his jeans and saw his cock was almost through the tight material. When I reverted my eyes reluctantly to the girls they were naked and rolling on the floor. They were in the sixty-nine position, and the bull dyke's fair head was at work between the bird's legs while she in turn was eating her partner. Their sighs of pleasure were barely audible above the blare of the music. They both came up for air, and the butch lady got on top of the slim girl and kissed and caressed her boobs.
"Isn't it simply spiffing," said Vinnie in a loud, frightful English voice and immediately plunged into her pot.
By now the dyke had her fingers right up her lover's cunt. The other girl was turning and tossing. She grabbed the hand that was giving her pleasure and forced it further and further inside until I thought she would suck the whole arm up. As fast as lightening-like a conjuror producing a magic stick-an enormous vibrator appeared in the other lesbian's hand. She roughly turned her over and jammed the thing up the cunt where her hand had been. As she repeatedly rammed home the vibrator, she masturbated herself.
I looked around. No one gave any outward signs of enjoying this happening. They all sat or stood with completely bland and bored expressions on their faces. I looked back at Lionel. He was having the time of his life. The sight of the bulge in his pants was turning me on. Everyone started to do their own thing, and now there was a daisy chain of fellas in a cocksucking circle. Watching them didn't do a thing for me, and I noticed after the first cursory glance Lionel never once gave them a second look. I couldn't get over the fact that there was no excitement and joy. Always having gotten so much fun and happiness out of sex myself, I found it upsetting that although all the people there were doing what pleased them most, there was no real rapture. Then-motions were almost mechanical. One could have stumbled into a toy shop where all the wooden dolls had been wound up and kept going until they ran out of steam.
Lionel made no attempt to get in on the action, and there was no way I wanted to share his divinely proportioned body with anyone, male or female. I threaded my arm through his so that he would remember my presence and remember my cunt which had given him such a warm welcome that morning. I looked at my watch. It was one a.m., so it was yesterday morning since I had been so beautifully laid and been sucked by him. I began to get agitated. I wanted him. but not here in this sad, seedy atmosphere. I suddenly had a desperate need for some fresh air. Before I could pass this wish on to Lionel, somebody came up behind me and took a firm hold of my left tit. I started involuntarily at the unexpectedness of this action. I never knew if the hand that was feeling my breast was male or female, for Lionel turned with an expression of horror at what was happening. He grabbed my hand and ran through the smoke-filled forest of funny foliage.
We didn't stop running until we gained the comparative safety of our boat. Lionel locked the door and turned to me. We both started to giggle simultaneously.
"Wow, what a lot of weirdoes!" I said. "That high-falutin' Englishwoman sitting with one eye looking one way and one the other shouting. 'Absolutely sniffing!' made me split my sides," I continued, giving his hard cock a playful tweak. "You're nearly splitting your strides. Did those lezzies turn you on?" I asked.
"You can see they did," he said, "but the thought that after watching them I was going to fuck you was an added bonus."
True to his word, he stepped out of his jeans. His superb tool was immediately visible, as he was wearing no underpants. I fell to my knees and greedily gobbled at his spirited stick, shafting it into my mouth in the same avaricious way a monkey might gulp down a banana. Oh, but he tasted and smelled much better than the finest banana. I bore down on him until his prickly pubes were irritating the end of my nose. I withdrew a little so that I could look up into his face. He looked down at me and flashed his white teeth. Erotic thoughts flooded into my mind. I was a slave girl giving my powerful black master the taste of pleasure he had commanded.
"Hold on, honey," he said. "I'm about to shoot my wad down your throat, and I want to be inside you." I let him go, giving his manhood one last tender lingering lick.
He pushed me to the floor and pushed up my shirt until it was a tangled mass around my neck. He entered me urgently, but as gracefully as always, and boy, was I ready! His mouth met mine. Our skin and bodies became one body which had all its own thoughts and feelings concentrated in one area. It was a joyous, loving, memorable fuck, nothing akin to the sad clockwork figures fornicating next door. We rose and fell together. Suddenly I let go. All I was conscious of was Lionel's black body and his scorching red rod searing into me. I thought my cunt had been penetrated by one of the hot rays from the sun itself. We came crying out together, wallowing in our combined rapture.
The thrill, passion, and sheer abandonment of our bodies given to each other for each other's pleasure had spread an untold feeling of joy through us. We awoke together, still lying on the floor, to a brilliant sun-basked San Francisco morning. We showered and went to find a place for breakfast. After breakfast we went back to the boat to pack up our few belongings and to return the pack of cigarettes we had borrowed from the African Queen. As we approached the boat we could see the only occupant appeared to be the amply proportioned Vinnie. She had managed to cram a few of her many folds of white flesh into a tiny floral (of course!) bikini.
"Co-ee-ee, luvs," she bellowed. "Jolly fine morning, I say, what?"
She was sitting in a chair with a Bloody Mary in one hand and a large bowl of beans balanced on her plump knees. She was still as soused as a newt, for she was trying hopelessly to cut the beans up with a pair of scissors. As the other hand was in perpetual motion to her mouth, she was having no success with the beans. Trying very hard not to laugh, I plonked the ciggies in front of her and thanked her for a delightful evening.
"Drop by any time, luvs," she said.
We got our things, and we walked away to the echoing strains of Vinnie's high-pitched "By-ee-ee!" As soon as we were out of earshot, we collapsed with laughter.
"I must say I like that old biddy. She's obviously happy sunk in an alcoholic stupor forever," I said, and he replied, "She's certainly quite a character."
All too soon it was time for me to dash off to New York and back to the grindstone. Tony was very sweet and helpful on the return flight. The other two girls still went in fear and trembling of him, and he was vile to them. They couldn't for the life of them understand how I got on with him and actually liked him. Silly cows! We fed and watered the passengers and put them to bed for the night sector back to London.
I was on duty and must have dropped off to sleep sitting on the jump seat in the galley, for the next thing I knew, one of the passengers was shaking my shoulder. He apologized for waking me, but the man next to him was having an epileptic fit. I grabbed a handful of paper toweling and ran down the darkened cabin. Sure enough, this fellow was foaming at the mouth and turning the most terrible color. I twisted the towels around to form a hard band and managed to get them between his teeth. He was thrashing about. I couldn't move him to a place where he could continue to thrash about without hurting himself, as there was just nowhere for him to go. So I padded the arms of his seat with blankets and moved the two other passengers next to him into the forward compartment. I sat with him, and without restraining him I tried to make sure he didn't come to too much harm. Gradually the thrashing ceased, and the foaming stopped, and he fell into a noisy sleep. When he awoke about half an hour later, he knew nothing about his fit. I gave him a drink of water and kept a close watch on him for the rest of the flight. We landed in the early hours with no further incidents. Tony and I swapped phone numbers so we could get together sometime.
When I got back to the flat, the other girls were in a great state of excitement.
"A black limousine with a chauffeur and a sheik in full regalia has been calling here for you four times a day for the last two days!" Jackie exclaimed. "All the neighbors have been hanging out of the windows watching every movement. What have you been up to?" she asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "Did he leave a message?" I asked.
"Only that he'd keep calling until he saw you, and he left this parcel for you," she answered, handing me a small heavy parcel. They all crowded around while I proceeded to open it. Out fell the familiar gold bracelet. I dropped it on the table in disgust. The others grabbed it and examined it minutely and said it was worth a small fortune! I didn't care, and I wasn't interested in Fahid and his friends. I left it with them and went to bed, but I was awakened about six p.m. by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
I sleepily put on a robe and opened the door. There was Fahid flashing his gold teeth at me.
"Hello," I said.
"Did you get my gift?" he asked.
"Yes indeed," I replied. "Hold on a moment," I said. I went into the kitchen, picked up the bracelet, and plunked it into his hand. "I'm very tired," I said. "I've just arrived back from New York, and I need plenty of sleep because of the time difference," I explained.
"I'll call for you tomorrow," he replied, "and we can lunch together," he added.
"Thank you, but no," I said, but he was very persistent.
"I insist! You must come," he said.
I thought to myself, how the hell am I going to dump this odious little man? He was clinging to me like a vine. "Okay," I replied. "I'll have lunch with you tomorrow, and then that's it!" He smiled and left.
The next day I got out of bed and wearily dressed for lunch. At one p.m. the doorbell rang. The chauffeur bowed and said, "I've come to collect you, miss."
I got into the back of the car, and off we drove. We pulled up outside the hotel, and the chauffeur accompanied me to a fabulous suite on the top floor. The door was ajar, and Fahid was sitting there with his shirtmaker, ordering thirty-six pure silk shirts to take back to Kuwait. Eventually we were served an exquisite lunch. The conversation was stilted at first, but the more I talked with Fahid, the more I realized what a highly intelligent man he was and a great conversationalist, too. When the waiters had left us with our coffee, he motioned for me to sit on the sofa beside him. I went across the room to him, thinking that this is where I would have to start fending his wandering mitts off my body, but nothing of the sort happened. He had a proposition to put to me. He had a house in Geneva, Paris, and Kuwait and was just about to buy a property in London off Park Lane.
"Come and have a look at it," he implored.
The house was quite fabulous and included everything one could ever have needed-a superb drawing room, an excellent dining room, six divine bedrooms (each with a private bath), a sauna, an elevator, and staff quarters, as he intended keeping a permanent staff. He visited the UK only a couple of times a year, and his proposition was that I should live in the house and any of the other houses in Europe. I would be free to have anyone I desired and to entertain whomever I wished, provided I made myself available to him on the odd occasion he was in England. A Maserati would be delivered to my doorstep in the morning, and the facilities of an account at Harrods to purchase whatever I wanted would be placed at my disposal.
We went back to the hotel. I was quite fond of this funny little fellow by now, but not in a sexual way. I couldn't bed down with him for all the oil in Arabia! The gold bracelet was pressed on me again. I declined once more, thanked him for a marvelous lunch and told him very firmly that I liked him, but would never, never consider being his mistress. He took the news too calmly.
"We'll see about that," he said.
"Look," I said angrily, "I've made up my mind. I'll certainly have lunch or dinner with you anytime you're in town, but bed is definitely out of the question." I said my good-byes and left.
I got back to the apartment, and the girls were all agog to hear what had been happening to me. They said that I was mad to refuse his offer. They said that they could come and live with me in the lap of luxury. I said that that would be great, but only on one condition, that we all took it in turns to be his lay! They were horrified by the idea and backed down immediately so that was that. I've never regretted it for a single moment. I had refused one of the world's richest men because I didn't imagine him physically. In spite of all his worldly wealth and fabulous possessions, he simply wasn't for me. When I gave myself to somebody, I really go overboard in my own sweet way. I never did like sand in my pussy, and there was sure to be sand on his cock. He pestered me for a few more weeks, but I've never heard from him since. I often see his name in the newspapers, so I guess he managed to stock his London harem to his satisfaction.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Entertaining the Troops
Before I went off to New York, a notice had been put on the board in the crew room, asking for volunteers to fly the troops in and out of Aden when the trouble there was at its height. Apparently there weren't enough military aircraft available to fly replacement troops out and bring back those who had finished their terms of duty. So our company offered its aircraft and therefore required volunteer crews, since they couldn't force us to go into a war zone. Before going to New York, I had discussed this with the girls in the apartment, and not one of them was going to volunteer. As a supporter of lost causes I was incensed by their lack of patriotism, and I put my name down on the board.
Crewing phoned me to say that I would be on the first flight to Aden leaving the next morning. My parents always worried about me flying, so I told them I was going to Malta. This wasn't exactly a lie, as we stopped there to refuel on the way out and had three days off there as a bonus on the return journey. I set off thinking the trip would be a great giggle and a bit of an adventure. All the flight deck crew were very young men, and the cabin staff consisted of a very confident girl as the Number One, one other girl, a steward, and me. I was the bar girl again. This came to be one of my favorite positions-to fly in, that is!
We started off full of high spirits. We had a full load of soldiers from a very famous Welsh regiment. They turned the life jacket demonstration into a riot, shouting out all sorts of rude things and pinching our asses at every opportunity. Normally I detest this type of behavior in passengers, but these boys were welcome to touch me all they wanted to! After all, it was a certainty that not all of them would be coming home. I marveled at their bravery. The captain bought them all a beer each, and they then proceeded to drink every drop of alcohol on board-and who could blame them! They weren't any trouble at all. They boozed themselves to sleep. I spent more time than usual in the cabin chatting to them, as did the rest of the cabin staff. We were only staying in Aden three days, otherwise I might have offered to give all hundred and thirty-two of them one, but decided to single out two, one for each night.
I picked the first one solely because of his good looks and confidence. He had a sort of conceited air. I only had to look at him to know that he was hiding something very large inside his pants. All I can say is that in my opinion a big cock is just as liable to make a man cock-stupid as cocksure! Anyway, Joe was my first choice. I told him quite frankly where I was staying and how welcome he would be to visit me. I didn't have to spell it out. He knew exactly what I meant.
Now that I had picked an officer, I wanted to pick one man from the ranks. The second guy I selected to be the recipient of my favors was the complete opposite of Joe. He was small and fair-haired, with the beginnings of a mangy mustache. He was very gentle, shy, and retiring. I had a hard job striking up a conversation with him, but I persevered and eventually managed to pry his name out of him. It was Trevor. With fluttering eyelids and undulating hips I proffered Trevor the same invitation-only for the day after Joe. I don't know if he really cottoned on to exactly what
I was offering, but his face broke out into a lovely smile as he nodded his assent. Nine times out of ten I wouldn't have given a guy like this a second look, but this was destined to be a very special occasion.
When we landed at Aden Airport I said to Trevor as he disembarked, "Don't forget to come for tea and crumpets the day after tomorrow." The flight had been great fun, but once we had arrived in Aden, I began to get very scared. The aircraft was parked in a small space surrounded by high barbed wire, and two soldiers manning massive machine guns were stationed at each end of it. We went through customs and had everything searched very thoroughly. Then the eight of us were ushered out to an old coach. Two soldiers with a machine gun each were positioned at each end of the coach. We were asked to sit together at the front because it was more difficult for snipers to pick us off there.
Aden appeared to be nothing but a mass of rubble, and we had arrived during the curfew. Suddenly a bullet shattered one of the back windows of the coach. I jumped straight onto our big burly engineer's lap. The armed guard shouted out for us all to lie face down on the floor. I can tell you I was the first to hit the deck! We spent the rest of the journey face down on the filthy floor of the coach. When we drew up outside our hotel, I was a nervous wreck. I wished I were a million miles away, but I had chosen to come and was stuck there. We were instructed to bunch together and run into the hotel. I stuck with the engineer. The chances of a bullet hitting me when I had his big bulk behind me were very slight. We all arrived safely in the hotel lobby. Our white shirts and blouses were crumpled and covered with dust. The other girls had dirty smudges all over their faces. I presumed I looked equally enchanting! We all went to our rooms to have a good scrub and change out of our filthy clothes.
We met about half an hour later in the captain's room. We all had a drink, and the captain told us that we would be confined to the hotel for the whole three days. We could venture out in the daytime if we wished, but only with one of the flight deck to protect us. All of the girls and the steward voted unanimously to give the sights of Aden a miss. We were all chicken. I considered myself far too young to die and tried hard to sleep despite the sound of gunfire and hand grenades going off at intervals.
When I awoke in the morning the sun was streaming in through my window. I went out onto the balcony. There was a bare patch of ground in front of the hotel on which some scruffy kids were playing football. There was a barracks to the right, and I could see the sea sparkling and dancing in the sunlight beyond that. Everything was calm. Too calm. A sort of heavy, expectant silence hung in the air. There were a few natives walking the streets, but almost on tiptoe and always casting furtive glances over their shoulders. Except for the atmosphere of suspense, I could have been looking out at a scene in any Middle Eastern country on a brilliant sunshiny day. I ventured farther out onto the balcony and hung over the balustrade. One or two of the young lads playing football waved to me. I waved back.
Suddenly the calm was shattered by a burst of gunfire. Everyone fled from the barren piece of ground. I darted back into my room. Eventually the gunfire ceased, and everything went deathly still. I ventured out onto the balcony to see a man lying immediately below (I was on the second floor) in a great pool of blood. I wanted to jump over the balcony and go to his aid, but before I could make any move, he was pulled into the shelter of the hotel by a group of people. I stared at the ground, into which his newly spilled blood was seeping. The ground sucked it in as though it was used to such a spillage of human blood. Suddenly I caught sight of a dark figure running at full speed toward the barracks. He lifted his arm and threw a hand grenade over the wall. There was a loud explosion, and a big cloud of dust and debris flew up into the air. I heard the sound of running feet, and about two dozen soldiers armed to the hilt, poured through the barracks gate. The guy who had hurled the grenade had vanished like a black bat into the shadows thrown by the buildings on the far side of the square. All went quiet once more, and the soldiers retreated behind the walls. T couldn't believe what I had just seen. It was like being at the cinema. I had become totally involved in the action in front of me, but once it was over, I realized I wasn't sitting in a four-dollar seat in a luxurious cinema. I was actually on the spot, and what had passed before my eyes was not make-believe, but a very real and horrifying thing-people at war, men killing men, filled full of hate and venom. More than ever my motto was: make love, not war! The flight deck went out in the daytime, but all of the cabin staff stayed in and played cards, read, ate, and dozed.
Joe was scheduled to arrive that evening. We had dinner in the hotel. He was as good-looking as ever, but still exuded an overpowering air of conceit, and if anything bored me, it was conceit! However, I'd given my word, and, after all, it might be the last fuck the poor guy would ever have, or at least would have for the next few months. I really don't think a lonely jerk-off behind a closed lavatory door brings quite the same satisfaction. I decided my first impression of him had been accurate. He was terribly conceited and practically told me I was a very lucky girl to be going out with him. (He completely forgot that / had chosen him.) I agreed with him, and he smiled and said that he knew several girls who would like to be in my place and that they wanted him for only one thing.
I whispered with wide-open eyes, "I'm sure they did, I'm sure they did."
I must say that he was a smashing-looking fellow, and my only hope was that he had something to be conceited about. I went up to my room, and Joe followed discreetly a few minutes later. He asked if he could have a shower, which pleased me. I love the smell of a freshly washed male body.
While he was in the shower I took off my clothes, folded them neatly on a chair and waited for the action to begin. I heard water rushing in the bathroom, and then Joe called out, "Can you pass me a towel?" I went in to find him still under the shower, and I must admit that his body was a beauty! He was more than six feet tall, with good muscles and a narrow waist and hips. He looked like just what I wanted, but looking lower, I positively gasped, for out of a huge blue black bush hung a cock that must have been ten inches long and about three inches thick.
My first thought was, "What a beauty!" And my second thought was, "How the fucking hell am I going to get that thing inside my tiny tunnel!" He stepped out of the shower and asked me to dry him. As he had thick black hair on his chest and on his back, and a bush to match, this took some time. It was then that my first doubts arose, for although I lifted his balls to drv under his crotch and rubbed his cock softly up and down it stayed down, and this was something I wasn't used to. Taking him by the hand, I led him into the bedroom. After all, I thought, he may need to lie down. We lay down, and I kissed him on the mouth and told him he had the biggest cock I'd ever seen.
"That's what they all say," he replied, showing his inimitable display of tact!
I wanted to bite his tongue off. Instead I decided to see if I could fit it into my mouth. If not, I'd have to think seriously about my cunt. I shoved it in with some difficulty. It made breathing a little difficult, and although I sucked and sucked, it remained large and limp. I took it out, lifted it up, and let it fall like a dead snake.
"That was great," Joe said. "Do it again."
So I did it again, but nothing happened. I got up and took a large swig of water. Then I got down to work. I went down to him and put my fingers between his balls and lifted them up. Then I put my tongue on the underneath of the bag and slowly licked upwards, forcing each ball in turn into my mouth and chewing on them gentiy. Then I licked right up his cock and put the circumcised head in my mouth again and took its floppy tip out and licked with the point of my very long tongue around the rim. Then I traveled up to his stomach where, parting the hair around his navel, I licked that, and then on to his nipples, which were also on the large side. I sucked them and bit them in turn, while I held his balls in both my hands. I rubbed them slowly together.
Joe kept groaning and saying I was wonderful, but
I didn't have to look to see that his cock was still as big and lifeless as ever. I decided on drastic action. After all, I'm not used to the insult of a dead cock when I make love. I went to the Thermos jug and filled my mouth with the remaining ice. I went back to Joe and almost swallowed his penis. He gave the sort of dying jerk a cobra might give that has just been beaten to death, but that was all. I lay down beside him, expecting apologies. For if there's one thing the normal man can't forgive himself, it's failure in bed. (Let me digress a moment here and say that it's nice sometime to have a man in a gently satisfied mood so you can examine and look at him and kiss him. After all, sex isn't everything, and if you really like a guy, it's great to be able to relax him so that he's contented and happy, and you can gently fondle him and play with him. If only men would relax, it would be lovely, but they always seem to think a limp cock is a reflection on their manhood and start feeling guilty, which spoils the whole thing.) However, Joe was carrying the thing a bit too far or, rather, not carrying it at all. He was like some big beautiful doll which simply lay there and did sweet nothing. There's no use having a giant-sized dong if you can't play the smallest tune on it! I was preparing to muster what remaining forces I had when Joe said something that almost knocked me over with surprise.
"Well, Fiona. Did you ever see such a super cock? T'll bet that after some of the men you've seen, you can't believe your luck in having tasted my magnificent cock. Don't you think you're a lucky girl?" he asked.
I was nonplussed. "Oh. very!" I replied, trying hard not to be sarcastic. "You've got a fabulous face, a beautiful body, and a superb cock. What more could a poor girl ask for?"
He seemed pleased that I appreciated his good points and realized my good fortune, for a look of considerable self-satisfaction spread over his face as he lay back and asked me to kiss him. This I did with about a much enthusiasm as taking a cold shower, but Joe never seemed to notice. I was beginning to realize that he was so pleased with himself that if I'd said that he smelt like a piece of dead fish and was about as much use in bed, he would somehow have turned it into a compliment. He lay there a few moments in a daze of self-satisfaction while I wondered whether or not I should get up and lock myself in the bathroom until he had gone. Gradually raising himself up on the bed, he said, "Well, now that you've had your pleasure, I think I'll have mine. Lie on your back, please."
I wondered if some miracle had occurred and there had been a revival of the dead cobra, but a quick feel told me it was as dead as a dodo. However, I lay back, opened my legs, thought of England, and prayed for a miracle. One did not happen, but something else did, for having got me into the missionary position, he started trying to stuff his limp dick into me. It was so unexciting that I felt myself drying up like the Sahara, and that put me off even more. Usually when I get excited I get so wet I feel I could manage an elephant's trunk, but now I couldn't accommodate a dwarf's little finger.
"I guess you're one of those who needs greasing up," he said and ambled across the room to his coat pocket. "I've got a tube of KY here," he said-a remark which made me realize that my reactions were not an uncommon experience for him. He plied my dried-up engine with jelly and started again. Unfortunately I kept pushing him out even though I was trying to welcome him. Then an awful thing happened. I burst out laughing. I had suddenly remembered that one Christmas somebody had given me a round box with the words "Chocolate Bonbons" written cn the lid, but when I opened the box, out jumped a wire snake painted green. Once out, I couldn't get it back into its case. Every time I pressed the wire in, something happened and out jumped the snake again. The comparison was so exact that I split my sides laughing. Joe looked surprised, and I laughed louder. He looked frightfully put out. I became hysterical. He was also genuinely puzzled.
"What's so funny?" he asked, but I was beyond telling him. I turned away, got out of bed, and went into the bathroom, trying all the time to think of something else, but failing and laughing more and more until the tears were pouring down my cheeks. When I came out of the bathroom, Joe was fully dressed. He stormed out without a word. I got back into bed, and my hysteria died down. I couldn't help thinking how sad the whole thing was. Here was a man so good-looking you would go to bed with him for his looks alone. Added to this, he had a sensational body and a cock just made to open cunts with, and yet the net result had been that we had lain together for an. hour without any passion or pleasure. The whole thing had been a bloody waste, and I almost cried myself to sleep. The rest of the night was quiet, and we spent the following day much as the previous one-not daring to go out.
Trevor arrived to see me looking a bit sheepish later that afternoon. I said that I was thrilled to see him and glad that he had been able to get away. He had had to make up some story about visiting a very close relation who was staying at the hotel and had escaped from the barracks for a few hours. He didn't ask me to dine or even inquire if I were hungry, but just came straight up to my room. I opened the door in answer to his knock dressed, in the flimsiest of oyster-pink negligees. He rushed in and kissed me full on the lips. Not wanting to waste time, I said that I would just be a moment and went into the bathroom to splash some more perfume on my already scrupulously clean body. I came out stripped for immediate action.
However, I nearly rushed back into the bathroom, because Trevor was taking his pants off as I came in and displaying just about the smallest cock I've ever seen. Talk about being a good picker! Out of a hundred and thirty-two able-bodied men I'd managed to pick out the biggest and now the tiniest cock in the regiment! My kisses and the ample glimpse of my naked body through the fine material of my negligee had obviously worked, for it was erect-all three inches of it-otherwise I don't think I could have seen it. I thought to myself that this was really going from the sublime to the ridiculous, but the sublime had in fact turned out to be ridiculous. First of all, I found a dead cock ten inches long, and now I found myself face to face with one three inches long when erect! What had I done to deserve it? After all, I was only trying to keep up the morale of our brave lads in Aden.
What saved the situation was the fact that he didn't seem the least embarrassed, but came over to where I was leaning weakly against the door. He kissed me, pressed against me, and smiled. I liked his smile and decided he could stay. At any rate, he had an erection. Finally he took me to the bed, pushed me firmly down, and took one of the pillows and placed it under my behind. Then he put his arms under my legs and pushed my knees back against my stomach and put his weapon into me. I felt wet and knew things would be all right. Lying that way, his cock was as big as I or any girl could have wanted. He kept up a steady thrusting motion so that my cunt soon got into his rhythm although I couldn't move my body much with my legs pushed right back. His fucking was strong. While he pushed into me, he spat saliva into my left ear and then pushed his tongue around and then down into my ear drum. I found that this was most exciting until he inserted his tongue so far that it created an almost deafening crackle against my ear drum. This made me try to turn my head away. Trevor then treated the other ear in the same way, and I felt a climax coming.
But when I came, digging my nails into his back and crying out in pleasure, Trevor paid no attention and went on steadily fucking. I asked him to stay still so that I might relax. He ignored me, and gradually my desire for rest gave way once again to excitement, and I knew that he was going to give me a multiple orgasm. Steadily he plowed on, sometimes giving me an earful of saliva, sometimes kissing my mouth and eyes or licking my face. Whatever he did, however, he never kept still, but kept thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, and I felt myself slipping again into a dissolving world. This time he came with me. He gave a strangulated cry. I could feel his hot seed spurting into me, but his movements backward and forwards never ceased.
A girl who wants to be an exceptional lover must prepare! I had come for a record time, and my body was poised between the desire to go on fucking or slipping into a passive state of fulfillment. My cunt had exploded again and again in climax after climax, and this created a feeling of well being and a desire to rest. Trevor had come, too, and that caused my body to want to relax and drown in a sea of his sperm. Had he relaxed, my body would have followed suit automatically, and we would have ended where other lovers end-in sleep. It would have been a lovely night, but nothing exceptional to remember, certainly not the screw of a lifetime. But far from stopping, Trevor was going on in and out. His cock still felt hard, but the motion had slowed down. Suddenly he called for help.
"Pinch my nipples as hard as you can and kiss me. Then I can go on fucking you!"
I did as he commanded, and that was the crucial moment. Had I not done what he asked or said that I was tired or begged him to wait a minute, he would have died inside me. He was one of those men who can go on fucking after he has come as long as his lover is prepared to excite him in the way he wants, but it's a tricky, sticky moment. A man must like a girl very much to want to go on, and if he pays her that compliment, she should be ready to do what he wants. I did exactly what he wanted. I pinched and bit his nipples as hard as I could. I pushed my tongue as far as I could into his mouth and gave him a tongue massage. I soon felt a difference in his fucking. His thrusts became steadier and less desperate and erratic. I had helped him over the moment of doubt, and he was in physical charge once again. Trevor took over the kissing, and I soon felt myself approaching culmination yet again. He now showed that imagination which is the basis of all good lovemaking and changed positions so that I felt something new was happening to me and got excited quicker than I would have done if we had tried to go on in the same way as before.
Positions in sex are a matter about which there are a good many misunderstandings, and I would like to make my own position clear. Sometimes I have been to bed with a guy whose one idea was to show that he knew seventy ways of making a girl happy. The result was that as soon as he had got down to humping away in the missionary position and my body was just turning itself to the strokes, he would suddenly say, "Hey, let's change." The cock would be roughly extracted (always an unpleasant experience for a girl). One would be turned around and put into the "mating dog position," the cock would be roughly replaced, and fucking would be recommenced without an exciting transition for me. Just as my cunt would be getting used to the change, there would be another "Hey, let's change." The cock would be out, and the tongue would be trying hard to take over. Sex like this quite simply doesn't work satisfactorily. Lovemaking has got to start in the mind to be successful, and if a man's thinking of showing off his athletic knowledge in bed, he won't be thinking of the girl he's fucking and what pleases her. This type of man and his penis have no way of getting off the ground.
I was thinking this when Trevor lay back again and heaved up his behind, which drove his cock upwards into me. He repeated this over and over. I found myself getting juiced up once more, and he contributed to this by putting his hands under my ankles and lifting them. At the same time he told me to clasp my legs under the knees, and he held me this way as if I were an instrument, and he were entirely in control playing a tune on me with his formidable bow. We were making beautiful music. He was the conductor in sole charge, and there was no way J. could strike a wrong note. This position has a snag, though. It's painful on your back, and after some time I needed release. He sensed this and raised my ankles right up in the air and opened his legs wide. I fell right back between his legs, and his cock slipped out, but he was back inside in a flash. This time he pushed my legs right back as far as they would go. He parted them until he could look down at me between the crotch of my legs, and I rested my shoulders on the bed with my pussy right up in the air. This again is a better position for a small cock and gives a girl great pleasure. A big cock feels as if it's violating the womb, while a small one inserted right up to the hilt with the balls banging against the outer portals feels perfect pushed backwards and forwards on a slant into the cunt. Trevor's manhood felt this way to me, and I started a climax that became multiple.
How many times I came I have no idea, but he continued fucking at a steady pace, this way and that way until the sweat streamed from both our bodies, running in great rivulets on to the sheets. Time ceases to count in the throes of a multiple orgasm. I merely sank into a sea of sex in which my body took over from me and heaved itself onto his cock, which ebbed and flowed, but never ebbed away completely, so that I seemed to come without stopping while I called his name and scratched at his body. It seemed we'd been fucking since the beginning of time. Suddenly his thrusting became fiercer and fiercer, and sweat drenched us as he cried out, "Fiona, Fiona, I love you!" I could feel the whole of his body flow into me, and my cunt filled and burst with liquid passion that submerged and drowned his cock with love. I was satisfied and exhausted, and no girl could ask for more. I lay in his arms with my head on his shoulder. I could feel his heart beating and smell his manhood. I love this. After a girl has been well and truly fucked, she wants to be able to relax completely in the care of the man responsible. I drifted off to sleep perfectly contented. The atrocities outside seemed a million miles away. I awoke to a wonderful new feeling.
As I said before, I love to go to sleep in a man's arms, covered with his sweat and smelling his love juices. However, when I wake up I want to start making love again. Usually I love to wash myself first of all from top to toe in order to start the day completely fresh and clear, but that morning I felt a lovely cool mouth which started slowly at my toes and worked its way up the insides of my legs, into my crotch, over my tummy and breasts and up to my armpits. Then I was turned over, and the same thing happened to my backside. A towel had been put under me while I slept, and another warm one was now put over me, and I was gently dried all over. Then I felt another coolness and could smell the delicious odor of my exotic perfume being rubbed and massaged into my skin. My body began to undulate in an involuntary way when his hands touched the nape of my neck and trailed along my backbone to the sensitive hollow where my buttocks swelled out. Then I felt him opening my legs, and he went down on me, delicately opening my lower lips with his teeth. He took my clit between his teeth sucking softly, then harder and harder.
I felt that fantastic morning eroticism, which can only come after a night of perfect fucking, take over my body. He awakened me slowly, and I felt a great arousal commence in my womb. Trevor was lying on his side, and now he placed me on my side too. Then he put his tiny cock in front of my mouth. I was able to swallow the whole delicious little morsel with ease. I felt protective, randy, and grateful as he came into my mouth. I rubbed my clit and came with him in perfect unison.
The telephone rang while I still had Trevor's cock in my mouth. I licked my lips and picked up the phone. It was the big prick himself-by that I mean Joe.' I really didn't have anything to say to him, but I enjoyed this conversation.
"Hello," he said. "When am I going to honor your cunt with my super cock?" he asked.
"I'm leaving tonight," I replied, "and couldn't possibly fit you in between now and then."
Of course he took it as a compliment that I alluded to the size of his cock. He replied, "But you're missing out on the biggest cock in Aden, possibly in the whole world." I felt like telling him to go and stuff it up his left nostril!
"You couldn't possibly let my magnificent manhood slip out of your hands," he said.
"I couldn't care less," I said. "There's one lesson you've got to learn, and that is that it's not the size that counts, but what you do with it, and to be quite frank, you haven't got a clue." I banged the receiver down.
"Who was that?" Trevor asked.
"Just a tiresome big prick!" I replied.
I lay back happily exhausted, and when I awoke he had gone-gone out to fight the enemy. If he were anywhere near as good a soldier as he was a lover, those bastards didn't stand a chance! Trevor could destroy the world with his revolver in his hand.
We left Aden the same way we had arrived. All the crew gathered together and rushed out to the bus which was taking us to the airport. I didn't have to be told-I simply lay down on the floor as the coach rattled along the rough roads. As I lay face down in the dirt I thought over the events that had taken place during my three-day stay. As I said before, I had set out to raise the morale of the troops and also to enjoy myself. Joe's morale was probably considerably lower as a result, but his skin was as thick as pig shit, and I'm sure he considered me a dead loss and wouldn't be upset for a moment. Trevor was something else-highly sexed, tender and loving. I hoped with all my heart that he would come home safely. He wrote to me in care of the airline at odd intervals during his term of duty-formal, but friendly, letters-and told me the date of his arrival back in the UK, but I never did get to see him again. Trevor, wherever you are, thanks for everything! You were so generous in bed! Someday, somewhere, a girl will be very lucky to have you for life. If you need a reference, just ask me. God love you!
We all ran out of the bus and into the customs hall. Every single particle of luggage and clothing was taken apart and searched. The bomb squad who were rummaging us said that a favorite trick with the room boys at the hotel was to put a hand grenade or some other type of homemade bomb into the luggage of an outgoing crew. This would be set to go off after takeoff, thus getting rid of an aircraft, numerous soldiers, and a crew. (Three weeks later we heard that an aircraft carrying troops was blown up in the air shortly after takeoff.) I was petrified. At last we were cleared and taken out to the aircraft. The guard was still there. We boarded the aircraft to start our pre-flight duties. We had a full load of soldiers returning to the UK. Our engineer had no ground crew helping him, and he wanted to drip the tanks of the Brit to see how much fuel we needed, so I volunteered my services. I now know how to drip the tanks on a Brit, a piece of knowledge I will never need again, but it was great to be of service to him. I pulled down the hollow drip stick to the fuel level. Once the level is reached, the fuel drips out. We dripped all four tanks, and I ended up drenched from top to toe in fuel. Our passengers back to the UK were full of joy. They sang rude songs, and we all joined in. The relief to us all was tremendous. We were flying back to safety-well, almost!
Malta is quite a hairy airport. I was sitting in the-ladies' John for landing, strapped into the seat facing the mirror. The rolling cart was stowed next to me. I knew we had touched down because the cart had started to rattle. I unstrapped myself and went out into the cabin. To my horror I realized we were gaining speed, not slowing down. I ran back to my seat and strapped myself in just as the aircraft lifted off the runway. I found out afterwards that we had landed too far down the tarmac and had run out of runway, and although the wheels had touched the ground we had to overshoot. We climbed up and circled around for the second attempt. I went to all the emergency exits and made absolutely sure that no obstacles were placed in front of them. I wasn't about to go down with this aircraft. I am happy to record that the second attempt was a perfect landing.
We changed crews in Malta. A flight crew had been positioned from London to take the aircraft back because we had earned three days of well-deserved rest in Malta. We all did nothing but lie by the pool of the Modern Imperial Hotel and rest. We chatted about the events in Aden. Now that we were out safely, it seemed like a far distant dream. We even cracked jokes about it. But I was so thankful to be alive and well. Malta was a complete sexual rest for me. I had had about as much action from all sides as anybody could need or hope for. As it turned out, we had an extra few days of sunshine and fun in Malta. Without exception, we were all grateful to be alive and appreciated a hundredfold all the simple things in life-good food, sunshine, and a little wine. We were due to go home on an aircraft coming from Johannesburg, but the aircraft had had to make an emergency landing in Tripoli with undercarriage trouble. All the passengers had to be night-stopped there with the crew until the trouble was put right.
We stayed on in the sun while the crew in Tripoli struggled in the heat to cope with a hundred thirty-two irate passengers. We considered that their problems were minor after all we'd been through. Eventually the aircraft was serviceable and arrived in Malta. I prayed that the undercarriage problems had been cured once and for all. No sooner had we got off the ground than I heard the familiar rumble of the gear being locked into position. I breathed a great sigh of relief and continued happily about my duties. We had been in the air for a little while when the Number One came down and told me that Malta airport had just radioed to say they thought from the marks on the runway we had burst a tire on takeoff. We didn't, of course, inform the passengers. We just carried on as normal. When we arrived at London airport we had to fly past the control tower with the gear down so they could see whether the tire was intact. Thank heaven it was, and we landed without incident.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Hadj and the Italian Job
The next flight I was crewed on was one of the weirdest experiences of my life. Apparently the company did them every year, and they were called the Hadj. At certain times of the year Moslems make a pilgrimage to Mecca. Our job was to pick up planeloads of them from all over the world and transport them to Jeddha, whence they made their way to Mecca. This whole operation was called the Hadj.
I had never come across such a strange collection of people in my life. The women were in purdah (heavily veiled) and the men in long, flowing robes. The majority of them had never seen an aircraft before. In fact, because of this and their habits, the aircraft was stripped of carpeting, and polyethylene covers were put over all the seats. They'd come scurrying onto the aircraft like bent black crows. Getting them ready for takeoff was an unbelievable scene. Most of them perched like vultures on the high backs of the seats with their feet on the part where their bottoms should have been. We would indicate the seats to them, and they would smile and nod and comprehend nothing. We had a super steward called Stan on this flight. He made me roar with laughter by smiling at these people and saying things like, "Sit down, you silly old bag" or even worse, and they would continue to smile and nod. Eventually we got them seated and strapped in. The whole process could take a couple of hours. Stan went to inform the captain that the cabin was secure for takeoff. The service on these flights was easy. All they had was what we called a Hadj box. It consisted of a white box sealed and containing their own specially prepared food.
I was giving out these boxes when I was quite sure I could smell the very strong odor of paraffin burning. I sniffed and followed my nose. Sure enough, I found the culprit. One of the hags was crouched over a lighted Primus stove cooking her lunch! I got hysterical as I thought of the danger of having a naked flame on the aircraft! I took myself in hand and calmly went up to her and turned the wretched contraption off and wagged my finger at her. She just kept nodding and smiling. I called Stan, and together we pried her away from her dangerous machine. She was quite hurt and couldn't understand at all why we had confiscated her cooking equipment!
These people were not disciplined in any way, and their sanitary habits were nonexistent. They'd do it wherever they happened to be, or just squat in the aisle. It was not unusual on a night sector to hear a horrid squelch under your foot and know without looking that you had just stepped into a great pile of human excreta. On rare occasions we did manage to persuade them to use the john, but then they couldn't manage extra niceties like locking the door. I was in the galley trying to shut myself off from the stench and clamor outside when Stan burst in through the galley door weeping with laughter.
"Whatever's the matter?" I asked.
It was ages before he was coherent enough to tell me. Being extra brave he'd decided to go into one of the toilets and clean it up. He'd opened the door, and there was a woman in her black shroud and yashnak standing feet astride the toilet peeing from a great height.
As soon as Stan entered the John she had, in traditional form, lifted everything she had on to cover her face, but in doing this, of course, she laid absolutely everything else bare! It took Stan at least twenty minutes to recover from the shock, but he was a brave wee lad and soldiered on.
Things were just dandy-or as dandy as they could be on this type of flight. All we could do was grin and bear it. The passengers were all busy digging into their Hadj boxes when a very large swarthy man started running up and down the length of the cabin. Before any of us could restrain him, he had grabbed the fire axe from its position on the main door of the aircraft, and he began swinging it in the air. People began to scream hysterically. The whole aircraft was in an uproar. There was no way that Stan, the two other girls, and I could tackle this beast. Stan told us to take cover and ran up to the flight deck. He returned in seconds with the engineer, who was a great hefty guy, and the nav, who was also on the large side. The engineer ducked as the maniac swiped at him with the fire axe. As he ducked he delivered a magnificient right to the unshaven chin of the brute. Stunned by the blow, he stumbled. The fire axe fell from his hand, and the sharp edge sank straight into his bare foot, almost severing the toes. I felt terribly sick at the sight of the bloody mashed mess that had once been a foot. Trying very hard not to puke in front of everybody, I ran for the first aid kit. When I returned he, was lying on the floor hollering his head off. There was blood dripping from the seats all around. The nav and the engineer restrained him as Stan and I did our best to clean up and bandage his foot. He was obviously still as mad as a hatter, but in extreme agony. He howled in pain. We decided to spread-eagle him in the aisle and tie his hands and legs to the metal supports of the seats. That way we, the cabin staff, would have to step over him, but at least he would be immobile.
Stan asked the captain's permission to break open the sealed packet in the first aid kit which contained the morphine so he could give the guy an injection to put him out of his pain. The captain granted his permission immediately, and Stan very bravely prepared the equipment.
I said to him, "Oh, God, this is a bit different from injecting a bread roll at training school!"
He gave me a weak smile as he stuck the needle into the guy's arm. I said a silent prayer. The guy's screams turned to whimpers, and he was soon out cold. Stan looked a delicate shade of green. We tore up to the galley leaving the two girls to watch over the madman. Strictly against all the company rules, we had a large brandy each. Stan could hardly hold the glass, his hand was shaking so much. I gulped mine down and collapsed-a total wreck-onto the jump seat. I had been prepared for all sorts of happenings on an aircraft, but never in my wildest dreams did I think anything like this would ever happen.
Worse was yet to come. Rita, the Number Four girl, came running up to Stan and said that the guy seemed to have stopped breathing! We ran down the aisle to find Jo, the Number Two girl, administering oxygen to the loony, but to no avail. He'd definitely stopped breathing. Stan then tried mouth-to-mouth. Still nothing happened. A final, but futile, attempt was made at external cardiac resuscitation, but he had definitely kicked the bucket. The rest of the passengers didn't seem to care, and after crowding round for a while returned to their seats. I don't think they were sure whether he was dead or alive, and he was traveling on his own. Stan just covered him up with a blanket and seated Jo beside him to make quite sure no one interfered with him.
I felt icy-cold inside. I hadn't seen many people die. Once as a young girl running through the green meadows of Dorset I came across an old man who had died tilling the land he loved. Although I was frightened by his' stiff form, it seemed more natural and certainly less macabre than this death I had just witnessed. The only fortunate fact about his death was that it happened when we were only half an hour out of Jeddha. The captain radioed ahead for an ambulance to meet the aircraft. We made all the passengers sit in their seats until we had unloaded the corpse. The authorities and a doctor came on board, and Stan had to explain what had happened. He was arrested, as he had been the one who had injected the morphine into the deceased person. He was put into jail to wait the results of the postmortem. There was nothing we could do. The aircraft was due back the following day, so we had to leave Stan in the clink. I was worried sick for him just in case he had given the guy an overdose of morphine. Goodness knows what would happen to him. Stan was, in fact, released the next day, after the postmortem had proved conclusively that death had been from natural causes. The guy was prone to fits and had had a tricky heart. I got back to London never wanting to fly to Jeddha again.
It was with great joy that I embarked upon my next trip, primarily because the crew and I did the first leg of our journey as passengers to Barbados and secondly because we were going island hopping. That meant that there were to be no very long flights, because the islands are situated relatively close together. For me that spelled out lots of basking in the sun and sipping rum punches. I prefer to drink wine above everything else, and I'm not into drinking spirits, but I could drink those rum punches till the barrels run dry, and I think I managed to on this trip! We arrived in Barbados and settled ourselves into the hotel. Our first flight was due out at eight the following evening. Although it was less than an hour's flying time to Trinidad, I decided to stick with the crew and have a tranquil evening. Then we started on the rum punches. We had two stewards on this crew. The Number One, Denis, wasn't interested in anything but boozing. The Number Three steward, Gregg, wore faded denim jeans cut off above the knee. He had long shapely legs and gray-blue eyes that lit up when he smiled. The other girl with me was the great little redhead called Erica with whom I had trained. The flight deck were all very sweet, but very married, and the first officer was one of those my-wife-doesn't-under-stand-me type of blokes. So the four cabin staff stuck together and decided to have a quiet drink and an early supper.
We sat and chatted for ages and couldn't agree among ourselves on what to do. I came up with a great idea to get ourselves a load of rum punches and some food and have a picnic on the beach. The hotel was situated slap-bang on this tremendous beach. Erica and Denis went off to fix up the drinks while Gregg and I went a couple of miles up the road by cab to get a party bucket of Kentucky fried chicken, some coleslaw, and fries. We all assembled together on the beach with our spoils. The silence of the hot night air was broken by the sound of the white surf and rolling and breaking against the reef. I knew Gregg was for me as soon as I clapped eyes on him. I was equally sure Erica didn't imagine Denis, who was leering at her, his face already showing signs of an alcoholic flush. Somehow I would never recognize him without a glass in his hand. We sat in a circle around the bucket of chicken and started to nosh away. I sifted the cold sand through my toes, marveling at the fact that in the daytime it gets so hot that you can hardly walk on it, but at night it becomes almost icy.
Gregg was sitting across from me, and I ran my bare foot up his leg and let my toes wriggle their way under the coarse material of his cut-off jeans. He looked quite startled by this action. He was obviously not used to any display of affection or downright lust in public. However, he was enjoying the wriggling of my mobile toes against his skin. All of a sudden I had had enough of everything and probably too many rum punches. I stood up and flung my lacy T-shirt into the air with gay abandon, unzipped my jeans, and let them drop to the sand. Denis's red cheeks, which were in very close proximity to my curly tuft, went a shade redder. Erica giggled, as always, and Gregg stared with open desire. I turned my back on them and ran at full pelt into the sea. Two seconds after the swirling sea had covered my naked body I heard a splash close to me. I looked around and saw nothing except a few bubbles rising to the surface. I put my hand under the water and immediately caught hold of what felt like a small slippery eel. I gave a yank, and up popped Gregg's head. I had him literally by the balls and cock!
He felt delightful and looked quite ridiculous floating in the water with his cock sticking up just like the deadly periscope of some enemy submarine. I jumped on top of him and pushed him under the water. Luckily I can swim under water with my eyes open, otherwise he might have slipped from my grasp. I opened my mouth and closed it under the water over the tip of his cock. Along with swallowing his cock I swallowed a few gallons of salt water. Gregg's head had surfaced when I eventually had to come up for air. Taking a big breath, I dove straight down at his cock again and sucked it until I thought my lungs would give out and I would come up with the bends! I have never really had great experience of having it off in the sea and therefore indicated to Gregg that we should head for shore and home. I led and he followed suit.
He ran after me up the sand to where he had left our clothes. His cock and balls bounced deliciously in the air. We got to where Erica and Denis should have been and found that they had disappeared. There's nothing unusual in that, I admit, but they had taken all our clothes with them, leaving our room keys stuck amongst the chicken bones in the bucket. I looked at Gregg, and he returned my glance. What could we do? I started to laugh. After all, his problem was greater, or rather longer, than mine. He had a nice erection that showed no signs of diminishing.
"Come on," I said. "I'll race you back to your room." He looked at me horrified and then down at his erection, which seemed to frighten him more than I did.
"But what am I going to do with that, and how can we possibly go back to the hotel like this?" he asked. Luckily we were not in the main building, but in the annex, which was spread along the beach.
"We'll just have to make a dash for it as we are," I said. "Come on. Hold hands and pretend you're fully clothed."
We ran up the beach past a startled beach attendant who trod on his rake and nearly knocked himself out. Gregg's room was nearest, so we made for that. We fled along the corridors so fast that we just looked like two people in skin-colored bathing suits. As Gregg fumbled with the key T heard the unmistakable sound of Erica's giggle. God knows where she was, but she was having a good time either watching us or with Denis's mitt up her panty leg. Knowing Erica, I should think it was the former! Once the door had slammed behind us, we could scarcely breathe. Our recent exercise had proved too much. I flopped, legs apart, on the bed. Gregg sat beside me.
"You're super, but a very funny lady," he said.
"Thanks," I replied. "Funny in what way?"
"You're just so open about things. If you want to make love to someone you let him know," he said.
"You can't beat a good fuck, Gregg," I rejoined. Despite himself he had to laugh.
"I do believe you could be right, Fiona," he replied, "but in that case why pick a mere steward? Why not one of our illustrious flight deck?" he asked.
"Because you're a young single stud, and that's what I like best after an old single stud!" I exclaimed.
"You're a regular nut case, but I love you for it," Gregg answered.
"Sweetheart, you've got to take life as it comes. I just don't think it's a sin or an outrage if two single people want to hit the sack together. I simply adore men and their cocks and having them want me and fuck me. I hope T never stop. I agree it's not the only thing in life of importance," I continued, "but as sure as hell it's a great part of life and living. Besides, I wouldn't want you to fuck me against your will, but judging by the state of your tool, it at least has inclinations my way."
Gregg stood up, and I calmly cradled his balls in the palm of my hand while his cock jerked and writhed above them. He was switching on. His young body crashed onto mine with such force that I thought we'd go straight through the bedsprings and all and hit the floor.
Talking of floors reminds me of a lovely story. One of our engineers, a guy called Ernie, once did a rare trip-at least, it was for our airline-to Moscow. (Since all these experiences I, too, have visited Moscow and understand his qualms.) Anyway, to get back to the plot, this engineer was sitting in his hotel bedroom, and he became quite convinced that the room was bugged, so he started doing the place over. He turned everything inside out. As a final resort he rolled back the carpets, and there-to his glee was a round metal plate with four screws fastening it to the floor. He got out his screwdriver and joyfully undid what he thought was the bug. As he removed the last screw he heard an almighty crash as the chandelier in the room below smashed into smithereens on the floor! How he explained himself out of that one I never knew.
But let's get back to the present and to Gregg, who was now screwing me with the same eagerness and delight that Ernie had used on the suspected bug. For an ostensibly shy fellow, he lost all his inhibitions once his cock was in my cunt. My goodness, he was even yelling obscenities about how he'd like to watch while I was screwed by twelve men good and true and then fuck me once all their spunk was awash in my pussy! He got carried away and so did I, by his tirade of obscenities. He balled me until I had come and come again, and finally he poured his jism into my honey-pot until we were afloat, and his cock sailed out of me. We drifted into sleep. I awoke at four a.m. and left the slumbering Gregg while I tiptoed stark naked, key in hand, back to my own bed. I don't know why I left him, but I had an idea that because of the amount of rum in his veins he might feel a bit sheepish in the morning when he was perfectly sober and saw me lying beside him and remembered all he had said and done.
I awoke late and alone in my own bed, showered, slipped into my ever-favorite white bikini, and went down to the pool for a swim. Gregg. Erica, and Denis were already sprawled out around the side of the pool.
"Hi, everybody," I said, bending down to Gregg and giving him a swift kiss as I whispered "You're one hell of a fuck" in his ear. He looked startled, but smug. I turned to Erica and Denis and said sarcastically, "I bet you two had great fun wearing our clothes." (I suppose Denis wore mine!) "It didn't really matter your taking them. We just strolled back to Gregg's room. The only kward thing was trying to cover Gregg's hard-on, but we managed. I put it inside me, and we pretended we were dancing!"
All three of them started laughing, and our camaraderie was regained, so much so that we sat drinking rum punches at the beach bar until it was fifteen minutes before transport was due to arrive to pick us up. I can honestly say this was the first and last flight I ever did completely soused. We tore back to our rooms at five forty-five, Gregg helped me throw my belongings into a suitcase. I threw on my uniform, completely neglecting any form of underwear. Together we tried to pay our bills and walk out to the transport without swaying. Thank God we were only going to Trinidad with half a load of passengers. I have no recollection of getting on or off the aircraft. According to Gregg, I did a divine job of bending over the passenger on one side and exposing my bare ass to the passengers on the other side! At least it kept them happy. They all filled in the comment forms we gave out to say it was one of the best flights they'd ever been on.
We arrived at Trinidad, and the four of us were sitting on the bench in the customs hall looking as if we had flown twice around the world nonstop. I'll never forget a very smart Pan-Am crew came in and stood near us.
"We've come from London, and we're bushed," one of the girls said. "But however long have you fellas been flying? You look utterly exhausted!" she added.
My legs were dangling apart over the counter, and my hat was on one side of my head. I turned to the rest of our crew. They looked even worse, if that were possible. I took a deep breath and said very slowly, "Oh, we've just flown in from Barbados!" They all got hysterical. "How could you get in such a state after such a short flight?" the stew asked.
We just looked at her in an alcoholic fuzz and shrugged our shoulders. The fun started when we got to Trinidad and were put up at the "Upside-Down Hilton." The front desk was on the top floor where the crew transport drew, up, and the rooms were built down the face of the hill. I spent half an hour in the elevator with Gregg insisting that as I was on the eighth floor, the elevator should be going upward. We finally worked it out and tumbled exhausted into bed.
"Why did you leave me last night?" he asked.
"Just to let you know that one fuck doesn't mean permanent possession on my part," I replied.
"You're unreal," he said, and we both drifted off to sleep. This time I stayed all night with Gregg, but woke up early. There were no signs of him ever getting up in any direction, so I slipped quietly from his room and straight down to the pool, to be greeted by the sensational sound of steel drums and the even more sensational sight of a sailor-an officer, to be exact-in his white tropical uniform.
I sidled up to him and said, "Hello, sailor," and lay down on a mat beside him, exposing as much of myself as was possible in Trinidad. He was resplendent in his uniform. I've always been a sucker for men in uniform. He was just too much. I quickly found out he was the chief engineer on an Italian cruiser that had come to Trinidad for two days. He didn't, as it happened, speak English, and I have about two words in Italian, but we were able to communicate in French. I ascertained he was going on to Panama later that day. I, unfortunately, was going to Georgetown, Guyana, but he was to spend three days in Panama, and I was to spend four in Georgetown, so I said I'd come and see him in Panama. He was very happy with the suggestion. I was getting terribly hung up on Luigi. He told me how and when to reach his ship. Sadly he had to go.
We left later for Georgetown. The flight was uneventful. Then it took us ages to reach the hotel, which was a million miles from the airport. The two cabs we took had to travel in convoy, as the locals had a habit of knocking off a car going on a solo jaunt. When we got to the ramshackle building that was supposed to be a hotel, I quickly started making inquiries, about the fastest way to Panama. Gregg was upset by my departure, but covered up for me in my absence like the true gentleman and permanent friend he turned out to be.
I arrived in Panama and got a cab straight to the docks. I sped along to Luigi's ship. He was standing in the hold door. He gave me a signal to start walking away. I obeyed, and he followed. I found out later that a lot of the officers had their wives on board, who would have gossiped like mad if they had seen him rush off and embrace some chick. We took a cab to the canal. I was completely enthralled by the marvelous modern mechanism that maneuvered those enormous vessels through the canal.
We returned to the town, had lunch, and sat drinking and talking about all manner of things, but Luigi kept returning to the same subject-my fantasies. I must admit the gentleman was persuasive. People have so many secret fantasies that it was difficult for me to name just one, and in this case one that could be carried out. I looked at Luigi's serious face as he waited for my reply. I knew his engine room would be massive, ferociously hot and noisy. Making love there would be like having a poke in hell.
I told Luigi how much I would love him to fuck me deep in the bowels of the ship. His brown face was suddenly all teeth as he smiled at me. He realized that I had, from my many fantasies fulfilled and unfulfilled, picked one which he would have no trouble carrying out. At least he could offer the perfect surroundings; whether or not he could offer anything else, I didn't know. He was certainly a dish to look at, but I had learned so well that all that glitters is not gold, and all that bulges is not bold.
As soon as dusk fell he prepared to smuggle me aboard his ship. It proved quite easy, as there was a door similar to a freight door on an aircraft below and to one side of the gangplank. We slipped quietly through this door and into the engineroom. I have been in enginerooms before, but never, never have I seen anything so vast and phallic. Huge pipes of different diameters curled and snaked everywhere. The noise was tremendous, and the heat was unbearable, as I had thought would be the case. There were a couple of junior engineers and a few stokers (at least, I think that's what they were) moving around slowly with perspiration streaming down their faces and bodies. The engineers were dressed in blue overalls. I could imagine how sexy Luigi would look in his. He took me by the hand and led me through the maze of pipes, pistons, and large pieces of machinery which were totally unrecognizable to me. My shirt was soaking wet, and the outline of my bare boobs was clearly visible. Luigi's white trousers were showing signs of acknowledgement. My pleated cream knee-length skirt was sticking to my ass. I looked around and thought, where were we going to do it? There were masses of dark corners well out of sight from the others, but everything looked so uncomfortable. It was beginning to look as if a knee-trembler (a stand-up job) would be the only answer.
Then we rounded another corner, and I saw a very wide pipe swathed in bandages. The pipe was horizontal to begin with and curved gently upwards. Luigi looked at the pipe and looked at me and nodded. Before he had finished his nodding I had stripped off my clothes and draped myself over the pipe. The contours of it fitted my back as though we had been made for each other. I lay back and watched while Luigi quickly got out of his uniform and underpants. His body was deeply tanned all over except for a pure white strip across his buttocks and groin. He really looked good. Everything about him was compact and in proportion. I lay there with a broad grin on my face. I liked the look of what I was about to receive. Even though I was absolutely naked the furnace heat was still causing my body to sweat profusely all over. I was very wet. I couldn't tell whether the moisture between my thighs was purely love juice or purely perspiration. Either way, I was ready to receive Luigi's penis. As he came toward me I spread my legs until my feet dangled on each side of the wide pipe. The heat and noise were terrifying. The proximity of his subordinates was mind-blowing. There was no time for long, lazy love play, which I adore. Luigi was upon me in an instant.
The engine pounded, and the noise assaulted my ears. Luigi pushed my knees apart and upward in a swift movement. I wondered briefly how many times he'd had a girl straddled over a pipe in his engine room. As quickly as the thought occurred to me, it vanished. Luigi was inside me in a flash. Our bodies gyrated together. There was so much moisture everywhere that it was a miracle he managed to keep his manhood in me. Once I'd got his length within me, I held on with all the tenacity of a limpet clinging to a rock. I sucked him into me. There was no escape. I was almost passing out from the fiery heat and the constant barrage of noise, but gradually these elements faded, and the only heat I was conscious of was the hot iron pressing between my legs. I cried out and screamed, but my cries were like the softest sighs against the thundering, beating heart of the great ship. The throbbing in my pussy began to get louder than any engine as Luigi reached his peak. He jerked and shuddered and then lay quite still. When he got up, I laughed at the sight of the two of us. We looked like a couple of coal-miners with smudges of soot (or in this case black oil) all over us. We dressed in haste, and Luigi took me up a thousand steps that led to his cabin, which was on the sun deck adjacent to the first class passengers.
"Now," I said, "Love me properly," and he did in a typically romantic Italian way. He whispered nonstop flatteries in my ears, kissed me all over, and only entered me when I was ready and told him so. I still had the thrill of the engine room fuck clinging to me. Luigi fulfilled my need and I his. He was a gentle, passionate, considerate' lover. I'll never forget his utter devotion to what mattered to me. He went out of his way to pleasure me and in return got much more than he had ever hoped for. He smuggled me off the ship the next day, and I made my way back to Georgetown. I wasn't too sad, because Gregg was waiting to greet me with a stiff cock, and that's the nicest greeting I know.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Spanish Fly
My next flight proved to be one in a million! I was part of a whole-crew which was being airlined to Bombay. We were to be based there for two weeks to operate a shuttle service between Bombay and Singapore. The only unfortunate thing was that we arrived in Bombay when all the hotels were on strike. I'd had visions of staying at the Sun and Sands on Juhu Beach. Instead, we were put up at an hotel in the center of Bombay. Worse still, we had to share rooms, but Hilary was on the crew, so we grabbed a room-if you could call it that-together. We weren't allowed to take any booze into Bombay, but we had to fill in a liquor permit. This little piece of paper enabled you to drink the local brew, (for which you needed a very strong stomach lining) in one of the drinking rooms set aside for that purpose in the hotel. There was a wooden box-like room without any windows at the hotel. You produced your permit and had it stamped, and then you could buy a glass of the local firewater!
Bombay was a lot like Colombo, but bigger, busier, and dirtier. The hotel looked out on a local housing estate. The balconies of the shack-like buildings were crammed with locals, who never ceased to stare at us. Our rooms opened out onto a long balcony. The sewerage works were also open-air affairs. Rats were to be found in abundance. Services was nonexistent, and the hotel staff parked their bikes on the landings. The food was inedible, and the water was absolutely deadly. Hils and I surveyed our dwelling place for the next two weeks with abject horror. We decided to spend as little time as possible in the hotel and found our way immediately to the swimming club where, for a few rupees, we were made members for two weeks. The club was intended only for the use of the white population. I thought that sort of thing had died out years ago. The boys who served the meals and drinks were locals in newly laundered dhotis and sparkling white jackets.
Hils, the rest of the crew, and I were lying by the pool the first day when I noticed this guy staring at me. He bore more resemblance to an ape than to a man, with a face that hung down almost to his navel. His navel was set in a large mound of quivering flesh. It suddenly clicked that I'd met him at a party in Hounslow when I first embarked upon my career as a stew. He worked as a nav for a freight company. I smiled at him, and he wobbled across to me.
"Hi, Fiona," he said. "Remember me?" he asked.
"I do indeed," I replied quickly, trying to recall his name.
"I'm Bernie," he said.
I introduced him all round, and he sat on a deck chair beside us. I asked him what he was doing in Bombay. He was based for six months there with his wife and the rest of the crew from the freighter and their wives. They were shuttling freight to Tokyo. They'd been in Bombay three months, and they'd all rented flats with servants and were having a ball. They asked all the crew to a curry party that very evening.
Hils and I left the swimming club early to prepare for the party. It was just before the monsoon period, and the weather was hot and humid. I changed into the tiniest silk halter top and long, brilliantly-colored skirt embroidered with a dragon and the words "Star of Siam" which I had purchased in Bangkok. We arranged for two taxis to take us all to Bernie's apartment, which was just above the swimming club. The apartment was sparsely, but tastefully, furnished. Each room had a huge, centrally placed fan suspended from the ceiling which whirled around at high speeds and produced a gentle breeze
I was very interested in Bernie's standard lamps. The shades were made out of beautiful local silks, but it was the wooden bases which were unique. The bases looked like pretty wooden carvings at first glance. However, I looked closer. They were indeed beautifully carved pieces of wood, centuries old, but on closer inspection I saw that they depicted the most erotic happenings. One was of an Indian girl lying on a bed. A man was standing over her head with his cock in her mouth while another man was busy fucking the hell out of her at the other end. They had been exquisitely and lovingly carved with great skill. I immediately asked Bernie's wife where she had got them, and she replied that she had found them at the Thieves Market. I made a mental note for that market to be my next port of call. It was said that if you had anything pinched you could rush down to the Thieves Market, put a deposit down, and then buy back your stolen goods. I decided that one of these blocks of carving would make an ideal door handle for my apartment in town.
The evening was a huge success. I had never been to a curry party before. There was the most incredible display of dishes that I had ever seen, such as great wooden bowls of different sorts of curry, masses of steaming hot, fluffy white rice, and an assortment of the usual accompaniments that go with it--pineapple, grated coconut, pickles, chutneys, crispy bananas, and feather-light popa-dums. I didn't know where to begin, so I started on a tall, slender dish in the far corner. I found out later that he was a Spaniard who had been living and working as a trader in Bombay for some considerable time. He spoke with a very upper-crust English accent. I couldn't really guess accurately at his age. He could have been anywhere between forty and fifty years old, and he was very gentlemanly in a curiously correct, old-fashioned manner. He bowed low over my hand and brushed it with his lips as we were introduced. "My name's Alfonso," he said.
His voice was very low and as soft as. the rustle of a silken sari. He straightened up and looked down into my eyes. The message was as loud and as clear as if he had said, "I'm going to fuck you," so I replied, "I'm Fiona," and returned his stare boldly.
We passed the next two weeks-except for the two flights I had to make to Singapore-literally glued together. I spent hardly any time in the tacky hotel, but resided mostly in Alfonso's cool first-floor apartment, which was just up the road from Bernie's. His transport was teriffic-a very old bright-blue Morgan two-seater with an open roof. We bombed or rather chugged our way round Bombay's perilous streets in it. The only way it could be started was by cranking it with the starting handle, and it frequently boiled over and broke down in the middle of all the traffic.
The first place Alfonso took me at my request was the Thieves Market. I had never seen the-likes of it in my whole life. Every conceivable item from massive Georgian chandeliers to rags which were sold to the locals as clothing were loaded onto stalls. I couldn't understand how he was able to find his way through the maze of alleyways. We eventually arrived at the shop which sold the erotic carvings, and I picked out a beauty. Alfonso spoke the local lingo and bartered with the shopkeeper, so I got it for next to nothing. Our second port of call was the silver market, where I purchased a most beautiful intricately woven solid silver belt. It was handmade and consisted of three separate plaited strands joined together by a superbly worked clasp.
I was overjoyed with my plunder, and we drove out to watch the sunset over Juhu Beach. He took lots of pictures of me as the sun was setting over the vast expanse of silver sand and the shimmering water of the Indian Ocean. The air was as soft and as warm as the slither of foreskin over a silken cock. I ran wild and free, immersing my lightly clad body in the warm water. Alfonso took pictures of me which, when later developed, showed me looking like a mermaid emerging from the depths of the ocean with hair dripping wet and the thin material of my dress showing every rise, fall, and mound of my body. The skirt of my dress stuck between my legs. Everything I had was visible, but in subtle shadowings.
The dress dried off in a few minutes as we sped back to Bombay. I asked Alfonso if I could visit the Bombay "cages." I didn't really believe what I had heard about the "Cages of Bombay." As we approached the district where they were to be found, the air got heavier, the smell more and more repugnant. Then I found myself in the most amazing maze of little streets lined simply with cages. They were hut-like affairs, row upon row. of them, but the fronts were barred. The vast prostitute population of Bombay squatted behind the bars and in the gutters in front of them. I leaned precariously over the side of the Morgan to take some pictures. They all turned away or hid their faces. Alfonso kept driving, praying that we wouldn't break down there, as we would probably have got lynched by the women and their customers. Although I wanted to see it, the sight appalled and sickened me. There were young girls of about nine or ten behind the bars offering their wares. How anyone could make love in surroundings like these was beyond my comprehension. With all the heat, filth, and lack of sanitation, disease of all sorts were rife.
Once having seen this utter degradation, I wanted to leave the scene as soon as possible. We returned to Alfonso's absolutely palatial apartment; that's how it seemed when, in fact, by European standards it was just a reasonable dwelling. I rushed straight for the shower and spent a good hour scrubbing every part of my body and washing my hair in case I had contracted anything in passing. I came down the stairs-his home was a maisonette on two floors-wrapped in a big white bath towel, and another smaller towel was wound in a turban around my hair. He also showered while I set the table and lit the candles for dinner. He returned dressed formally for dinner. I remained as I was. He complimented me on the way I looked. My skin had tanned to a deep bronze color which contrasted beautifully with the white toweling.
Then the houseboy-cum-cook who looked after him prepared us a real Spanish dinner. It was the first time I felt it was safe to eat anything. We had mountains of sensational paella with a rich fishy sauce. You could tell it was going to be delicious from the heavenly aroma alone. I dug in, and we had homemade ice cream to follow. Alfonso played the guitar and sang to me in his sweet low voice over coffee. I looked out of the window and could see the lights of Bombay dancing on the water. Everything was perfect. Alfonso dismissed the houseboy, who didn't stop smiling and wagging his head as I complimented him on his excellent dinner. Alfonso took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom.
The lighting was low and rosy, and the furniturewith the exception of a single cane chair-consisted of a huge bed. He unwound my towel and let it drop to the floor. He took off my turban and brushed out my hair which was still damp. He pulled back the covers, picked me up, and laid me between the cool sheets. (The sheets made in Bombay are some of the most luxurious I have ever slept on. I brought several pairs home, and I am still reminded of the night I spent with Alfonso when I climb between them.) I watched him undress and lay his clothes out neatly on the cane chair. His body was hard and sinewy with masses of black fur around his erect cock. He got into bed, rolled on top of me, pushed his way into my semi-moist pussy, and came instantaneously. Then he began apologizing profusely. I pushed him away and told him not to be so silly and never to say sorry.
"I wanted you so much and have lived a celibate existence for so long that I couldn't help myself. I could think of nothing else all day than the thought of being inside you. I was in such a state of excitement and expectation that the moment I was inside you I lost control and came," he explained.
"Alfonso," I replied, "don't you realize that that's one of the greatest compliments you can pay a woman? I adore being wanted like that. Now we have plenty of time to relish each other's bodies. I'll work you up all over again," I said lovingly.
"Suppose I don't make it?" he asked.
"Don't worry, you will, and even if you don't tonight, there are lots of ways you can satisfy me without having an erect cock," I said.
I turned myself right around so my feet were on the pillow next to Alfonso's head. I lifted my legs and literally shoved my pussy into his face, and he started to eat me straight away. I went down on him and drew his soft sticky cock into my mouth. I did everything slowly with no jerky or violent movements. I sank my head into his mass of pubic hair and applied my lips and tongue gently to the tip of his rubbery, uncircumcised cock while he sucked my cunt with extreme tenderness. I was almost suffocated by the great warm nest of his pubic hair, but I took deep breaths, inhaling his delectable warmth and the exquisite scent of his manhood. He had a pungent, overpowering smell, stronger than I had ever smelled before, but fantastically exciting. I sucked and sucked. I let my hand stray around the gentle curve of his bottom. I loved the feel of his soft hairy ass brushing against the palm of my hand. For a man with such firm flesh his bottom was surprisingly soft. Alfonso had replaced his mouth with his fingers and pushed his forefinger deep into my love channel. One finger became two and two became three. It took only a few minutes of my cunt being finger-fucked for me to climax.
I opened my mouth to cry out with pleasure, and his still flaccid cock plopped out of my mouth with all the flexibility of a slippery eel. He had given me one of the best finger-fucks of all time. I was getting really worried because there was no action going on at my end. I replaced his penis in my mouth. Carefully pushing down the foreskin, I swallowed him once more and began gobbling and gobbling. I pushed him over so that he was lying on his back. My bottom and crotch were suspended above his face. I thought that maybe the sight of my private parts exposed without inhibition might turn him on. I was now able to work on him more freely and come up for air more easily. I let his cock slide slowly from my mouth and got my head right under his balls and licked among the hairs behind his scrotum. He started to moan. I quickly returned to his cock and saw that, although he appeared to be on the verge of an orgasm, his cock hadn't swelled out at all. I swiveled myself right around and wedged his cock between my boobs. I swung them backwards and forwards, not letting his sloppy cock slip from their grasp. I felt a tepid tiny trickle spill out onto my boobs, and it was all over. Alfonso pulled me up, smearing all his sperm over our bodies. He kissed me, muttering over and over again, "Darling, darling!" and continued, "My sweet, I'm sorry my performance wasn't up to much tonight," he apologized.
"Why worry?" I asked. "You've come twice, and I had a beautiful orgasm while your fingers moved in my cunt. We've plenty more days for a regular fuck! You've made me very happy. After all, a stiff cock isn't the be-all and end-all of lovemaking."
I wanted to spend the night with him, but I was off to Singapore in the morning. He took me back to the hotel and arranged to meet me at the airport the following evening. We were doing a shuttle from Bombay to Singapore and back to Bombay in the same day. We were due into Bombay about ten the next evening. He kissed me good night and shouted farewell over the roar of the Morgan's engine. Hils was already in bed asleep, so I undressed in the dark and quietly slipped into bed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Up and Coming
The flight we took out of Bombay had been delayed leaving London. To make amends to the passengers, they were given a free bar service. I was the bar girl on this trip and had one of my regular brainstorms. Even if the passengers drank themselves silly on this sector, no account of the amount of beverage consumed could be tallied with the amount of money collected, as I had no money to collect. Therefore I stashed a lot of miniatures away and filled in my bar forms on arrival at Singapore; then on the return journey I would be able to sell all the booze and keep the money! On reflection, I realize it was terribly dishonest and not at all in character, but I was overwhelmed with my own brilliance, which backfired on me.
You can imagine my horror when I saw the passengers we were picking up in Singapore! They were Gurka troops and their families, who never as a rule drink a drop of alcohol. So I was stuck with all this extra booze and no means of getting rid of it! (I could hardly hand over the bar to the next girl with more booze in it than when I had left Singapore.) Hils just giggled and told me it was my own fault! As we had about another ten days in Bombay I went around taking bar orders from the crew because there was no way they were going to continue drinking the evil local brew. The captain took five bottles of Scotch, the rest of the flight deck, two apiece. The four of us cabin staff took two bottles each, two crates of beer and my leftover miniatures.
The Gurkas were the finest passengers any crew could wish to serve. They all sat bolt upright in their seats, and each had his own tin mug for his tea. They organized a team to give out the meal trays and another to clear them in. They all packed their trays up and passed them along to the person sitting on the aisle seat so the stews had a really idle flight. However, Hils and I hadn't been idle at Singapore airport. We'd rushed to the duty-free shop and bought five bottles of Scotch each. We had had them packed up in boxes, and we stuck Noritake china labels all over them so they looked like big boxes containing dinner services. We were going to take them into Kuwait, but more of that later.
We had been in the air a couple of hours when, walking down the aisle turning my head from side to side (a procedure that all well-trained stews do as a matter of habit just to make doubly sure that all the passengers are okay), I noticed a woman cradling what looked like a newborn baby in her arms. I went to tell the Number One, and the four of us took it in turn to do a head check. We looked in the Ship's Papers Box where all documentation concerning the aircraft is kept. We looked at the passenger list and checked the number of souls on board. Sure enough, we had one extra!
We tried to ask the woman where the baby had come from, but she spoke no English. The interpreter was then brought on the scene, and he explained that she had given birth to the baby in the ladies' lav! She had delivered it herself and put the placenta into a sick bag, cleaning up herself and the baby and going back to her seat. Nobody around her had said a word. Apparently it was quite normal for these women to go literally behind a bush, give birth, and then carry on with their work. We were all dumbfounded. There was no nurse or doctor on board, so we took her to the john and made sure she wasn't bleeding excessively. She appeared perfectly all right, and the baby was in excellent health-but he had a very untidy knot for a belly button! The captain was informed, and he radioed ahead for a doctor to be on hand to examine her at Bombay Airport. The cabin staff were all stunned, and the rest of the flight passed more or less in a daze.
We landed at Bombay on schedule, and there was a huge Air India ad in the arrivals hall which said, "There's an Air about India." It always used to make us laugh because the stench at the airport was horrific, but I'm sure that is not what Air India had in mind! As we approached customs we noticed that there were many more customs officials around than usual. Normally they were quite lenient with incoming crews, but we could tell from the stern expressions on their faces that we were really in for it this time. Hilary and I went straight up to one of them with our illicit boxes and asked if we could put them in bond as they were full of "china," and we were afraid that it would get broken. In actual fact we knew that if we tried to take them through customs they would have insisted on opening them. Therefore they made us fill in the forms and put the boxes in bond until our departure.
Meanwhile the captain had been asked to open his bag. He produced two of his five bottles of Scotch as a straightforward bribe for customs. They put his five bottles on the counter, then two from each of the other members of the flight deck and two from each of the cabin staff plus two crates of beer and all my miniatures! The lineup of nineteen assorted bottles of spirits, two crates of beer, and countless miniatures made a very impressive display! The bastards confiscated the lot and had the cheek to ask us if they could have a gash bag to put their loot in! We had a lot of trouble getting out of our predicament. I think they wanted to throw us all into jail, but the captain went back to the airport the next morning to see the Chief of Customs. We never found out what happened, but I believe he paid a large fine to keep us out of jail. We heard through the grapevine that customs had a tremendous party that night, miserable pigs! That left us completely dry for the next ten days-except for the local brew.
Alfonso was there, as promised, to meet me at the airport. I asked the captain's permission to travel with him instead of in the crew bus, and he was quite agreeable to this. I recounted the events of the trip to Alfonso. I'm sure he thought I was exaggerating. As we drove along, I asked him what his sexual fantasies were. The car swerved while he looked at me, steadied himself, and replied, "I would love to rape a girl, but not for real."
I asked him to elaborate. He'd like his lover to resist his lovemaking so that he had to force her to submit. He would like her to fight back, but not to the extent of inflicting injury on each other. His wife, who had divorced him years before, was very sexually inhibited, and he hadn't dared suggest such a thing to her. He hadn't turned to prostitutes, either, but had lived with his secret fantasy.
"Well, why don't you try it with me?" I asked.
"Would you really like to? I promise faithfully not to hurt you, and if you say that you've had enough more than once I'll take that as a signal that I am in fact hurting you, and I'll stop immediately."
As we approached his apartment I said, "Let me get out of the car now, and you can drive slowly behind me and accost me in the street."
I was thrilled to bits about our little plan. It was something I'd never tried, and my regulation white panties were sodden at the crotch at the thought of what was about to happen to me. I entered the narrow alleyway which led to Alfonso's apartment. I heard brakes screech to a halt. A car door slammed shut. Footsteps pounded up the path behind me. I quickened my pace. Love juice leaked from my lower lips. I could feel its thin trickle down my inside thighs. Suddenly a heavy hand fell on my shoulders and spun me around. I was now facing Alfonso. His eyes were gleaming with almost mad desire. It must have been that old devil moon! (For a moment I thought to myself, "What have I done." But I had promised to carry it through, and carry it through I would!) He caught the top of my blouse in his hand, and with one fierce tug he ripped it so it fell in rags around my waist. Then he caught the front of my bra with both hands, and with one vicious tug it fell to the ground, and my breasts fell out into the tropical air.
I pushed him away and turned and ran, but not fast enough. He grabbed me around the waist and knocked me onto the rough ground. With a loud pop the button from my skirt flew into the air. The zipper was torn from its foundations. My skirt was wrenched to the ground. I fought him off and ran on in just my panties and shoes. Once again he caught up with me and pushed me over a trashcan in the dark alley. My panties were demolished in two seconds, and I was straddled naked over the trash can, my back against the wall. He held my neck with one hand as he opened his fly and got his cock out. He rammed it into me, lifting me inches off the trash can and smashing my head against the stone wall. I was too far gone to complain about anything. He pushed into me again and again. Each time he withdrew my bottom crashed onto the trash can. Finally I slumped to the ground. I tried to protest, but I was enjoying myself too much to protest too loudly. I was loving every violent thrust deep into my cunt. We were now rolling and thrashing around in the dirt. Alfonso had no problems with his erection. I have never felt such a hard, stiff weapon pound into my pussy. It wasn't until later that I found that the skin on my back had been rubbed raw. I clawed and fought. I called him a big beautiful bastard again and again. I tried to push his chest up and wriggled and wriggled to try and push his cock out of me. As he withdrew for another deep thrust, I' moved to one side with a tremendous effort, and the tip of his cock slipped from my cunt. I lay with legs clamped together. He pushed his strong hands between my thighs and forced them apart. I begged him to stop. The more I pleaded, the fiercer he became. Lust was dripping from his eyes which were gleaming like the insane eyes of a tiger. He fought with my thighs and pried them apart and once again hammered into me with his hard pole. I came as soon as he entered me, and he followed a few seconds later with a great scream. "You mother-fucking bitch!" he said. He rolled off me. We separated and lay like limp rag dolls in the dirt. After a few seconds of complete silence, he leaned across and kissed me long and lovingly on the lips.
"That was the best fuck I've ever had in my life, darling," he murmured. Concern had replaced the lust in his eyes as he added, "Are you all right? Did I satisfy you?" he asked.
"Yes, Alfonso, I'm fine and you were divine. I've never made such a wild and wonderful love in all my life."
He stood up, put his weapon away, and helped me to my feet. I was very unsteady. He collected the remnants of my clothing. He put his arm around me and helped me up the steps to his apartment, where he gently washed me all over and bathed my raw back with-a mild antiseptic. There was no need for talk. We climbed into the cool cotton sheets of his bed and slept all night.
During the rest of my stay in Bombay we made love many more times, much more calmly and quietly. He'd got his rape hang-up out of his system and never again did he have any trouble getting a hard-on. Every time I was in his company he had a promising bulge in his pants. I did one more shuttle to Singapore and after three days I reluctantly had to take my leave from my Spanish lover. We still write to each other intermittently, and if I ever get back to Bombay, Alfonso will be the first to know!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Taste of Honey
Before we left Bombay, Hilary and I collected our boxes from Bonded Stores and staggered out to the aircraft. We had a full load of troops and their families returning from Singapore. We were kept very busy throughout the flight, but Hilary found a spare moment to unpack her box of booze because she didn't think she would get it through customs in Kuwait. Kuwait, as T mentioned earlier, was a dry state, and you could get about ten pounds per bottle if you managed to smuggle any liquor through customs. Hilary had told me about this on the way out. We had our five bottles each, which we had purchased for next to nothing in Singapore. We'd make a vast profit by selling it in Kuwait. Hilary had a telephone number to ring when she got there; upon receiving her call, the contact man would come around to the hotel, pay us, and take the booze. Hilary had also taken the precaution of purchasing a car coat at Singapore Airport. She knotted the sleeves and stuffed two bottles of Scotch down each sleeve and put the fifth in the large inside pocket; she then covered the car coat with a large polyethylene bag. I kept my booze in the boxes.
We both held our breath as we approached customs. My knees were shaking. I knew that a lot of crews had in the past smuggled in booze, but this was my first attempt, and I was terrified of being caught and of the consequences; after all, I could be put in jail if customs got really nasty! At the same time, the thrill of being very wicked spurred me on. I'm sure we both looked terribly guilty. Hilary was cleared first. They opened her suitcase and looked into her overnight bag while she clutched the car coat in her arms. She was making a dreadful job of trying to look nonchalant. Finally she was through, but as she bent to pick up her overnight bag the car coat slipped. I stopped breathing and shut my eyes waiting for the horrible sound of breaking bottles, but hearing nothing I opened my eyes and saw that Hilary had regained her grip on the coat about an inch above the floor. Her face was scarlet, and there was sweat pouring off her forehead. She turned, and I could tell that she was trying very hard not to run to the exit and escape.
The porter lifted my heavy suitcase and my overnight bag onto the counter and the customs officer asked to see inside my overnight bag. I had placed my two boxes of "china" on the counter alongside my luggage. The customs officer tapped the boxes with a fat brown finger.
"What's in here?" he asked.
"It's a tea set for my mother," I replied hoping my voice sounded steadier than my heart felt. My cheeks were flaming red, and I could feel my uniform blouse sticking to my back and rivulets of perspiration running down the insides of my thighs and splashing onto my shoes.
"Open them!" he commanded.
"But they're beautifully packed," I replied. "I would rather leave them in bond than spoil all the packing."
He stared at me for what seemed like hours, but were actually only a few seconds. He was weighing up the pros and cons of allowing me to pass, and this was what I had gambled upon-if I were willing to leave them in bond, it's un likely that I'd have anything illegal in them.
It meant extra paperwork for him. I almost screamed with relief as he put his mark on each box with a piece of chalk. I had done it! I clutched my boxes and exited at top speed! Hilary and I hugged each other with delight while we sat in the transport and waited for the rest of the crew.
As soon as we got into our rooms Hilary phoned the contact man. A big swarthy Arab with a pockmarked face arrived ten minutes later carrying a large bag to relieve us of our loot. T had decided to let Hils dispose of her five bottles, but I was convinced I would get more for mine elsewhere. She told me I was nuts and that it was too dangerous to try getting rid of it any other way, but I persisted. The contact man handed Hils fifty pounds in sterling and left. I then dragged her downstairs and along the street to the tobacconist's. I began to talk about having Scotch and not knowing what to do with it. Hilary kept trying to shut me up, but I'd only just opened my mouth when I was approached by an Arab who turned out to be a very good customer. I gave him my room number, and fifteen minutes later he arrived and gave me sixty pounds in sterling for four bottles only. I kept one bottle for an old friend who I had found out was living and working in Kuwait.
Actually he wasn't exactly an old friend, but more of an old crush; at least I had had a crush on him when I was a schoolgirl. I was hopeless at math at school. All the teachers had given up, so while I was on the long summer vacation in France T went for extra coaching to a delectable young accountant in the town where I was staying. At sixteen I had tried every feminine wile to get him interested in something other than math. I showed him more leg than was absolutely necessary and deliberately dropped my books and bent to pick them up, showing my nice white panties. He was a clever gentleman and kept his mind on his subject. If he'd taken me up on what T was offering, I wouldn't have been able to cope. I was just being an ordinary teenybopper prick-teaser! Now, however, he was stuck in Kuwait for a year on excellent pay, but with no white women or booze, so the boot was definitely on the other foot. I was going to call the tune. I phoned him up, and he asked me out to dinner. Thankfully Jean-Claude was away on vacation, so I didn't have to contend with him, too.
James was coming to pick me up, and we were dining at his place. I put on my little micro-mini and separated my hair into two bunches with a big white bow holding each in place. I'd borrowed a tie from one of the flight deck and wore it around the neck of my white blouse. I had my tennis gear with me, and I put on my white socks and pulled them up to my knees. I was actually taking the piss out of him. I wanted him to see me as a schoolgirl and then spring the surprise on him that I was all woman underneath. I hadn't seen him for four years. He'd hardly changed at all-a little grayer around the temples and a little wider around the middle, but he had the same smoldering eyes and dazzling white smile that I'd liked so much before.
As soon as we arrived at his apartment, I presented him with his bottle of Scotch. He did a double take when he saw my outfit for the first time.
"Wow!" he exclaimed, looking at my swelling blouse. "You've certainly grown since we last met-in one direction, anyway," he added.
"Thank you kindly, sir," I said dropping a curtsey. "I don't have to call you sir, any more, do I?" I asked.
"No," James retorted, "but I can see you're going to be in control, so I'd better call you ma'am. I love your outfit. Is that especially for me?" he asked.
"Gee whiz, of course," I replied. "Gosh, I only wanted to take you back to the good old days when I'm sure you always wanted to fuck me, but remained terribly correct and, may I add, rightly so. I wouldn't have known what to do then with a big stiff prick."
He looked disappointed.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I really know how to treat a nice big hard-on now. I've had plenty of practice."
James brightened up considerably. I approached him and put my hand straight between his legs. His trousers were hiding gnarled, knotted tree trunk with two well-rounded acorns attached to its stumpy stalk. Cor blimey!
"Is that a ruler in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" I asked and added, "What's for dinner?" not moving my hand one iota.
"F ... f ... fish," he stuttered, staring down at my hand.
"I'm not hungry," I replied. "Not for fish."
I got down on my knees, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his cock. I put it straight into my mouth and gave it a friendly nibble. "This is better than the math coaching you gave me," I said with a wicked smile. James was going weak at the knees.
"It's also better than the lollies you used to lick," he said. I could hear him muttering something about the bedroom. I let his cock go for a moment. It's rude to talk with your mouth full, and I was well brought up.
"Okay," I said, "you lead the way."
I crouched down, returned his cock to its position in my mouth while he backed slowly into the bedroom. We progressed very cautiously until James was up against the bed. He flopped onto it, causing his cock to pop from my lips unceremoniously. I fell on top of him head first and returned his cock to my mouth. His breathing was very raucous. He'd been in Kuwait for four months already, and I suppose this was the first pair of lips (apart from his own if he were that athletic) he had had wrapped around his tool. Living in the midst of all that sand, with water scarce and liquor nonexistent (except in high quarters), he was desperately in need of some relief, and I'm sure like most people he would prefer a good plate to a solitary jack off. He became the pupil, and I became the teacher.
I reluctantly released his weapon and took off his shoes, pulled off his trousers and underpants, and gently eased his shirt off his shoulders. He had a good body despite the slight thickening at the waist. I asked him if he had any honey. He looked surprised, but nodded and pointed weakly toward the kitchen. I found a large jar of honey on a shelf and returned to the bedroom with it. I dolloped a large amount on his upright pole. It trickled slowly from the head of his circumcised cock into his pubes and balls below. Then I began to lap up the lovely gooey mess with feather-light strokes! I licked, sucked and swallowed very slowly like a cat licking its paws until the smooth pinky-purple head of his cock was clean. Then I started on the stalk; gobbling greedily at the honey.
"I'm coming!" he suddenly shouted out.
"Don't you dare," I replied.
"I haven't started yet. Think of a mathematical problem and try to solve it!" I suggested.
"I'll try," he answered, and I could see his lips moving at great speed while he tried to apply his mind to his problem. I continued happily with my very super sticky stalk. That was soon clean and shining, and I went to work on his pubes and balls. His balls were completely smooth and hairless and therefore easy to lick clean. The honey had matted in a mess on his pubes, and I could suck only a little of the sweet runny liquid from his bush. I looked up at James. His fists were clenched, and he was muttering insanely to himself.
"Please don't stop," he pleaded.
"Just a moment," I replied. "I'll be back in just a moment."
I searched the apartment, but couldn't find what I wanted, so I had to improvise. (All good stews are taught to improvise.)
I went to James's wardrobe and took out four ties. I lay on top of James (still in my schoolgirl outfit) and kissed one of his armpits and the smooth flesh of his inside arm. I circled my tongue around his palm and inserted his fingers one at a time into my mouth and fellated them as though they were precious little pricks. Before he knew what was happening, I quickly tied his outstretched arm to one end of the bed. I started giving the same treatment to the other arm until that too was fastened to the bed. I kept kissing him and fondling his prick, so that he was in no state to protest. I applied my tongue to his inner thigh and worked my way down to his ankle. I had craftily moved his leg out as I licked my way down it and lashed his ankle to the end of the bed. Before he knew it, his other leg got the same treatment, and he was spread-eagled naked with his cock waving in the wind. It was crying out for attention, but I wasn't ready to receive it yet. James was ecstatic and begged me to sit on his cock.
I stood with my legs apart astride his head and dropped my drawers onto his smiling face. T looked down. This man who had resisted me with an iron will when I was a schoolgirl was now completely under my control. I felt an almost insane sense of power and pleasure flow through my being. Only his dark hair on the pillow was visible above the white froth of my panties. I placed my hands on the wall and stepped out of them. I bent down and chucked them on the floor. Now he had a fine view right up my short skirt between my legs. I stood astride him and pulled my clit wide open. I looked around at his cock. It was dancing about as though it had been plugged into a high-voltage electric circuit. I leaped from the bed and grabbed the pot of honey. I smeared the sticky stuff all over my pussy. I slowly lowered myself until my honey-pot was right over his face. He had no choice but to lick it. He did this with an almost violent greed-sucking, licking, and biting like a madman. I could have sat on his face forever. Why should I show him any mercy or give him the relief he craved? After all, he'd kept me at more than a cock's length all the time he had been coaching me. He needed no coaxing to lick my cunt clean. While I squatted over his face I took off my blouse and bra, but kept my tie on.
When I had my pleasure from him, I got up and off the bed. I paraded around the room wearing just my tie, miniskirt and long white socks and shoes. I bent over to take off my shoes exposing my bare ass to him, but he was powerless to pounce on 'me. I leaned against the wall and played with my boobs, rubbing the nipples slowly, sensuously, around and around. James turned his head toward me, his eyes brimming over with desire. I raised my miniskirt, exposing my neat little tuft, and let my fingers stray down into the furry mass and onto my pussy. I stood and masturbated while he tossed and turned on the bed, unable to join in. I knew when I had gone far enough. I got onto the bed and stood over his rock-hard cock. I lowered myself until I was kneeling over him. I caught hold of his wandering weapon and inserted its head into my warm ripe furrow. He raised his bottom off the bed and moved upwards to meet my downward thrust. I pushed him back roughly onto the bed.
"I'm going to fuck you," I said. "I'm in control, and I'm going to fuck you to death," I added.
"Get on with it, you beautiful bitch," he shouted. "How dare you make me wait so long? For the last twenty minutes all I've wanted to do was stick my cock in your cunt! Don't talk!" he commanded. "Fuck!" he ordered in sheer desperation.
I bounced up and down on him, thrusting myself onto his rampant pole.
"I'm fucking you!" I screamed, pushing myself down and down. We were shouting and screaming at each other. Suddenly he was silent. I had already started on my path to ultimate pleasure. I humped him until I was done and he was utterly spent.
I fell forward onto him and released his arms. He immediately grabbed at my boobs and squeezed them so hard I thought he'd pull them off. I undid his legs, and he leaped from the bed, snatched the honey, and poured it all over my, face and torso. He kissed and sampled every part of my boobs and face until we were one dreadful sticky mess. The sheets were covered with honey. The hair on my head felt as though it had been glued together. Eventually he calmed down.
"I didn't realize you liked schoolgirls and honey so much," I said.
He smiled a smile of pure bliss. "Christ, you were just what I needed! Can't you stay here forever?" he asked.
"Forever's a long time," I replied. "You're only here for another eight months. I'll be back every few weeks, and I won't make you wait so long for what you want the next time. You can put your lovely cock in me as soon as I'm in the door-or even earlier if you like! But you'd find it very difficult to drive with a girl sitting on your rigid cock! The locals also get very upset at the strange habits of foreigners in their country!" This was something I was to find out the very next day. We parted on the very best of fucking terms.
The next day Hilary and I embarked on a very stupid and perilous adventure. We had heard that you could sell blood at ten pounds per pint in Kuwait so we took a taxi with another girl on the crew and set off for the hospital. I must say I don't really know why I did this, and it's one of the few things I am ashamed to admit I have done. I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, the Kuwaitis are a tremendously rich nation and need to keep a blood bank like everyone else; on the other hand, I don't really approve of people being paid to be blood donors. Anyhow, it was a new experience so I went along with it. On the way to the hospital we were sitting in the cab smoking. Unfortunately for us, this was the feast of Ramadan in Kuwait, and during this period the Kuwaitis fast in the daytime, and any practice such as smoking is greatly frowned upon. The car slowed down to turn right, and a number of locals spotted us smoking and spat on the car, hurling several stones at us. We didn't come to any harm, but were badly frightened.
We arrived at the hospital and joined the line. A sample was taken to establish what blood group we were. The other girl fainted as soon as she saw the unsanitary conditions and the large rusty needle that lay on the table. Hilary and I decided to go ahead. We were laid down to rest on soiled sheets, where many bodies had lain before. Thin grubby curtains separated our narrow beds. The curtain next to me on the other side to Hilary was pushed back by someone. An Arab with one tooth in his head smiled at me as he laid on his bed. I turned my head away, and he let the curtain drop. If he'd been a really delectable dish, I might have hopped over and given him one before they siphoned my pint from me, but the one large decaying tooth in his receding gums didn't exactly grab my imagine.
Hils and I chatted to keep up our morale. Giving a pint of blood is not a great ordeal, but in those surroundings it was a mite worrying. I began to think of all the dreadful diseases we might contract. A nurse bustled in and grabbed my arm. I closed my eyes and turned my head away. I didn't want to watch anything at all, especially not my blood dripping drop by drop into the bottle. It was soon over, and I was given a glass of orange juice and told to rest for a while. Hils got the same treatment, and we got up and went out into the burning heat. It was well over a hundred degrees as we lined up with a motley crew of Arabs to collect our ten pounds. We went back to the hotel and straight to bed, where we stayed all afternoon and night. Our flight was due out the next day at 1800 hours, and that was the beginning of the end.
The aircraft came in on time and then went out of service on the ground, and we were stuck with a hundred thirty-two passengers while the engineers tried to fix the aircraft. It was still very hot, and the passengers were getting very het up and the babies and small children very irritable in the primitive building which served as a transit lounge. The delay went on and on while the four of us cabin staff tried to pacify the irate passengers. They had been traveling for hours and were desperately tired. After an hour and a half, with no sign of the mechanical failure being fixed, we decided to serve the passengers their meal on the ground. This was a hell of a lot of work-running down the steps from the aircraft with the trays and then taking the cart down and setting it up for tea and coffee. The atmosphere was hot and unhealthy as dusk fell.
Eventually we boarded the passengers and set off on our way after a four-hour delay. We took off just in time, for another hour on the ground and the flight deck would have been out of hours. They were only allowed to be on duty (including on the ground) for sixteen hours, and if the time on the ground and the flight time exceeded the limit, another flight deck crew had to be found. Otherwise we would have had to night-stop the passengers until the crew was rested. (The same regulations didn't apply to cabin staff.) Luckily we had just beaten the clock. We were heading home to London, but with a stop in Istanbul to refuel and change the flight deck.
About two hours out of Kuwait we gave the passengers a snack service. As they had already had their main meal, we had loaded on sandwiches and cake in Kuwait to serve in flight. We had just given out all the trays, and Hils was carrying two large silver teapots while I was right behind her with two coffeepots. The aircraft started to bump a bit, and the captain switched on the seat belt sign. As the turbulence wasn't too bad, we continued to serve the passengers, but announced over the PA system that they were to fasten their seat belts and remain seated until the signs were switched off. Before we knew what had happened, we were in the middle of a really bad storm. The coffee and tea pots flew out of our hands as the aircraft rose and sank like an elephant in labor. Trays lifted like poltergeists from the knees of the passengers and flew around in the air. Hilary and I were on the floor. I thought her massive water wings would have floated her like a bird on the wing to the ceiling. I turned and saw her bottom disappearing up the cabin as she crawled on all fours, clutching the metal supports of the seats. I went the other way and made it to the middle galley where I managed to strap myself to the jump seat.
All the passengers were being violently sick as the aircraft heaved like a bucking bronco. I sat on the jump seat and was also very sick, in full view of the passengers. I retched into the large trash bag which was adjacent to my seat. The passengers stared at me in horror, but there was absolutely nothing I could do. One woman opposite me kept pressing her button and calling, "Stewardess, stewardess!" There was no way I was going to endanger my life when all she wanted was another sick bag. She'd have to manage somehow.
After half an hour of the worst turbulence I have ever experienced, the tossing gradually ceased and the big bird slowly settled into calm flight. I staggered from my seat and stared at the mess. It looked as though a tornado had torn through the cabin. We had to clear up the mess and quiet the passengers. The babies were screaming, the children-and some of the adults-were crying but it was all over, and we had to do the best we could. All the cabin crew felt as sick as the passengers, but tried hard not to show it. It had been so rough that even the Johns had spilled over. We did the only thing that we could do, and that was to clean up as much of the mess as we could. I have never worked so hard in such foul conditions in my life and hope never to again. We cleaned up the aircraft and made the passengers as comfortable as possible. I helped the Number Four girl who was trying to quiet all the screaming babies by giving them bottles. I dropped a tiny amount of liquid phenergan into each bottle, which would put them to sleep safely for the rest of the flight. Nobody wanted to finish their meals, and very few passengers wanted anything to drink. Only the most hardy.
I went into the flight deck to ask the crew what booze, if any, they wanted to take into Istanbul. The last thing I remember was writing down their order. Then suddenly I felt someone shaking me by the shoulder. It was the Number One. We were about to land at Istanbul, and I had fallen asleep standing up with my arms and head resting on the back of the engineer's seat. The captain had been very sweet and let me sleep.. I had woke up with a start feeling stiff and very sick. I rushed to the bar to get their order ready before we landed. It was a great relief to me to see the lights of Istanbul twinkling below us.
We commenced our final descent. We landed very smoothly and had almost come to a complete standstill when the undercarriage buckled under the vast belly of the aircraft, and we sank into a bed of mud. All four stews ran to their emergency stations and attached and threw out the chutes. The ground staff had surrounded the aircraft and had caught the bottoms of the chutes. Some bright spark had leaned a ladder against the aircraft at one exit so when the stew threw out the chute it got all tangled up with the ladder. Despite this and the reluctance of the passengers to exit via the chutes, we managed to evacuate the aircraft in well under two minutes. I couldn't believe how reluctant some of the passengers were to get out. One woman wanted to go back for her handbag. We literally had to pull the shoes off others so they didn't rip the chute and give them a hefty push or kick on the backside. As I tipped them out onto the chute, I told them to run as far as they could from the aircraft. After all, the whole thing could have exploded and gone up in flames in a matter of seconds. My speed and anxiety were also out of concern for myself, for once they were out, I could go as well.
We did a brief check through the cabin, looking mainly in the skycots to see that no babies had been left behind. I then must have broken the world record for sliding down aircraft chutes. I was out and away. One or two of the passengers had broken or twisted their ankles by falling off the chutes, but apart from a few minor injuries everyone was fine, if badly shaken. Ambulances and fire engines were standing by. Thank God the aircraft didn't burst into flames, and the ambulances were only needed to take care of the shocked and injured. Everyone was looked after and transported either to a hospital or a hotel.
Only then did we cabin staff stop and realize how terrifying the whole experience had been. Once in the safety and comparative quiet of my hotel room, I burst into floods of tears and vowed never, never to fly again. However, the company very wisely crewed us after minimum rest on the next flight out so we were hardly given any time to dwell on our plight or our loss of nerve. The flight deck were very cheery and said the chances of us being involved in another crash or near crash were very slight. We tried very hard to smile brightly at our passengers. The aircraft had come into Istanbul from Melbourne empty, so we had the remnants of the same passengers who had been through the ordeal with us. They were marvelous, helpful and terribly appreciative of how quickly and efficiently we had evacuated them. We reached Heathrow without any further incident. As the wheels touched down I held my breath, but there was no need. It was just another normal landing. I was sorry to see the passengers go. It's funny how close complete strangers become when they have shared some dreadful experience together. It was as though some silent inexplicable bond were holding us together, linking us forever.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Final Landing
I had only one day off, and I was again convinced this was company policy because during that one day I had decided I wasn't brave enough to continue flying as a career. However, the next flight was an I.T. (Inclusive Tour), and as it was only to Palma and back, I decided to give it one more try. I drove out to Heathrow, but found when I got there the incoming aircraft had been diverted to Gatwick Airport because of fog. When the whole crew had assembled we were driven down to Gatwick. We hung around for a couple of hours because visibility was bad there, too. Eventually it cleared enough for takeoff. We had a divinely nutty Polish captain, an engineer, and a first officer. No nav was carried on short haul.
These I.T.s were usually complete chaos, as the passengers didn't have numbered seats. I freely admit that I used to retire to the lav and lock myself in until the passengers were seated. "Little Johnny" always wanted a seat by the window. Families of ten couldn't comprehend why they couldn't all sit together, and the best and only thing to do was to let them fight it out among themselves. I did one of these flights once with an exceptionally brave Number One. As she saw the mob stampede like a herd of cattle to the aircraft, she stood at the top of the steps and screamed, to the delight of the cabin crew and the horror of the passengers, "Stand back, you buggers, and board in an orderly fashion."
The passengers were so taken aback that they obeyed her every word, but despite her interference one guy broke his leg in the crush! If as sometimes happened you ran out of duty-free booze on the way back, you almost got lynched. One woman on one of these flights actually asked me if I would open the window for her, as she was too hot by the end of the flight. I wished I had been able to open it for her and her whole family! Our present passengers were more subdued than the usual mob, and we settled them in and secured the cabin for takeoff.
I was sitting in the Number Two seat in the ladies' powder room. Britannias do not take off at a great incline like jets do, when the aisle looks like a perilously steep pathway. Brits tend to lumber along at a nice even speed and haul themselves with what seems like difficulty into the air. From my jump seat I could see we were well off the ground, but we appeared to be flying along on a level plain instead of climbing steadily until we reached our cruising altitude. I could see the tops of tall buildings which looked alarmingly close. I knew something was radically wrong. I got out of my seat and walked slowly up the length of the cabin to the sharp end. I wanted to run to find out what was happening, but knew if I did the passengers would become extremely agitated long before it was necessary.
The girl who was flying in charge on this trip seemed a real dummy. She hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. I opened the cockpit door and went in. It was freezing cold outside, and the air in the cockpit was equally icy. I noticed to my horror that all the flight deck were sweating profusely. The captain turned his head and seemed surprised to see me.
"Where's the Number One?" he asked.
"She's sitting in her jump seat because the seat belt signs are still on," I replied and continued, "but I felt sure something was wrong, so I came to find out." The captain told me not to worry.
"That's okay," I replied. "I've already had one risky landing in Istanbul." I sounded much more confident than I felt. Fingers of ice gripped my heart.
"Oh, well, you're a veteran at this sort of thing," the captain said, giving me a bright smile which was obviously forced. "As you've no doubt noticed, we are not gaining altitude." He went on to explain what had happened; I didn't understand all of what he told me, but realized we would have to return to base. Before we could do that, however, we had to jettison fuel.
I made an announcement to the passengers telling them that owing to slight (Ha! Ha!) technical difficulties we would be returning to Gatwick Airport. We served them with coffee while the captain jettisoned the fuel into the sea. One woman was so frightened that she wet herself sitting in her seat. The four of us smiled and chatted and answered questions, and the bulk of the passengers remained calm.
There was one couple I noticed who were particularly terrified. The woman's knuckles were white as she gripped the arm rests. I smiled at them and tried to cheer them up by chatting with them, 'but to no avail. This was their third attempt to reach Palma by aircraft, but because of technical difficulties or inclement weather conditions they had had to return. The other girls on the crew were as terrified as the passengers, and so was I, but I told the girls about my experience in Istanbul and how easy and safe it had been. Inwardly I wasn't feeling very cheerful. I thought maybe as this was the second time, and especially as it was consecutive, my number was definitely up. The Number One let me assume almost complete control because out of the four of us I was the only one with experience of a real emergency. The others had only done emergency drills on the ground, which is totally different because the element of fear is not involved.
I made an announcement to the passengers informing them that we would be landing shortly at Gatwick because of bad weather at Heathrow. A few moments later the captain called me to the flight deck and told me Gatwick had closed because of zero weather conditions. Therefore I had to tell the passengers that we had altered course and were heading for Heathrow, as the weather there had improved slightly. What I didn't tell them was that we all had our fingers crossed because now that we had very little fuel on board, we had to get in somewhere and quickly! I strapped myself in for landing and hoped for the best. We came out of the cloud, and I saw to my horror that the runway was over to the left. We overshot and came in for another try. Again we weren't above the runway. The next time, we just had to make it because you are only allowed three attempted landings at any one airport, and then you must try somewhere else. I held my breath and prayed. We came bumping out of the murky low cloud halfway up the runway. We touched down. The props went into reverse thrust, and we stopped right at the end of the runway. We turned and taxied to the terminal building. We saw the passengers off the aircraft. The badly frightened couple asked me if I wanted or knew anybody who wanted two free tickets to Palma, because they were not getting on another aircraft. I replied in the negative. Little did they know I wasn't getting on another aircraft, either.
I went to the flight deck. The captain was swearing like a trooper. They had had a very rough time on landing because apart from the weather something had gone wrong with his controls, and he'd had to hand over to the first officer at the most crucial moment. We went back to the crew room. The captain made a joke about having to change his trousers! Normally we would have hung around until the aircraft was serviceable once more, but the captain had had enough and knew he and his men would be out of hours before the aircraft was fixed. Bless his lovely heart! He gave us all permission to go home, too.
As soon as I got home, I phoned my dear friend Adam who wrote the preface. He listened patiently to my non-ending tale of woe, and although it was in the wee small hours of the morning he came around immediately, carrying an iced magnum of champagne. We opened the bottle and took it and two glasses to bed. We spent the whole day in bed sucking and sinping.
When Adam calls me "nice," he really means it. Yet like most people I am not nice a hundred percent of the time. I know at times I have aggravated and annoyed him beyond endurance, but I have nearly always done this with a purpose. Please don't think for one moment I am trying to excuse my nastiness or that I am trying to say I am never a first-class bitch. Adam was and is by his own admission a bit dotty about me, and while I loved being worshipped and adored to excess, there are moments when this almost dog-like devotion drives me to distraction. At times I loved him with a passion and hated him with fervor. Adam very rarely blew his cool with me, but there were times when I incited him to riot, although there was never any malice behind his anger. I loved him best out of bed when he was riled and best of all in bed with the lights out so I couldn't see him at all-as I used to say to tease him!
Adam was a perfect gentleman at times and so vague at others he gave the impression of having no manners at all. I don't recollect ever having met anyone who was quite so vague and untidy in his worst moments. He was exceptionally shrewd and practical at his best. He always accused me of being supersensitive, but when I got upset because of my sensitivity he never failed to calm me and restore order to my life. Now I was downright terrified, and even though I had made up my mind to stop flying, I knew he would be the answer to all my ailments.
He leaped into bed with all the eagerness and erectness of a sixteen-year old. I watched him as he hopped into bed. He was tall, scrawny, and ancient. I'm not being cruel when I say this, as this is Adam's own description of himself. That's at first sight. When he smiled, his craggy face turned into that of a naughty schoolboy, and when I made him laugh, he looked endearingly delicious. Looking back on our relationship I realize that sometimes I wanted him more than I could bear, and yet other times I never even gave him a thought. But he always came to me if I needed him in any way, and I had tried to return the compliment. Thus our relationship had blossomed through the years. I knew he was sure to be in at the hour of the morning I had called him.
He took me in his arms as though I was as fragile as a Dresden china figure. He stroked my hair and face, and then my arms, as one would comfort a small terrified animal. I lay there silently while his caresses calmed my shattered nerves. He knew me so well, and although he wanted to fuck me immediately, never in all his stroking did he once touch my breasts or my pussy. I would have repulsed him, for all I needed at that precise moment was a great deal of cuddling. He also knew I would come around in my own time and fuck the living daylights out of him. He wasn't an over-imaginative lover, but terribly considerate and conscious of what I needed from him and when I needed it. In his favor, too, he had tremendous staying power and a nice big fat cock with which he could fuck for hours on end. Altogether he wasn't bad for an oldie!
"It's amazing," Adam said, "how innocent your face looks when you lie down waiting to be fucked. You look like a delicate child who doesn't know what a cock feels or even looks like. I can't believe looking at you that you are the same girl who goes wild in bed, who behaves like an angry rat, who is mad to suck cocks, and be sucked and fucked in return."
As he talked softly to me I felt myself growing eager and wet between the thighs. I moved against him gently, pressing my naked form against his. His large blue eyes looked straight into mine as I rolled over and mounted him. I lay still for a second on top of him and pressed my lips to his. One of the best things about Adam was the fact that he loved to kiss. Far too many men just want to fuck and forget about kissing a girl. Kissing and caressing are so important. Adam loved to be kissed by me. I put my tongue far into his mouth. He let his hang loose while I pushed it around or sucked it into my mouth. His hands clasped my buttocks and pulled me to him. I could feel mv blood rising and along with it a great and urgent need for Adam's manhood to be inside me.
He turned me over and took the helm and steered his warship straight into my harbor. He loved to fuck wildly, erratically pushing himself as far into me as possible. But he knew that in my present mood, I would prefer a slow soft pedaling to tremendous thrusts. He reached across and got my glass of champagne off the bedside table. He tilted my head up with one hand and held the glass at an angle so I could sip slowly. Meanwhile his cock wasn't idle for a minute. He put down the glass and kissed me. That time he led and I followed. He flicked his tongue around and around and then right back down my throat until I thought I might surely suffocate. I clutched at him. He loved to be pinched and scratched while making love and was very proud afterwards of his marked body. He started to grind slowly into me with circular movements. He knew this was something I loved above all other methods of fucking. Somehow in this slightly sideways and circular fashion of screwing I could maintain the feeling a woman gets just before orgasm. Normally it's a brief sweet moment when you know you are going to come, and nothing in the world can stop it happening. If my lover keeps still after having started me off and lets me do the moving I can stay in limbo for many, many minutes instead of a brief second. Adam knew me so well I didn't have to tell him not to move. The slightest movement on his part would have destroyed the delicate balance I had set up.
Adam often marveled at my control and the way I went after what I wanted in bed, but in getting what I wanted (which was a cock-filled cunt) I gave un-stintingly in return. After all my anxiety, I was floating in a flood of fabulous fantasy. All my troubles seemed a million miles away. I even forgot Adam, but never his cock, which he let me manipulate to my own ultimate pleasure and satisfaction. Every time I felt I was going over the brink to burst and gush with love juice I slowed myself down. Then by rotating my hot juicy cunt around Adam's cock I worked myself up to a feverish pitch of excitement again. I suppose it was really like masturbating, except a real live throbbing cock was better than even my agile fingers. I take my hat off to men who know how to use the tremendous tool they have been endowed with. Suddenly I reached the point of no return. This time I couldn't and didn't want to control myself. I scratched Adam's back and cried out again and again in pure pleasure. My cunt took over completely from my brain. I thrashed, a bit, and dug my nails into Adam's firm flesh in my passion. It was a solo affair, as Adam hadn't come with me. I lay back exhausted and completely fulfilled. I had come, but I still had the untold joy of a stiff cock within me.
I smiled up at Adam, for I knew he was going to do me his way. I clawed at him until he could take no more, and he forced my arms down onto the bed. I turned my head to one side and lowered it so I could lick his armpits as he plunged into me. With cries of, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" he gushed into me with all the force of a jet of water coming out of a hose pipe. We were one lovely, spunky, saturated mess. Sadly his cock diminished in size, but happily it stayed in the place that was tailor-made for it. We lay panting like two athletes who had completed a four-minute mile. We were awash in a vast orgasmic ocean.
As Adam lay still and soft beside me, I started to tell him of other lovers I had taken recently. Bless his heart! He tried so hard not to be jealous, but it pleased me, of course, that he was! His cock went rigid inside me as I told him of all the young men with beautiful bodies I had been to bed with on my trip before last. His face grew angry and his cock furious and rock hard, and it pounded into me over and over again. We came together suddenly, violently, and briefly. He was superb in his anger. His cock felt as though all the blood in his body had rushed into it. It was as if a red-hot bomb had gone off in my cunt. I looked up at him and laughed.
"You're beautiful when you're mad. You're divine when you get furious, and the crosser you get, the more turned-on you become," I said.
"I've never known a girl like you," Adam said. "It's like going to bed with an octopus. Your arms and legs multiply and wrap themselves around my body. You make love with your whole body; even your toes move. And you don't waste any movement. Every flick of your finger and twitch of your toe is directed at ultimate pleasure. You fulfill my wildest dreams of passion, darling Fiona."
He withdrew his weapon and bent his head until it rested between my thighs. He licked and sucked at my clit until he had drained every drop of moisture from my hidden well. His tongue felt as big and as livid as his cock as he twisted and turned it in my honey-pot. Having sucked me as dry as the Gobi desert, Adam proceeded to poke a finger into my pussy. It moved with the grace of a ballet dancer doing a pirouette. Within seconds his finger was saturated by my pussy-puss. It was oozing and gushing over his finger and down my flaming inside thigh. Somehow we had worked our way down my double bed, and Adam was kneeling on the floor, and my bottom was balanced on the edge of the bed. I felt around with my foot and found his cock. T rolled it around with the ball of mv foot. I could feel it growing to delicious dimensions under my manipulation. Adam stopped finger-fucking me and stood up. Then he bent and turned me over, shoving a pillow under my tummy so that my bottom was sticking up in the air. He took his tool in his hand and pointed it at my crotch. I felt it nosing its way around in my outer portals, and before I knew it, he had penetrated the silky soft walls of my cunt. He banged away up and into me hoisting me inches off the bed until I thought my buttocks would divide. It was as though a large blow torch had been turned full blast on my pussy, and its hot flame was burning away my insides. Adam became extremely violent in his fucking. I was on the point of passing out with pain when pleasure took over. We came together again, struggling for air.
I was shattered and drifted off into a heavy, dreamless sleep. I'd been up for hours and been fucking for what seemed a lifetime. I awoke suddenly when I felt a warm sticky substance spill onto my face. I opened my eves and saw that Adam was kneeling astride my head with his cock in his hand. I lay horrified as his fountain of sperm spilled all over my face and hair. My first reaction was to be very angry at his behavior and his taking advantage of me in such a wav. Then I started to laugh, for Adam looked so mortified that I'd caught him in the act.
"Whatever made you do that?" T asked. "Surely vou would rather I was awake and enjoying it. You know me well enough by now to realize I'd do anything you asked."
He replied, "You suddenly fell into such a deep sleep while my prick was still inside you. I tried to wake you, but couldn't, so I decided to try out a few experiments while you slept. Apart from masturbating over your face I opened your legs and forced them back as far as they would go, and my tongue explored at least five inches up your cunt. It was heavenly to have you completely submissive and to think that I could do anything I wanted with you. I even thought of buggering you, but decided not to, in case you woke up and threw a fit which might damage our relationship. I felt all around your lovely little ass-hole, but just kissed and fingered it gently. Anyway, you seemed to enjoy it, because you were uttering little moans of pleasure in your sleep," he concluded.
"I didn't feel a thing," I retorted, "and anyway, if you really wanted to bugger me, you could have had the courtesy to ask. I'd probably have said no, but that's just tough luck. I don't do anything I don't feel like doing. It's not that I'm selfish. I just do what comes naturally in bed, and that doesn't, as yet."
Adam just smiled and got some tissues to mop up my face. Then his every-ready serpent was snaking its way into my love cave. His cock was definitely snake-like. It loved warm, dark places to nestle in. My cunt felt as though the snake had given birth to a hundred other snakes which were taking over my body. I just kept coming and coming, and so did Adam. Eventually we were both utterly exhausted. I don't think Adam could have raised a hard even if BB and Sophia L had jumped on him bare-ass and given him head.
We awoke at midday and started on another bout. We lay side by side, arms crossed over as we tenderly touched each other between the legs until I sprang forth like a mountain stream, and Adam's cock filled my hand. We fucked. We loved. We kissed. We laughed. Our sexual appetite for each other seemed endless. In my case, perhaps T wanted to put out all thoughts of flying forever. In Adam's case it was sheer lust and love of me and my body. When we were finished, I lay limply back.
Adam said, "You look like a beautiful pale dead lily floating corpse-like on a pool of passion. Your hair is spread out like fine auburn seaweed."
When we were finished fucking we talked quietly. I had almost forgotten my fear of flying. Adam said maybe I should give it one more try.
"After all," he said, "you seem to thrive on flying and fucking," but he concluded, "whatever you decide to do, I know you'll make the right decision for yourself."
By the time Adam had to leave me, we had spent almost the entire week in bed. His final spoken words to me were that I was a consummate lover. He kissed the twins he loved to fondle and the cunt he loved to lick a solemn farewell as if they were quiet separate beings from the rest of me. Then he left. I felt sad to see him go, but convinced I was going to embark on a new career which I would never tire of. My innermost thoughts were right. I lay holding my pussy and thinking of the future. What lies ahead for a devoted lover of men and sex? Some of you know, some of you don't. I will reveal all in my next book. Men, T love you and your sublime cocks, and the only way to go is the way I'm going, cocksure and happy!
A few days after Adam had left, I received the following letter from him. It moved me more than any letter I have ever received. I shall treasure it always. He understood me so well. Apart from our loving moments, there had been other moments not so loving. I accept that they were entirely my own fault. I was distraught, frightened, and upset. I was not sure of where I was going or what would become of me. Adam stayed with me a whole week gratifying my passions, putting up with my petulance and ill temper. I would like to end my first attempt at writing about a small portion of my life with these words from Adam, who suffered greatly and loves me with an everlasting passion.
"My darling Fiona:
"I want you to know I miss you and that I much loved my days with you, however cross you were. I have never met anybody like you before and will not again. You have a capacity for making love that I thought was beyond mortal women. To live with you for a week is a pleasure beyond belief. I send you my love, and I mean what I say. I miss your furies and your contempt and your reluctant smile and the sight of your beautiful face.
