The hunk left us alone to argue silently in our seats.
“He’s into you,” Jill told me.
“He’s gay,” I said.
“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“Have you ever met a male flight attendant who wasn’t?” I asked.
“I’ve never met a male flight attendant,” she replied. “Or any flight attendant for that matter. What, are they like vampires and only come out at night or something?”
“I’ve met male flight attendants,” Ben said as he raised the roof, pumping one fist into the air.
“It’s kind of like lottery winners,” Jill continued, kind of speaking to herself at this point. “Someone wins the lottery like every week, meaning there’s a new millionaire in town…every week. So how have I never met one? I would so fuck the shit out of a lottery winner.”
“Don’t you have that…uh…” I tried to remember the name of the gay satellite positioning system. “…GPS,” I said finally snapping my fingers as I got it.
“GPS?” Ben asked, his eyebrows furled.
“Gaydar!” Jill said excitedly with a pointed finger, like she’d just located Ben’s gaydar system and it was sitting on the bridge of his nose.
“Ohhhh,” Ben said, lighting up with excitement. “But no…you’d think…but no. My gaydar has been broken since…well, since birth I suppose. It’s gotten me into some serious trouble.”
“You’re totally useless,” I said. “I need a fully loaded gay best friend, not the hatchback, sporty version. Anyway, I’m sticking with the hunk being gay.”
“No way,” Jill said.
“I’m on the fence and hoping he falls my way,” Ben said.
“Let’s bet then,” Jill suggested.
Giving Jill a challenge is never a good idea. Soon she was pushing the button above our heads, calling Mr. Hunk our way. He didn’t show up. Instead, an older lady with red, Chia Pet hair came over to us, looking slightly aggravated.
Please don’t bring that attitude our way because my friend here will…
“No. No. Not you. Where’s the really handsome guy?” Jill piped in, fully supporting my preconceived concerns.
The woman, her nametag said Shirley, rolled her eyes. We weren’t the first passengers to request him specifically.
“He was moved to coach,” Shirley informed us.
“Can you trade places with him?” Jill asked.
Shirley chuckled. “No, I’m sorry.”
Whatever happened to the customer is always right? Or the customer always gets what she wants? I think both are used right? Why not, the customer always gets the hot stud flight attendant when she wants him?
Ben put a hand on Jill’s thigh, his silent request for her to shut up. I looked over at her and glared, adding my quiet plea.
“Hmm,” Jill said.
And I feared what would come next.
“Jill, we’re on vacation, remember?” I said. “Happy thoughts.”
“Okay,” Jill said, taking a deep breath. “Well, when you get the chance, Shirley, can you please let the smokin’ hot flight attendant in coach know that the sexy chick in…”
Jill looked at me and I knew what she wanted. She couldn’t remember her seat number.
“5-F,” I reminded her.
“The sexy chick in 5-F would like to screw his brains out? Please?”
My hand went to my eyes, shielding them from Shirley’s reaction. I couldn’t believe Jill. She’s always been a little bit crazy, but a little bit. This was like the cup spilith over kinda crazy.
Or is it runneth over?
Oh who gives a shit, the cup fucking got knocked over and all her crazy came splashing out.
When I removed the hand from my eyes, Shirley was gone.
“And that was your plan?” I asked. “Jill, you’re out of your mind.”
“Look, if he’s straight he’ll find his way back up here. If he’s gay, he won’t.”
Right, because every straight hunk wants to fuck the psycho whore in 5-F.
And according to Jill’s assumption, the hunk was gay. He never made his way back to first class.
We exited the plane, retrieved our bags, and headed out to the curb to catch our hotel shuttle. We weren’t the only ones. The airport sidewalk was jam packed with horny recent high school grads and college summer escapees.
Highlights were in fashion. It was like a kaleidoscope of blondes and brunettes with black, blonde, red, green, purple, or blue highlights. And I had the feeling if I shook any of them I’d hear the grainy sound a kaleidoscope makes when shaken. These young chicks would all be getting fucked on this trip.
Sluts.
How hypocritical of me, right? Whatever.
Every young blonde reminds me of the young chick my ex cheated on me with. Anyone under the age of 20 is a slut.
We, who are older, are what I like to call…ravenous. We’re starved and just looking for our fill. The young chicks need to get in line!
And as they stood in line waiting for the shuttle, the guys all hovering around them already seemed drunk. Most wore flip flops and tank tops.
Tattoos told of each of their tribes. Some were religious enough to sport crosses while also wearing gangster-rap quotes like “ride or die” and “only God can judge me.”
“That’s our shuttle,” Ben said, as if we hadn’t already spotted the hotel logo on its side.
“Ride or die,” Jill said as she spotted the owner of that ingenious tattoo. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“No more challenges, Jill,” I said.
“Bitch, we’re in Cancun,” she reminded me. “It’s all challenges from here on out.”
“My Cancun conquest,” I said.
Maybe I’ll hook up with one of these guys in line. Maybe not. Maybe…maybe…maybe.
As I stared at the line of young guys in front of me and noticed the outlines of some of their big college cocks beneath their shorts, I felt the memory of Braden fading away. I remembered the power of MAYBE and was ready to finally kick this trip into high gear.
Act 2 – The Setting
I was a tigress on the hunt in a tight orange dress, maybe too tight for my figure, but I wanted to own it. I rocked a hot ass and killer boobs and the guys were going to notice tonight. The black bracelet snapped to my wrist was the perfect tiger stripe and its white letters told of which club we’d visit on our first night in town.
Jill’s dress was tighter than mine and she’d gone braless. Her perfect-handful tits with their forever-hard nipples were firm beneath the white fabric. I could even make out the round shape of her areolas.
I can’t lie. Jill was a turn on. My girl was definitely attractive and I know if I had a penis it would’ve been hard. But since I was able to think with my brain, and not my Johnson, I settled on simply admiring her beauty.
“You’re so getting taken advantage of tonight,” I warned.
“There’s no taking advantage of this bitch,” Jill replied. “I do the taking advantage of.”
“Bitches,” Ben called out as he entered our room, in a tight black suit with a tighter blue shirt visible through the unbuttoned jacket front.
Isn’t it amazing how only your friends can call you a bitch and get away with it?
A drive-thru attendant who’s messed up your order? Hell no.
The guy you just cut in front of in line at the supermarket? Bitch slap waiting to happen.
A lover, a boyfriend, a husband…no, none of the above (not unless they’re pulling your hair and slapping your ass WHILE YOU’VE AGREED to play dirty).
But a best friend? A bitch who’s seen your boobs, smelled your farts (yes, guys, we fart too), and shared burnt Pillsbury cookies with you while you polish off a bottle of red wine?
Absolutely!
Ben was one of those friends, one of the girls, and at the moment he’d stepped up behind Jill and had bent her over, pretending to do her from behind. She went along with it rubbing her ass against him.
She sprang up and wrapped her arms around him. “I love you, Benny.”
“She’s being too nice,” Ben said as he looked my way. “What has she been drinking?”
I pointed at the dresser where a bottle of cheap tequila sat. She’d polished off a quarter of the bottle. But if anyone could hold her liquor, it was Jill. I’d seen her drink everyone under the table, from sailors to truck drivers to bartenders. The night was still young.
The line at the club was long, but those with the special bracelets were waved through rather quickly. We entered to find the biggest crowd of partygoers I’d ever seen. I’m not really a nightclub kind of girl. I prefer a chill bar where I can actually hear my friends over the music. This was definitely not one of those places.
This was a semi-clothed orgy. Girls danced on platforms and swirled around stripper poles wearing next to nothing.
Guys grinded up against girls, girls grinded up against girls, and guys grinded up against guys. People of all ethnicities and all shapes and sizes were thrashing around to the loud techno music that pumped from the speakers.
From where we stood I could see the DJ with his backwards ball cap, his sunglasses, and his one hand on an earphone while the other played with the mixer. His grey hoodie looked bright blue in the neon lights.
The lights made the dance floor look freaky. Lipstick was amplified to a whole new level giving the ladies a cartoon-like quality. Blonde hair looked yellow. My orange dress looked amazing, Jill’s white dress looked blue, and Ben’s black suit looked kind of linty.
“I so hope I’ve never gotten any come on these pants,” Ben shouted.
I laughed and it was the last thing I heard over the music. As soon as we descended the steps into the crowd of epileptic dancers my head began to thrum along to the music.
“This is insane!” I yelled.
Jill mouthed the word, “What?”
“I said this is insane!”
“What?”
I suddenly felt completely alone in a crowd full of people. It was kind of like wearing headphones with the music cranked up. I walked along to the beat but it was a beat of my own. Jill and Ben looked perfectly at home. They pulled me onto the dance floor and we created a circle.
Or I guess that would be a triangle.
Don’t ask me what songs played. It was a mix of police sirens, car alarms, and futuristic sounds. I’m sure people were making up moves as they went along because surely squatting down and hammering your fist against the ground can’t be a well-thought out plan.
Spur of the moment, right?
A waitress walked over and handed us glow sticks that cost a dollar each. I took one, not sure exactly why I’d need a glow stick, but at that point I just wanted to fit in and have a good time. Jill and Ben waved their bright new toys around expertly, looking like whirlwinds of neon light.
“I need a drink!” I yelled.
Nobody heard me. But a waitress showed up suddenly with a tray of test tubes filled with different neon-colored drinks—my fairy alcoholic godmother. She looked at my bracelet, nodded, and handed me one.
Now this is cool.
I threw my head back and downed the drink. She handed me another and I downed it. And another and another. I tried every color and they were all amazing.
For a moment I forgot it was alcohol I was chugging. It didn’t burn. It was just a variety of sweet and fruity flavors, like a blurred-vision inducing bowl of Fruit Loops.
I would never be able to order any of it at a bar because I had no fucking clue what I was drinking but it was nice to let loose and have a good time.
Jill and Ben were doing the same and before I knew it, I was jumping up and down with them, holding their hands, my boobs bouncing all over the place and my spirits soaring even higher.
It was awesome!
I was sweating and drinking and sweating and drinking. I lost track of time on the dance floor. I’d never been to a place where you don’t even have to leave the dance floor to have a drink.
I didn’t have to go to a bar to order something and I didn’t have to pay or tip or turn down guys who were buying them for me. It was just dance and drink. It was exhilarating…and oh so dangerous.
My heart thudded in my chest. I was having so much fun. Ben was grinding up against me, shoving his ass against me as if expecting to find a penis there.
I don’t have a penis, Ben. How funny would that be if I had a penis? Everyone should have a penis. That would be fucking hilarious…wait, how many drinks have I had?
Suddenly the world seemed a bit fuzzy. Everything was odd. Especially when I saw Jill and Ben making out.
Geez, how many drinks have they had?
“…ound you,” screamed a voice in my ear.
I knew I was pretty intoxicated but hearing a voice in my ear that I didn’t recognize was really strange. I remember my first thought was, “Where the fuck did he come from?” and my second thought was, “and how did he get in my ear?”
Then I felt a hand on my hip. At least I think it was supposed to touch my hip but it traveled a bit too far and the fingertips touched the soft spot between my thigh and my pussy. I jumped, feeling shocked and slightly afraid but strangely excited at the same time.
“Braden?” I asked as I glanced over my shoulder.
It wasn’t Braden and thinking back, I’m glad nobody could hear me say such a stupid, hopelessly hopeful thing over the blaring music. It wasn’t Braden at all. It was the hunky flight attendant from earlier.
Holy shit. He looks divine. Like a slice of cheesecake when you first find out you’re lactose intolerant.
“Remember me?” he asked.
I nodded.
I don’t know how I could suddenly hear over the music, but I could. My ears had either adjusted or the DJ had lowered the volume. Perfect timing.
The hunk grabbed my hand and pulled me away, leading me over to the bar. The stools were full so we found a spot off to the side. He leaned against the bar, looking magnificent, like the steamy blond surfer guy on the cover of a romance novel. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned a couple of buttons, showing off his solid chest.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
I don’t think I would’ve asked so many stupid questions if I’d been sober but the alcohol was making me numb, and truth be told, I needed to pee.
I know, shitty timing, right?
This guy was so hot that I should’ve been instantly wet and there I was trying not to be instantly wet. I bit my lip to stave off my nagging bladder.
“This is my town,” he said. “I fly this route all the time. It’s my favorite place to be LAID over.”
Is it just me or did he put extra emphasis on the word “laid”?
The music stopped and the silence was insanely loud. I felt dizzy and I grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling over. Mr. Hunk must’ve noticed because he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close to him. Without preparation, I was in his arms, and it was nice and warm.
The music went back to its original volume and I could feel the floor beneath my feet move with each pound of the bass.
I knew my face was red. I could feel it burning so I kept my gaze on the dance floor hoping he wouldn’t see me blush.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mandy,” I replied with a gasp as he pulled me onto his lap.
He’d apparently found a stool because I was actually sitting on his lap.
And my dress was slightly hiked up.
And he was getting hard.
I could feel his growing erection against my asshole, which was just a little off course and in need of adjusting. Again, if I’d been sober I might not have done this, but I wasn’t so I did.
I actually reached around, grabbed his stiffening cock, and redirected it so that it was right at my pussy.
Okay, give me a second to explain. I had panties on and my dress was there so
it’s not like he penetrated me, but I could feel him really good.
Really really good.
And it was…really good.
I wonder if anyone will notice if I pull him out, slide my panties to the side, and straddle his cock.
Margaritas by Moonlight (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 2 Page 3