Loading...“Hi, lady. Come in and take the weight off. It’s hot outside today. Take a seat over here, by the bar and you’ll get a great view of the guys on the beach. Better yet, I’ll get a good look at you. . .”
“Hey, maybe I’m an old goat but I still know how to compliment a good looking gal. What’s your poison, honey . . ?”
“Sure, this is Four Johns Johnson’s bar. I am Four Johns Johnson — pleased to meet you . . .”
“No, no, lady, we only have the usual two johns in this bar. Male and female, just like everywhere else . . .”
“No, it’s nothing to do with the bar. It’s my handle, has been for years. Take a look at the photo on the wall, right there. See that, a 767 coming into the ramp at Gate Tango-2 at O’Hare, with the firecrew wetting the plane down? That’s a tradition when the pilot is retiring. That was my last flight as a Senior Captain with West and Western. Twenty two years on a flight deck and that was the day it ended. But see those four guys standing out in the spray each holding up a toilet seat lid over his head and laughing fit to bust? Yeah, even if I say it myself I was a legend in the business. Everybody knew about Four Johns Johnson, the man who pulled off the best known landing in airline history. Mind you, the company went apeshit over that photo, trying to keep the media from finding out what the deal was with those toilet seats . . .”
“You want to hear the story? Sorry, but it’s not one for mixed company, especially a nice lady like yourself . . .”
“You’re a lawyer? OK, maybe you’re not so nice after all then. But even so, this might shock you. Do you promise not to sue me if I confess my sins . . .?”
“Well, if you’re sure you’re game you’d better tell me your name — hey, I’m a poet . . !”
“OK, Gloria, I’ll tell you what happened, and it was a while ago now. But it was an even longer time ago when I left the Air Force and first became a commercial pilot. I’m talking prehistory here. Before deregulation, before 9/11, God, almost before computers on the flight deck In those wonderful days we had people called flight engineers up front with us and we had these other people called stewardesses out back to look after the passengers. Not flight attendants or customer service consultants or whatever the hell they’re called nowadays. We had stewardesses, and they had a service life of about two years, by which time they were either pregnant, or engaged, or both. They were all in their early twenties, they were all drop dead gorgeous, they were all marriage hungry and we used to call them menu items. As in ‘what’s on your menu tonight? Mandy or the new blonde?’ . . . ”
“I can see you pulling a face at me, Gloria. You want to put me on the stand and make me confess to being a disgusting old maleist, right? Well, that was the way the job was then. God, they were beautiful times. But I’ll tell you this, never, never walk away with the idea that we pilots didn’t respect those gals back there in the cabin. We did then and we still do, even if a lot of them are guys now. That doesn’t matter, what does matter is that if the shit ever hits the fan it’s the cabin crew who have to take control of hundreds of panic stricken passengers and get them off the plane safely. Even if they never have an emergency come up in their careers, boy, do the FA’s get plenty of hassles from the passengers, especially after deregulation let all the screwballs loose on us. Rum and coke again . . ? ”
“OK, so take it from one who knows, I was absolutely terrified about twelve times flying commercial jets and ten of those times it because of passengers who should have been doing cell time with Hannibal Lector. I’d rather have been a garbage collector than deal with airline passengers every day, especially when it comes to being locked in the same cabin as the mad bastards. And, apart from the passengers, the stews had all kinds of other problems to deal with that you’d never think of. Have you ever tried cooking eggs at 40,000 feet, Gloria? If you do, you’ll find they turn green. There’s a whole lot of strange things happen in that kind of environment. Anyway, that was the way things were when I was green myself, a green young co-pilot living way up there in pilot’s heaven. And then God blew his whistle and told everybody to get out of the pool. Suddenly it was paradise lost . . . ”
“God, is that girl on that board wearing a bikini or not? Sure as hell isn’t my eyesight going because I can see every dimple where she isn’t . . .”
“What went wrong? What happened? No disrespect, Gloria, but lawyers happened, that’s what. Come the 1970’s and suddenly the airlines were being taken to court by girls who’d been put off because they were overage, or married or whatever. And the stews started winning the cases. Only they weren’t stewardesses anymore, now they were flight attendants. Before long we had married flight attendants with kids for God’s sake, working mothers on red eye flights whose idea of fun was getting back home in time for an hour in bed before cooking the family breakfast. Suddenly we went from being a bunch of playboy pilots flying around glamorous trolley dollies to being glorified chauffeurs for a bunch of slam-clickers . . .”
“What’s a slam-clicker? She’s a beautiful looking woman in her thirties with a wedding ring who brings the coffee up to the flight deck, lays on all the smiles and moves to the pilots, goes to the crew hotel with you, says “Goodnight, guys, nice to fly with you,” slams her door shut and the next thing you hear is the door lock clicking. That’s a slam-clicker.”
“OK, so now comes the three day working trip when I get famous — or maybe infamous. I was forty two years old, I’d arrived for duty at O’Hare on a January morning, and Chicago was as cold as the proverbial witch’s clit. So I’m dreaming of how I’m going to retire in a year or so and own a bar in the tropics and spend my time talking to beautiful lawyers . . .”
“You think I’m being smooth now? Wait until you hear the story. . .”
“Listen in, then, and I’ll tell you. I walked into the company flight center, signed my release, then pulled down all my flight details off the computer. I was going places, none of them I really wanted to, finishing off for the day at Tucson. Well, that was something, anyway. The last landing of the day is always the hardest work but Tucson was an airport I always liked. Never any snow, rarely any rain: the wind can get tricky sometimes, but not often. Yeah, Tucson was a gift compared to some pit of an airport like Washington National, LA International or La Garbage at New York.
“Then, as I was leaving the flight center, I took a glance at the whiteboard on the wall which had odds and ends of company information on it. One of the notations was that Mr Greenmont, the company chief security officer was going to be in Tucson on the same day that I’m flying down. Now that was kind of strange because anytime you have a senior company guy on board, it’s noted in your flight details. I double checked the sheet, but no mention of Greenmont’s name. So if he was scheduled for Tucson, how was he going to get there? Obviously, it had to be a West and Western flight, we didn’t pay other airlines to haul our own assholes around, which, incidentally, was what this guy Greenmont was by all accounts, a grade A asshole. And I knew the only other flight W&W had going to Tucson that day was a night shuttle which had gone out about 1 PM. So either this guy was on my flight and I wasn’t being told about it, which was strange; or Greenmont had slipped off to Tucson well before the crock crowed. Which was even stranger. Airline executives, even small times one, don’t usually travel on rocket flights.
“So, I went to the plane and asked my Chief Flight Attendant to find out if Greenmont was onboard. She checked the passenger list, said he wasn’t, I shrugged my shoulders and got on with my job. After we’d got to our flight level and I’d handed over to the co-pilot I had time to run a few stray thoughts through my head. But they weren’t about William H. Greenmont, security guy. What had my attention was the gal I’d spoken to about him. The CFA that day was a lady called Yvonne Page. A real wise old Senior Mama in the system, maybe a couple of years younger than me, kids in college, but still a hell of a figure, auburn hair and luscious. To me, she was like some kind of Italian film star, the Sophia Loren earth mother type but always immaculately dressed and presenting herself like a fashion model. When she wasn’t running an airliner she worked as a part time stockbroker and that woman absolutely oozed class. Out of the top drawer as the British say — just like you, Gloria . . .”
“It’s a house rule. The more drinks you buy, the more I flatter the customers. And if you buy me one as well I’ll really go over the top . . .”
“Another one all round it is then. OK, so I was wondering whether to make another pass at Yvonne in Tucson, though it hardly seemed worthwhile bothering. We’d flown together three or four times in the last two months and everytime I’d made an approach to her I’d been waved off. Nothing rancorous or bad tempered, mind you, just a stunning smile and a slam-click in the face. So I was thinking about Yvonne and then another girl comes into the cockpit with the coffee — girl! I mean I’m not saying her first flight was handing out spam sandwiches on a DC3 but she was as much a Senior Mama as Yvonne herself was. A nice looking one, too, a blonde, with an ass to pant over. But two attendants of that seniority on the same flight? It had to be some kind of a roster fuck up. Still, I had to go back for a leak anyway, so I thought I’d check to see if we’ve got a couple of young trainees on board to balance things up.
“So, I went to the john and I had a look at the other attendants, and I’m thinking to myself that something is seriously wacky around here because the other two FA’s both look like they’ve got more flight time than I have. I’ve got a crew of females on my plane who probably have enough experience between them to fly the goddamn thing home themselves and field strip the engines afterwards.
“I collected another cup of coffee and went up to the flight deck again to do some real thinking. In all my time with the company I’ve never seen a bunch of attendants with this much seniority serving on one crew. If it was just an odd coincidence, OK, but what if it wasn’t a coincidence? I tell you, Gloria, it suddenly occurred to me that it was a set up and I was the set upee. I mean, sure, I made quite a few passes at the lasses, but at least I had enough sense to stick to women of my own age. So maybe the company was putting a big pile of temptation in my path and Greenmont was lurking down there in Arizona ready to pounce on my ass with sexual harassment charges as soon as I opened my big mouth to one of those ladies — or maybe, knowing me, to all of them.
“Yeah, that was the way I figured it, until I had second thoughts. There was no reason why the company would want to get rid of me. Not that I knew of anyway. But the flight attendants, now that a horse of a different color — a shitty color. You see, Gloria, back then it was like today in one way — the airline, all airlines, were desperate to save money. One of the big problems W and W had was with the unions, and they’d got a deal going that whenever a union worker left he or she was replaced with a non-union one. So we had two pay scales, an ‘A’ class one for the long term employees and a much lower ‘B’ class one for new starters. I thought about that for a while and about the fact that I only knew that Greenmont was in Tucson because of that note on the white board somebody had probably forgotten to wipe off. Then I thought about how I was carrying a bunch of FA’s who probably had more years of service between them than any other four attendants on the airline. And right then I began to smell a dirty big rat. Like how come somebody had rostered all these high time ‘A’ gals on one flight? And like why Greenmont was sneaking down to Tucson before sun up?
“I told the co-pilot I was going back again. He looked pissed because he had to keep an oxygen mask over his face all the time he was the only pilot on the flight deck, but to hell with him. I didn’t want him hearing this conversation and I sure didn’t want the cockpit voice recorder taping it either, so I went back to find Yvonne and took her into the galley. She was looking at me about the same way as you are now, Gloria, like maybe I was planning to play grabass with her. But no, I was there to be the same perfect gentleman I always am.
“‘Yvonne,’ I said to her. “Maybe you’d be doing yourself a big favor if you didn’t work for peanuts on this trip — especially down South’ What I was talking about was how it was considered one of the small perks of the attendant’s job to take home odds and ends of stuff that was left over from the flight supplies. Three ounce bottles of liquor, packets of peanuts, individual cartons of long life milk, those kinds of things. Nobody had ever made an issue of it until then, it was only nickels and dimes stuff but, technically, it was stealing. Catching an employee walking off the job with any company property could be cause for instant dismissal if the bosses wanted to be tough guys — especially if they wanted to be tough guys trimming down on the payroll.
“Yvonne’s eyes widened and I knew she’d joined up all the dots a lot quicker than I had. She knew exactly what I was talking about. In fact she was ahead of me. ‘Why Tucson?’ she asked. ‘Why not O’Hare?’ I understood what she saying, because the girls didn’t use of that kind of stuff in their hotels, they took it back home with them in their luggage, and the company could have busted them back in Chicago when they were signing off their rosters. But then I had another thought.
” ‘Yvonne,’ I said, ‘Your union offices are in Chicago, so are your union lawyers. Way down where the buffalo roam you’re on your own. That’s if you should happen to need some urgent help for any reason.’
“Yvonne kind of cocked her head on one side and asked me if I knew anything for sure. And, me, I put on my Sergeant Schultz accent: ‘Lady, I know nothing . . . nothing.’ Then I went back to doing what I was being paid to do, flying the airplane . . .
“Another round, Gloria . . . ?
“Sure, I’m trying to get you drunk . . . There’s this great beach I can take you to where all the ladies go topless — and, brother have you got the wherewithal to go without a top . . .”
“Tucson? What happened at Tucson? Well, I’m not often wrong but I was right again. That son of a bitch Greenmont was waiting there, right in the airport terminal with a couple of security guys, a deputy sheriff and a company lawyer. They pounced on the girls’ luggage like they expected the bags to be full of dope or gold bars or something. And, boy, did those guys get an earful from Yvonne and the others when they didn’t even find a company issue tissue. Kay asked the company lawyer for his card and told him her lawyers would be in touch, then she turned around and demanded the names and addresses and phone numbers of the deputy and the security guards. They didn’t want to tell her but I told Greenmont that either she got the goon squad’s details or I’d declare the plane unsafe to fly. Which meant that by the time it had been checked out the relieving crew would have missed their slot into Atlanta. And then there’d be headaches up and down the company chain of command as they rescheduled connections across half the country. So Greenmont crumpled up and told his bad ass gang to do what Yvonne wanted. . . .
“No, you’re right, Gloria, it didn’t do me a lot of good with W and W. I often wish I’d thought to wipe that note about Greenmont off the whiteboard before I left the flight center, but I didn’t. Still, I guess all that happened was that I retired a couple of years earlier than I might otherwise have done. And even that was worth it to see the look on Greenmont’s face when he hauled out a pair of scarlet crotchless panties from Yvonne’s suitcase. He went almost as red as the panties and Yvonne — well, she looked at me and, sad to say, I must have had the same sort of expression on my face as Greenmont had on his. He was hoping to catch her red handed but not as much as I was dreaming of catching her red knickered. Of course I wondered who the lucky guy was she was carrying the hot pants around for and I cordially hoped the bastard would get a sudden attack of terminal prick droop, but that was the excitement over. Greenmont was left looking for a rock to crawl under and I was entertaining the hope that one of those fortunate four females would do the decent thing by her captain and let him fu — er, enjoy her favors. What the hell, I’d saved their jobs, was that too much to ask? Don’t worry, Gloria, you needn’t give me a legal opinion, it was a rhetorical question.
“How about a rum cocktail this time? You need lots of vitamins down here where the nights are always hot and steamy. And maybe you’d better take a grip on the bar there, girl, you must be getting drunk, you keep going out of focus on me . . .
“What thanks did I get in Tucson? Nothing, zero, zilch, that was what I got. You know, Gloria, I had an English grandmother who used to say that kind words never buttered any parsnips. Yeah, well, I heard a lot of kind words that night but nobody offered to butter my parsnip, that was for sure. Slam-click to the power of four, that was the bottom line.
“Anyway, next day, we doing the second day in the three day schedule. Hops and stops all over the south west and I’m on the last leg of the day into Southern California. I’ve taken the bird up to cruising altitude, I’ve told the passengers where the plane is going, just in case Superman is on board and he wants to get out and fly someplace else, I’ve turned on the dead dog switch and I’m waiting for my coffee. And then that goddamned blonde with the big ass arrives and asks me to come back to the galley for a moment. She’s smiling and I’m a seriously pissed pilot. It’s not enough I save these bitches’ jobs without even one of them stepping up to the plate afterwards to play ball, now they even want me to fetch my own coffee. I figure it’s about time I let them know who’s Captain on this plane. But when I get to the fo’ard galley all four of the attendants are in there, something I couldn’t understand. Until Yvonne tells me that they’ve had a talk together about what happened in Tucson and they want to give me a sporting chance at a big reward. What was going to happen was that the girls were going to put up the four toilet seats in the plane before we landed and if I could land the 727 down without knocking any of the lids down, then all four of the stews would give me a blow job at the hotel that night.
“Gloria, I was holding a cup of coffee in my hand when Yvonne came out with this and I damned near spilled it all over me. Well, I did get a couple of drops on my shirt and suddenly I’ve got these four woman with paper towels all around me and stroking me and blowing in my ear and I’m looking over their heads and the passengers on a row on either side are watching all this, wide eyed, and every last one of them is a nun. Honest to God nuns, if you’ll pardon the phrase, with those head coverings and long black dresses and they’re watching their pilot getting sexed up by the entire cabin crew and for the first time in my life I’m pushing women away from me . . .
“What the hell are you laughing at, Gloria? Well, OK, I guess maybe it is kind of funny when I think back on it. But I knew I had to get out of there and get my mind on the job. And then I yelped like a puppy that’s getting a noseful of its own crap as a toilet lesson.
“‘You bitches’, I said, ‘You bitches! This is Craystown we’re talking about here!’
“I was as mad as hell because I’d suddenly realized what a con job this all was. See, Gloria, Craystown is a horrible airport. The normal approach can’t be used there because it’s blocked off by a range of mountains. The only way you can get in is to slide down the hills like you’re travelling on cables like a ski lift, and while that’s happening you’re skimming over and past hotels close enough to look into the top rooms. And then, when you get to the runway, you can’t land where you’d normally land. You have to pull the nose of the plane up, keep flying down the centerline, drop the wheels behind what they call a ‘displaced threshold’, then slam into reverse thrust, lift your spoilers and put the wheel brakes hard on. Ask any commercial pilot the worst place in the country to try and make a featherweight landing and every one of them would nominate Craystown. And, of course, Yvonne and her crew knew that as well as I did. Indian givers . . !
“Another drink? Yeah sure. As long as you don’t forget which hotel you’re staying at. Be a hell of a shame if you had to stay here overnight, hey? My wife? Which one . . . doesn’t matter, they’ve all moved on now anyway. There’s just me and the bar and my yacht and the Cessna out at the airport. Want to come flying some time? You haven’t seen coral reefs until you’ve seen them from the air.
“Anyway, let me tell you the crazy part of this story. I swear it’s true though. First off, I went back for a leak halfway through the trip and all these nuns were grinning and smiling at me. There must have been a dozen of them, a dozen flying nuns and as I went into the john one of them called out. ‘Mind you leave the seat up, Captain’. The another one called out: ‘Don’t worry, we’re all praying for a smooth landing’. And she looked about twenty and had a face like an angel underneath that wimple or dimple or whatever the hell they call it. Christ, yes, one of the attendants must have explained to them about the scene in the galley and they were loving the deal. Me, I’d never been so embarrassed in my life . . . I mean, what other pilot has ever found himself getting razzed by a bunch of raunchy nuns when he goes for a piss?
“Here, grab hold of my hand, Gloria, before you fall off that seat from laughing. Yeah, maybe it sounds funny but at the time I was trying to figure out what would happen if this story got as far as the Vatican. Maybe I’d be the first pilot ever to be grounded by the Pope. It looked like even God was against me. Until the tower at Craystown gave me the local weather. Would you believe it, a forty knot headwind right down he middle of the runway. For the first time ever, Gloria, I really believed in the power of prayer. A gale of wind right down my throat would cut my ground speed way and hell back. That meant I could use full flap and if I was as good as I knew I was I could land that bird at just over a hundred knots as softly a piece of belly button lint dropping onto a jelly. Forty knots, headwind, God love us all. You could fly into that airport for years and never have that kind of weather working for you.
“Did I make a good landing? With that kind of wind, and all those flying nuns back there praying for me and the thought of being orally stimulated by Ms Yvonne Page? Gloria, it was the best landing of my career. There’s never been a smoother landing at Craystown since the Navy stopped flying airships back there in 1948. Lady, you’ve hit that silk blouse of yours harder with an iron than I hit the runway that day. Even I wasn’t sure exactly when we went from flying to rolling. Then I was pickling on the brakes as gently as if I was getting a chance to stroke Dolly Parton’s tits and even with the door closed I could hear those nuns back there cheering me and I was wondering who was going to get to hear their confessions afterwards. What’s that, Gloria . . .?
“No, I don’t know what the rest of the passengers thought. I do know my co-pilot was baffled by it all and pissed again because I’d taken the landing instead of letting him do it. Anyway there was no arguing about who was handling the 727 on the ground. Co-pilots get to fly some of the time but only the captain is allowed to touch that little old steering wheel connected to the nose wheel. Especially with those toilet seats still up and with somebody having to keep them that way until we’d stopped.
“I turned off that runway about as carefully as if I’d got a rattlesnake asleep in my lap. I crawled along the taxiways cursing every lousy contractor who’d ever left a concrete ripple in any of them, and I could hear Yvonne and another attendant in the front jump seats giggling at each other, even with the cockpit door closed. Oh yeah, and the guy in the ramp tower is telling me to get the lead out. So screw him as well. Then I saw our ramp agent up ahead of us, waving his flashlight to bring us alongside the concourse. I crept towards him about as slowly as a 727 has ever travelled anywhere, anytime, and the agent was waving his arms like a referee giving a touch down signal and I knew he was wondering if this plane is ever going to get parked up. Well, screw him too. When I finally parked the 727 alongside the concourse I would have made a snail eating a cabbage leaf look like a hit and run driver. I’d aged about a year in one landing, I’d sweated off pounds in stress but I thought there was a good chance those toilet seats might still be up.
“So, I went back and those goddamn nuns were still there and grinning at me– I thought I was going to have to call in a security squad to drag them off the plane. Whatever, not one of them moved an inch as that bitch Yvonne opened the john doors and showed me the seats, smiling all over her face. I nearly fainted — each one, all four of them, had been secured up with strips of scotch tape. ‘We were going to do it anyway,’ she said to me, “We never thought you could make a soft landing here and we just wanted to make you sweat for it a little. But as soon as I bought the tape dispenser out of the galley some of the good sisters grabbed it. They’ve been scuttling in and out of the toilet spaces taping the seats up right up until we began the descent . . . can you believe that?”
“I could hardly believe a word of it, Gloria. I could have slam dunked that goddamned 727 onto the tarmac and the bloody toilet seats would still have stayed up. And then this chief nun, or whatever, the eldest one anyway, she gets the others moving out like she’s a Marine Gunnery Sergeant giving orders and as she leaves she turns around and smiles at me and says: “Captain, I never really knew what they meant by flying the friendly skies until today. Thank you for a very interesting trip . . .
“Sure, what’s the question, honey . . . ?
“What’s a dead dog switch? I thought you’d never ask. It’s the switch that turns on the heaters in the cargo compartment. It costs a lot of money to run them but if you need to — well, it’s real bad news if some passenger comes to collect fido or pussy and all you’ve got for them is a furry popsicle. Public relationswise, you’d be better off crashing the plane and burning the passengers than freezing a hold full of pets to death. Which brings us to the question of switches in general. See, I turn this switch here and those metal shutters at the windows roll down. This switch here, that turns on some subdued lighting and gets the romantic music whispering right along. And this switch here, that locks the door and illuminates the ‘bar closed’ sign — now we can’t be disturbed . . . ”
“Why? Well, I figure I’ve got already got all the customers I need in here already — any more would be a crowd . . .
“The police? Sure, you can call the cops, except they’ll be on their siesta time right now. And I hear they’ve already used up their government gas allowance for this month and it’s a long way to walk out here from the town. So why not leave then in peace and let me ply you with free booze in return for some cheap thrills? I mean, come on, counselor, a gal with a body like yours must have dreamed at some time or another of doing a striptease in a tropical bar in front a appreciative audience — and, I give you my word, I’d certainly appreciate it. After all, who lets a few pieces of material get in the way of a great friendship?
“OK, so think about it. Here, have another drink while you’re deciding. And no, the name is Four Johns Johnson, not four flusher Johnson. I mean, this is a fair deal, right? I entertain you with a story, you entertain me with anything that naturally comes to hand. Like Yvonne and the other girls did . . . ”
“Sure, I’d be happy to tell you, but if only I could be encouraged by that top button coming undone . . . even from here I can some serious cleavage . . . Yes, honey, that button right there . . . now, isn’t that cooler . . . no, hotter? You’d better keep going then. . . .
“Yeah, they came to my hotel room almost as soon as they could after we’d checked in. I’d had a shower, put on a robe and I was looking at the TV without any idea of what I was actually seeing while I was trying to work out how serious Yvonne and the girls had been. Maybe it was all a big joke after all. Then there was a knock on the door and there they were, walking into my room, all four of them. ‘I thought you might prefer it if we were still had our uniforms on,’ Yvonne said. ‘Is that all right? And did you want us all together, or did you want to make different times like a dentist? Shall I pour out some drinks, captain, while you’re thinking about it?’
“So imagine me standing there and watching these girls making themselves drinks and they’ve got their company uniforms on with the pleated skirts and stiff white shirts and dark stockings and they’re smiling at me and I’m feeling like I’ve just stepped out into the passenger cabin with nothing but a short robe on and the plane is still full of nuns. Incidentally, Gloria, the view with that top button undone is great . . . how about that next one as well . . . and I’ll just turn on the overhead fan so the breeze can go all the way down there . . . Where was I? . . . Oh sure . . .”
“Then Yvonne started introducing the others to me. The blonde was Anne, and she had a turned up nose and real bright blue eyes and all that short fair hair teased out in different directions, and she was real cute. Then there was Caddie and she was a short plump little homebody with glasses — a real PTA type. I couldn’t believe she was a volunteer to go down on some strange guy. She seemed more likely to want to knit me a cardigan. Funny thing was though, somebody had given my John Thomas a friendly squeeze in that crush in the galley and Caddie had been the closest to him at the time. But it was hard to tell which of them had made the low pass . . . And then last and certainly not least was Jill. Jill was black, she wearing pearl earstuds and a pearl necklace, she was laughing a lot and she had a pair of tits underneath her jacket — well, how the hell she got her life jacket on over them for the ditching drills at the training pool, I don’t know. Maybe the safety instructor just figured she could float forever with what nature had already given her . . .
“My God, Gloria that’s a push up bra you’ve got there and it has to be a D, it has to be. Lady, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a pair of cups so overflowing with the milk of human kindness — well, OK, as near to human as a lawyer can be. Say, is that a front hook I see before me? You wouldn’t care to lean forward just a little here, would you? Just to see if I’ve still got the knack of undoing those things . .
“Did I have any better lines at the hotel? To be honest, honey, it wasn’t my greatest moment as a lover. If you’d said I was a bit frightened of that line up it wouldn’t have been a total lie. It was Yvonne who got things started. She told me to go into the bedroom and lie down — without the robe. So I did and I was lying there stark naked as the four women come in and stood around me. Then Jill, the black lady, she began undoing the buttons down the front of her shirt and then the others all started doing the same thing as well, even homebody Caddie . . .
“No, that’s it, not another word unless you lean forward and let me try my luck on that hook . . . come on, honey — have a holiday to remember. Come on, come to daddy . . . got it, first try. Oh God, they’re so beautiful . . . here we go with a tip for the bar staff . . . one here . . . and one here . . . hmmmm . . . Gloria, how about pouring yourself another drink, seeing as I have my hands full right now . . . The story . . . ? Sure, sure.
“So, there was my entire cabin crew, undoing the tops of their skirts and taking off those crisp white shirts, and I’m looking down the barrels of four bras. Jill had one with big white cups, a real heavy duty job, which I guessed she needed, and the blonde had a lemon colored C outfit with plenty of cleavage showing. Yvonne was showing off a real sexy push up number, a red one and I suddenly wondered if she had on those red panties I’d seen at Tucson and that was enough to start getting me stiff. Caddie started giggling first, I remember that. She was just wearing an ordinary every day white bra but she was as plump up front as she was everywhere else and they had to be CC . . . I said something like: You gals really are grateful to me, then?’ And they grinned at me and Yvonne said I’d find out how grateful they were for still having their jobs . . .
“Hey, Gloria, if you were to stand up on the bar rail, I could plant a little kiss right on these two hot little nipples of yours . . . that’s it, higher, higher — good enough . . . hold it there and brrr . . . hey, what a taste . . .
“Yeah, well, Yvonne picked up her purse and opened it. She said their name tags were inside and I was to take them out and that was going to be the pecking order — yeah, that was what she said. The first girl I drew, that was the first one to start with me and every time I clicked my fingers, that meant changeover time. I could have anything I wanted, but a fuck was an optional extra. I only got one of those if the lady agreed to it. But that was the challenge, to see if I could get any of them so turned on they’d fuck with me with all the others watching the action. So, I put my hand in the purse and got out a name tag and it was Jill’s that came out first, then Caddie’s, then Yvonne’s and then Anne’s. And I’m like still trying to believe this was happening and then Jill hitched up her skirt and knelt down on the end of the bed and snapped her bra straps. ‘With or without?’ she asked me and I said “Without’ like my throat was full of concrete, and Yvonne got in back of Jill and undid her bra and Jill slid it off and . . .God!
“You know, what, Gloria, I’ve always had this urge, whenever I’ve seen a girl in one of flight uniforms, to rub my fingers around the backs of their knees, just below the hem of the skirt. And the strange thing was, even with that fantastic pair of titties right there, I wanted to do that to Jill. So I had her kneel down across her chest with her back to me and I rubbed her at the back of her knees while she gave me a gentle hand job. Then I reached up and grabbed her boobs and they were so big I felt I had a pair of bolsters in my hands. Maybe they were too big, not like yours here . . .
“Put you down, honey? Sure — just unfasten the top of your shorts and push them down below the top of the bar. I want to see if you’re a natural blonde. Of course I’ll let you sit down again afterwards, as long as you’re naked down to your knees . . . OK, take as long as you like to make up your mind and I’ll just give you a little bite here . . . yeah . . . and another one here . . . just while I tell the story . . .
“So, then I clicked my fingers because I still didn’t think that Caddie would even let me touch her and I wanted to find out what would happen. And the next thing I knew she was lying on the bed on her stomach with her hand around my shaft and licking up and down it. What was more, she was fluttering her eyelids at me through those glasses like a houri in a harem and I suddenly realized that if there’s one girl in this crowd who seems willing to have her pussy pounded in front of one and all, it’s little homemaker Caddie . . . so I told her to stand up and get her panties off because I’m going to sixty nine her next time. Then I had Anne sit on my chest and facing me as she took her bra off while I massaged the backs of her knees. I managed to get my hands up underneath her tight skirt as far as that swell ass while she was holding her nipples out for me to suck. And there was Yvonne standing there watching all this and I’m thinking it’s taken about five minutes and I haven’t even touched her yet and already the scene is as wild as some kind of a Roman orgy . . . it was true, it was totally true, these woman had me marked down as somebody they all owed a real big favor to. . .
“Hey, if I stand to the side here, Gloria, you can watch yourself in the bar mirror as you pull down your shorts. Yeah, that’s it, shorts first and then your panties afterwards. Pretend you’re being auditioned as a stripper . . . yeah, that’s right, you’re going to be a stripper and now you’re pushing the waistband of those shorts all the way down your legs . . . that’s pretty good. You’ve never been a stripper . . . or maybe a playboy bunny, or something like that . . .? Yeah, you’ve got the talent to be a cockteaser. Like Yvonne . . .
“No, she didn’t tease me that time. I got her to take off her skirt and she was wearing those crotchless cami-knickers and I suggested she kneel down by my side. That way I could hold her hair with one hand and make sure she swallowed everything she could while I got my fingers into her cunt. And Anne, cute little blonde Anne, she produced a huge vibrator out of her purse and began running it around Yvonne’s nipples and then along her pussy when I took my hand away . . . And there was nose-in-the-air stockbroker Yvonne writhing around with her pink ass cheeks high up in the air instead of her nose and going down on me like a tigress killing a deer . . . then Caddie put a rubber on me and rolled it down with her mouth, her and Jill taking turn and turn about with Yvonne. If God wants me to spend eternity like that it’ll be the next best thing to flying . . .
“OK, Gloria, now those cute little white panties. All the way down until you can see your cunt hairs in the mirror . . . no need to be shy, all I have to do is to squeeze just a little bit harder and you’ll want to do it . . . good girl. Just think, of all the bars in all the world you’re going to get fucked in mine . . .”
“Which of the stews did I fuck first . . ? I haven’t said yet that I fucked any of them. But I did. I had them all kneel down in a row on the bed while I went up and down the line snapping my fingers. Every time I snapped them the next girl on the list had to get her ass way up while I tongued her, gave her the length of the vibrator, and then followed through with a few strokes of my cock to keep her steamed up. God, it was hard work but it was fun. I couldn’t resist having Jill first though, not when I’d finally got myself comfortably fitted in behind her. I’d managed to get her positioned in front of a mirror so I could see those huge brown tits wobbling more and more the harder I fucked her, and I got completely fascinated with watching them, seeing if there was any way I could get them swinging in counter rotating circles . I couldn’t though, so I got the other girls to grab hold of them and try it but they kept giggling and fooling around. Anne wouldn’t do it though, and I was kind of surprised because I’d marked her down as the hottest one of the bunch despite appearances. But then she broke the rules by kneeling down behind me and licking my balls even though I was still busy with Jill. Still, she was the next on the list anyway . . .
“Hey, you’re a cheat, Gloria. Some of your hair is dyed and I don’t think it’s this patch down her. Let’s see if any comes off on my fingers . . . no, I think this is the natural stuff. Talking of cheating, where’s your partner . . . yeah? And how long have you been on the island on your own? Only one day . . . then I hope you’ll recommend us to your travel agent as an exciting destination . . . that’s right, put your hands on my shoulders as I have a mouthful of tit here . . . and here. Standing on tiptoe on the bar rail is uncomfortable? No problem, lean forward, all the way . . . that’s right, with those lovely tits hanging down on my side of the bar. Jees, Gloria, do you look good in that position — you’ve really been called to the bar now. So, if I just unzip my pants and get close to you like this, you can open your mouth and make an opening address, right . . . Yeah, right. And don’t forget, the door switch is here at my hand. If I move it the doors will open and I suppose one or two of the usual guys will come wandering in. If they find you like this, ass up and briefs down, there might be a queue forming to take advantage of your services, pro bono and certainly pro bone. That’s the way, Gloria, you’re trying very well. Just keep sucking and pretend it’s a ripe mango. Old, maybe, but still ripe.
“You know how I motivated myself after I’d finished with Jill? I got a heavy steel ruler out of my flight bag and gave it to her, then I had the other girls lean over the back of a couch while Jill gave them some slaps on their rumps with the ruler. Then I’d go down the line and give each of them a suck of my cock while Jill partnered me on the other side of the couch with the vibrator. Hell, I never expected the batteries to last as long as they did . . . it would have made a great TV ad for Duracell . . . God, Gloria, that’s great. Now open your mouth wider and move it faster.
“In case you’re wondering, yes, I screwed all four of them. Yvonne was great but Caddie made the most noise and I’d have to say that Anne had the tightest cunt. As for Jill, I’ve never seen a rack that swung quite as free and wide . . . The girls made me book off sick at 0200 that morning. They said I wouldn’t be in a fit state to fly come dawn and they were surely right about that . . . good luck, ladies, and thanks for the memories. . . . ahh . . . God, Gloria, this is it . . . I’m coming, coming . . . happy landings, kid . . .
THE END