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theGreatxIam

Silver Surfer #2:
Crying Out Loud
By theGreatxIam

NOTE: They used to talk about Stagedoor Johnnies, the
men who hung around theaters with flowers and candy for
the showgirls. Then women and girls got liberated and
got horny, and they called the starstruck ones
groupies.

But there are some of us who call ourselves by another
name. We are drawn to a special class of classy ladies,
to those mature beauties who appreciate a man who
appreciates a vintage affair. We call ourselves the
silver surfers. And this is one of our stories.

----

Jonathan R., Atlanta

Let's get the stereotypes out of the way first, shall
we? I am a male flight attendant. I like to cook. I
like show tunes. But I am not gay, OK?

I like show tunes because I love the brassy, sassy
women who sing them. I'm a flight attendant because how
many other ways is a guy with no special talent going
to get to see the world and all those beautiful stars
who live in it? And I like to cook because -- well, I
just like to cook. Get over it.

Being a flight attendant is perfect for me. I even
volunteer for the long flights -- oh, the mischief you
can get into at 3 in the morning somewhere over
Nebraska. Even the married stars get a little wild
after a few martinis at altitude.

Some of them don't even need the martinis. Take a
flight last August.

I was assigned to economy class and I was back there
herding the cattle into their seats when Jolene tapped
me on the shoulder and asked me to switch with her and
take the first-class cabin. She looked frazzled; when I
asked her about the swap, she said a VIP up there had
something against female flight attendants and insisted
that only a man would do.

Of course, first class is a treat any time, but this
sounded absolutely scrumptious. VIP plus female plus
unreasonable demands added up to a diva, and they're my
favorite kind.

As I worked my way through the stream of passengers
like a salmon going up river to spawn (an apt metaphor,
considering later events), I heard someone complaining
loudly.

"I said I wanted a man. Are you a man? I don't think
so. What difference does it make why? I have a bad
history with you female attendants, OK? Now get
somebody with a crotch rocket up here! Now!"

I recognized the voice as I was stepping up behind her,
and a frisson of joy raced through my bones, not to
mention other parts. I composed my face into a less
lecherous smile and stepped forward.

"Good evening, Mrs. Gifford. May I be of assistance?"

"Call me Kathie Lee," she said, and we were best pals
immediately.

She was shorter than I'd expected, and once she'd
gotten me and a glass of white wine, her belligerence
faded and she seemed to shrink into the leather seat.
Even so, you couldn't miss her. She was in her full
post-Regis saint-turned-sinner regalia. Her bright red
pullover sweater fit like a coating of shellac and its
V-neck plunged lower than the Dow, leaving no doubt
that the superstructure was all Kathie Lee with no
artificial ingredients. A black leather skirt ended
halfway down her thighs, but lest anyone be
disappointed a slit on the side revealed that her sheer
black nylons were not practical pantyhose but stockings
held in place by black lace garters. It was such an
awe-inspiring panoply of trampiness that you might
almost miss the four-inch red fuck-me Pradas.

I had always assumed the abrupt change from America's
pious sweetheart to the country's slutty little sexpot
was a calculated career move, but after that night I'm
not so sure. Kathie Lee was by herself in the front row
and as the few other passengers in first class fell
asleep, she remained wide awake and eager, even
desperate, to talk.

Most of the time, when I talk with passengers, they
want to know what my job is like, where I've flown,
where I live. None of that came up during my chat with
Kathie Lee. Oh, she asked me questions, all right: Did
I see her latest made-for-TV movie? Her guest shot on
"Drew Carey?" Had I ever heard her new album? Did I
want a copy? (She had two dozen in her carry-on.)

But don't think she was being self-centered. She's
Kathie Lee, after all. What more interesting topic of
conversation could there be?

As the flight wore on, though, our chat drifted to the
sadder parts of her life. I carefully avoided mention
of Mr. Gifford; from her little temper tantrum at the
start of the flight, it was obvious that wound was
still fresh, no matter what she told the press. But
just a mention of dear Cody and darling Cassidy made
her sad. Her career was so hectic, she said, that she
hardly had time for them anymore. Even bringing up
Regis's name brought tears to her eyes. She really
seemed to miss the show. And, she said, it was a shame
that they'd had such trouble finding a new co-host and
had to settle for that Kelly person.

But she positively broke down in sobs when I simply
glanced at my watch and noted that it was past
midnight. Not since Cinderella had to run from her
fella had I heard of anyone taking 12:01 so hard.

Kathie Lee eventually explained, in a quavering voice,
that it wasn't the time. It was the date.

"It's August 16," she choked out. "Today is my
b-birthday." She paused dramatically. "And I'm...
I'm... f... f... forty-nine!" Giant tears rolled down
her cheeks, and her black mascara came off in streaks.

It was like my very own Lifetime movie. As she sobbed,
her head fell onto my shoulders. I held her lightly and
murmured vaguely comforting phrases.

Kathie Lee kept it up for several minutes, bawling her
way through a litany of her life's woes, from being
cheated out of beauty contests to problems with her
first husband all the way to being unjustly criticized
for that unfortunate sweatshop incident and Frank's
infidelity. It was an impressive list.

But her mascara was beginning to stain my uniform, so I
gently levered her upright again and maneuvered her out
of her seat and toward the lavatory to clean
up...Halfway there, she stopped and turned back toward
me. The rest of the crew was in the coach section and
the other first-class passengers were sound asleep, so
I was an audience of one as she whispered in a classic
sotto voce:

"Forty-nine! And I've never done so many things I
wanted. Never had my own TV show -- I could have been
bigger than Oprah! Never had my own Broadway show --
just a part-time fill-in for a washed-up hag like Carol
Burnett. Never made the top of the charts -- all those
critics are so mean! And now I'll never have one. It's
a young girl's world and I'm over the hill!"

I knew a cue when I heard one. "No, no, don't say
that," I told her. "You're still in your prime! Look at
you. You've got the body of a 20-year-old!" I turned
her toward the lav again. "You can do anything you
want. You're Kathie Lee, for heaven's sake." Gently but
firmly, I pushed open the folding door and steered her
inside. "You go, girl."

The door shut. The "occupied" sign flicked on. But a
second later, it flicked off and the door opened.

I peered in. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Kathie Lee said. "No. I just realized you're
right. It's not too late. I can do all those things I
haven't gotten to. I'm Kathie Lee!"

I nodded. "That's right. You are. Now why don't you..."

Kathie Lee put a finger across my lips to shush me.

"Do you know one of those things I've never done?"

I shook my head.

She smiled broadly. Then, taking me off-guard, she
grabbed my arm and yanked me inside the lavatory. As
she reached around me to close the door with one hand,
the other clutched my crotch. "I've never joined the
Mile-High Club."

Well, you don't have to ask me twice. At least not if
you're Kathie Lee Gifford. I immediately pulled off my
jacket and started unbuttoning my shirt. Instead of
taking off her clothes, Kathie Lee sat down on the
toilet cover and reached for my zipper. In less time
than you can say "Regis Philbin," I was naked, all my
clothes strewn around the tiny floor. My cock was
already bobbing proudly erect when Kathie Lee took it
in her well-manicured fingers. Her bright red
fingernails traced its length as she gently blew on its
tip. Holding it in both hands, she licked it like a
lollipop, up and down, swirling around.

"So this is what I've been denying myself," she said
before plunging back into her licking. "I must have
been crazy!" She started kissing my prick all over,
leaving bright red lipstick prints.

I started to twist my fingers into her hair, but she
pulled away. "I just spent $500 for this hairdo,
mister. Hands off!"

I held my hands up, palms out. "All right," she said
with a nod, and went back to kissing my dick.

When she planted a big, wet kiss smack on the tip of my
cock, I felt a little weak in the knees and had to lean
back against the door. Kathie Lee put a few more
smackeroos on my cock before opening her lips slightly
and swallowing the bulbous head.

"Beautiful," I said. She looked up at me with doe eyes
as she inched me into her. She got me about halfway in
and started stroking me in and out as her hands pumped
the rest of my rod. On every out stroke I could see my
cock being painted redder and redder as her lipstick
smeared from her tightly pursed mouth. Her cheeks
hollowed as she applied suction. I gathered this wasn't
her first blowjob.

She sucked me, then slid off and licked me, chewed me
up and down like an ear of corn.

"Oh, Kathie Lee! Do it, girl!" I whispered
encouragement. "Suck that dick, Kathie Lee. That's it!
You're the best!"

She swallowed me whole again. This time she started out
slowly, putting almost my entire shaft inside her
mouth.

"Oh, god, yes, Kathie Lee! What a mouth!"

Then she began to pick up speed. Her mouth flew up and
down my shaft, faster and faster.

"That's it! That's it! Take it all! Take it!"

Finally I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Here it comes, Kathie Lee! I'm gonna fill that hot
mouth of yours! Get ready. Get ready. Get...
Aaaaauuggghhhh!"

Cum shot out of my cock like it was a cannon. Kathie
Lee swallowed the first load and then pulled back,
letting the rest of my jism splatter over her nose and
mouth and cheeks.

With a dainty finger she scooped up the goopy white
stuff. Then she licked the finger clean. That was all
it took to get me hard as a rock again.

Kathie Lee purred in appreciation of that feat as she
peeled off her clothes, folding and stacking them
neatly on the tiny shelf.

Her breasts were every bit as good as I'd imagined them
after all those years of seeing her braless on "Live."
Big melons -- not as perky as they might have been,
true, but still an impressive feat of engineering. I
reached out to caress them. They were slightly spongy,
but deliciously warm. Kathie Lee ignored my hands and
continued undressing until she was down to nothing but
her black stockings, garter belt and shoes.

We maneuvered around in the delightfully cramped space,
rubbing against each other in many interesting spots
before I ended up sitting on the toilet seat. Kathie
Lee tried to sit facing me, but her knees had nowhere
to go. She turned around and backed up on top of my
crotch. I held my cock steady as she squatted down. It
was a surprisingly tight fit for a woman with two kids
-- not quite the tightest I've ever known, but Kathie
Lee's cunt was a very enjoyable burrow for my dick.

After we jostled around a trifle to find the least
awkward position, she settled in. I was able to wrap my
arms around her and grab her tits in both hands as she
fucked my cock in a smooth, steady rhythm.

"Oh, yeah, baby," she said in affected voice I gathered
was supposed to resemble some movie character's, though
the resemblance escaped me. "Shag me, baby!" she said,
though I was pretty much pinned to the plastic seat and
it was Kathie Lee who was doing all the shagging.

And doing it well. She varied from wild pumping that
sent her hair flying to long, slow strokes with her
cunt muscles so tightly clenched that it felt as if I
could count one by one as individual nerve endings were
touched. From time to time she'd stop with her pussy
fully impaled on my rod, and I would hold her even
closer to me and plant soft kisses along her shoulder
and neck. The third time I did that and ended with my
tongue sliding into her right ear she launched into a
shrieking orgasm, banging back against me so violently
I almost got knocked out by the metal wall before her
surges subsided.

I was still hard. When Kathie Lee slid off me and got
to her knees to pick up her clothes, which had tumbled
to the floor as we had jockeyed into position before, I
quickly got behind her. Grabbing hold of her hips, I
entered her doggie style.

"Hey, what the..." she started to squeal, but then she
got the idea and we started moving together. I had much
more freedom to move now and corkscrewed my cock into
her, trying to reach every last bit of her cunt.
Meantime I slipped a hand around her waist and dipped a
finger into her, twiddling her clit.

When she shouted then there was no fake accent; it was
all Kathie Lee. "Fuck me, baby. Yeah, yeah, ram that
poker in there. Ooooh, yeah. Let me feel it!"

Hearing that kind of talk out of Kathie Lee's ruby lips
totally jazzed me. I picked up the pace, slamming my
hard cock into her. Our fucking got so furious that we
actually created some suction when her cunt lips
dragged at my retreating prick, and the frenzy of my
entering strokes made loud schlorping noises. Kathie
Lee repeated her "Fuck me!" cries so fast they turned
into a sexual mantra: "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me fuck
me fuckme fuckme fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme!"

I could feel my cock swelling even more. I pulled out
so only the tip was barely touching her hot, wet pussy
lips.

"Don't stop," she begged.

"Tell me what you want," I teased.

"I want your cock," Kathie Lee gasped.

"Like this?" I slid in a bit, stopping just as the
bulbous head popped into her tunnel.

"Yes, yes!" She started to hump back at me with
abandon.

I pulled out again.

"Damn you! Put that fucker in me!"

"Oh, Kathie Lee. Ask me nicely."

"Please put that fucker in me!"

"Now, you can do better than..."

"Shut up and fuck me! Slam that cock into me, you
fucking bastard! I want you to pump my goddamn cunt
full of cum. Fuck me, you asshole!"

Even if her cursing hadn't driven me crazy I was
already too close myself to back out. I shoved my fat
cock into her up to the hilt, forcing a screech from
her. Faster and faster and faster I fucked her. Kathie
Lee's sweet round ass banged into me over and over.

As my inner turmoil escaped my lungs as one long
"Aaaaah," Kathie Lee's body began to quiver and
suddenly seized up. "Sweet fucking hell," she groaned,
"I'm out of control! Take that, Frank!"

So was I. A gusher of cum blasted out of my cock,
filling Kathie Lee's hungry pussy and spilling out the
sides. Once more, twice, three times the cum spasmed
out before I buried my cock deep into her one last time
and then withdrew as it began to shrink.

It was too cramped in their to cuddle in the afterglow.
We handed each other our clothes but soon realized we
couldn't get dressed at the same time without risking
grievous bodily injury. Being a gentleman, I let her go
first.

By the time I got dressed next and slipped out of the
john, it was almost time to serve breakfast. Kathie Lee
ran a red nail up my arm as I poured her coffee, but
she was out the door in a hurry when we landed and I've
never seen her since -- not in the flesh. I'm hardly
crushed, though. Long-term relationships are not what
silver surfing is about.

And I did hear from her. A week after that flight, the
airline forwarded a package to me.

Kathie Lee's new CD.