The flight attendant had started serving drinks, and since we were in first class, we ought to get the good stuff for free. “Have a drink,” I suggested. “I hate to drink alone.”
Chapter Five
Charley
What Mr. MacCallum—Harry—didn’t realize was that I had stopped feeling anxious about the flight several minutes ago. The fear now paramount in my mind was “What if he recognizes me?”
Granted, it had been a long time ago. And he probably didn’t want to remember. He had been in his first year of teaching and, in retrospect, he must have been pretty green. I mean, what the hell did he think was going to happen if he got caught having sex with one of the other teachers in the high school music room during school hours?
But it had been my fault, or so I’d thought at the time.
I’d had a study hall that period, and I’d wanted to work on a music video that Mom thought I should make for my college applications.
My mom, by the way, was the high school principal. The same mom I was about to spend my nine-day summer vacation with on Grand Cayman. She had a timeshare there.
But back in high school, she’d been my cross to bear. For four miserable years, I’d been stuck in a school run by my mother. This was not a fate I’d wish on any teenager.
She was one of those scary principals, too. Or so I’d heard. Obviously, she wasn’t scary to me. But given that there weren’t many guys in the school who were brave enough to invite me out on a date, I gathered that she’d succeeded in terrifying most of my peer group.
Either that or I just wasn’t considered the fuckable type.
Anyway, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I walked into the music room on that fateful afternoon. I hadn’t even had sex myself then, not real sex, so I was so startled by the sight of Mr. MacCallum’s long, glistening cock punching rapidly in and out of the music teacher’s wide open mouth. I still remember how thick that penis was and the indentations in Ms. Jenkins’ cheeks as she sucked for all she was worth.
I squealed. Not as in running to my mother’s office to report, but as in making a loud, high-pitched sound. They were so wrapped up in it that I’m not sure they even heard me, but Mrs. O’Connnell did.
The high school’s fearsome chemistry teacher must have been walking by the music room as I backed out into the hall. I slammed right into her. I was making inarticulate sounds of surprise, jealousy, and utter embarrassment.
“What’s the matter with you, girl?” Mrs. O’Connell asked, shaking me by the shoulders. She was something of a battle-axe, known for giving a lot of detentions and wading right in anytime a fight needed to be broken up.
I should have been able to come up with an answer. But I couldn’t. My mind had gone numb, and all I could think of was Bad Prince Harry’s cock.
“Well?” Mrs. O’Connell demanded, as I fumbled for words. She was no idiot. She must have figured from my shocked expression that something was Going On. So she pushed past me and barged into the music room, where Mr. MacCallum and Ms. Jenkins were, according to her outraged testimony, just completing The Act.
The next thing I knew, I was being grilled in Mom’s office along with Mrs. O’Connell and the embarrassed Ms. Jenkins and the pissed-off Mr. MacCallum. When I insisted that I hadn’t seen anything, I was blushing so much that they all knew I was lying.
But it hardly mattered, because Mrs. O’Connell had seen.
Mr. MacCallum and Ms. Jenkins were doomed. Surprisingly fast, too. I suspect my mother was even more appalled at what her daughter had “been exposed to” than by the teachers’ indiscretion, but both of them were gone before the end of the day.
I’d tried to apologize. Mr. MacCallum had been kind of a dick about it, but he probably had reason to be. I was too immature to understand what losing this job might mean to his income and future job prospects. I was just a clueless teenager with a crush. And I was devastated. He’d be leaving and I would never get the chance to make him understand how much I loved him.
“Why did you turn me in?” he’d demanded.
“I didn’t.”
“What kind of prude are you, Miss Pendleton? Haven’t you ever seen a dick before?”
Later I’d thought of a few good responses I might have made to that:
“No, but I’m looking at one now.”
Or
“Never one that small.”
But all I’d managed to do was get choked up and wish I were dead. Mr. MacCallum was out, it was my fault, and he hated me. That was almost enough to ruin my entire senior year.
I could look back on it now with some amusement. I’d been so damn young. And pretty silly to imagine it was my fault if Mr. MacCallum—Harry—had gotten canned for having sex on school grounds.
There was no reason he should remember me. I’d only had him for one class. He’d been fired in the middle of second semester. I’d done well in his class, and he’d even written one of my college recommendations for me, but after he’d been dismissed he’d probably wanted to forget I’d ever existed.
He’d called me a prude.
I’d hated that. In college, I’d done my best to shed my innocent self. You could get a fair amount of sexual experience in college, and I’d thrown myself into this project with verve and determination. No one, I’d decided, would ever have any reason to call me a prude again.
Including Bad Prince Harry.
Chapter Six
Charley
The first class service had started. He had a beer and I ordered a glass of wine, hoping it would calm me down. He continued to chat in his easy, friendly manner. He gave no indication of recognizing me. Thank goodness.
I managed to hold up my end of the conversation as the drinks progressed to a surprisingly good airline meal. Too bad I couldn’t always fly first class! I’d upgraded due to the mileage I’d accumulated in the job I’d held after college graduation—I’d been working in marketing at a software technology company, and I’d had to travel for work.
I’d quit a couple of weeks ago, though. Instead, I’d procured a job doing what I’d originally planned to do after college.
“I’m about to start a new job,” I told him when he asked what I did for a living.
“Yeah? Good for you. What’re you gonna be doing?”
“Teaching high school,” I said, hoping that wouldn’t spark any memory spikes in his brain. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I’d become a teacher because of Mr. MacCallum. When he wasn’t busy chasing after all the female teachers in the school, he’d been very inspiring.
“Seriously? That’s what I used to do.”
He didn’t teach anymore? I felt a wave of guilt. He’d been such a great teacher. Had he given it up because of what had happened that day?
“What do you do now?”
He shrugged. “This and that. What are you teaching?”
This and that? Had his entire career been ruined that day? Oh jeez, I felt even worse.
“English. I trained to do it, but I’ve been working in software marketing for the past two years. It wasn’t for me, though.” And then, probably because I felt guilty, I added, “I had a really incredible teacher back in high school. That was what made me want to go into education myself.”
“Hey, that’s great. We need more good teachers in our schools.” He was looking at me with the same come-on gleam in his eyes that I remembered him directing at the female teachers in our school. Sometimes he even put on the charm for the moms who showed up for parent-teacher conferences. He was always on the prowl.
Apparently, that was one detail that hadn’t changed over the years. Bad Prince Harry was flirting with me. So much so that the coach class flight attendant, the one who had moved him to first class cabin, gave me a scowl when she walked by on her way to the forward galley. I wondered if they had a hookup planned for Grand Cayman. Or maybe even for the bathroom during the flight.
I wanted to use what I knew about him to resist his blandishments. But he wasn�
��t obnoxious about it. He didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. He kept up a lively conversation while our meals were served. He asked me more about myself and he seemed genuinely interested in my answers.
He was nice, I thought.
This surprised me. I’m not sure why. I guess I hadn’t thought of him as a real human being back in high school. With the Harley and the leather jacket and the cocky attitude, he’d been that sexy, unavailable object on whom I could project all my fantasies. I’d probably never seen the real Harry.
But now there was something between us. A spark. We were getting along amazingly well. Something was simmering and getting steamier every minute.
Maybe I should confess who I was.
If there had been nothing more to our story than his having been my twelfth grade English teacher, I’d have told him, no problem. We’d probably have both laughed over the coincidence and reminisced about the good old days.
But I had seen him getting a blow job.
No. I couldn’t tell him.
I probably shouldn’t keep chatting with the guy, either. The best thing to do would be to start reading a book on my Kindle—yes, I did have some sexy beach reading with me—or maybe listening to music. We were nothing more than strangers on a plane. The plane would land, hopefully without cracking up, we’d nod politely, separate, and never see each other again.
But I couldn’t really pull out the Kindle while the tray tables were down and there was still wine to consume.
So we kept right on chatting.
Chapter Seven
Charley
Turbulence. Uh-oh. The cabin chime rang and the seatbelt light flashed on. We hit something that sent my stomach down to my knees. The all-too-familiar “The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign,” announcement quickly followed. And soon after, as we rocked wildly up and down, a calm voice from the cockpit informed everyone that we were encountering some turbulence (no shit) but would be altering our flight path to avoid it.
I was glad the tray tables had already been cleared because this was worse turbulence than any I’d previously experienced. The entire plane was shaking, not only up and down but from side to side as well.
In a somewhat sharper tone—in fact, the sharpest tone I had ever heard from one of those glacially cool professional pilots—the captain ordered the flight attendants to take their seats and strap themselves in.
Strap themselves in? I looked at Harry, who gave me a smile. Had he really conquered his own fear of flying? How? I tried to smile in return, but my heart was thudding. “I don’t like this,” I whispered.
“It’s probably a high altitude thunderstorm cell. They’ll divert around it, don’t worry.”
The nose of the plane shot up and we were pressed back in our seats. The angle was steep, considering we were already at cruising altitude. We weren’t going higher, were we? Even Harry frowned as the engines strained and we continued to be tossed around.
And suddenly the overheard panels popped open and the oxygen masks fell down in front of us. Oh my God. This had never happened to me. This had to be bad, didn’t it?
I struggled to remember what to do. I mean, it was obvious what to do…put it over your face and “breathe normally” right? Like I was going to breathe normally when I was about to die?
I felt Harry’s hands on my hair. I looked at him wildly. He already had his oxygen mask on and he was helping me, just as they told you to do: put your own mask on first and then help anyone around you who is having trouble.
I wasn’t really having trouble—it was on now—but I was terrified. Harry took one of my hands in his own warm one and put the other arm around me. He shoved the armrest between us up and back and then he pulled me against him so my head was leaning on his shoulder. Just then we started to dive.
I clung to him, my mind numb. He said something, but it was hard to understand because of the O2 mask covering his nose and mouth. Not to mention the roar of the wind and the engines and the screams of some of the passengers. He said it again, his weirdly-covered face near my ear:
“It’s okay. We’re diving because we were tossed too high. The air pressure must have been low enough to drop the masks, so we’re going down to an altitude where they aren’t needed. Probaby ten thousand feet. So we’ll descend for a while, but we are not going to crash.”
I had no idea how he could sound so certain about this. I suspected he was putting on a brave face for my sake, but I was grateful.
We leveled off before diving that low, though, thank goodness. The turbulence continued, although it was no longer quite so buffeting. The captain came on and made another announcement, sounding calm once more. “Sorry for the rough ride back there, folks. We should be out of the bad weather area soon and we’ll be able to continue on to our destination.”
The flight attendant moved up the aisle, helping us remove and push aside the oxygen masks.
“You okay?” Harry asked.
I realized I was still clinging to him. And that I was probably going to live, after all. And that, dammit, if I wasn’t going to die soon, I needed the one thing I’d yearned for all those years ago.
My face was already very close to Harry’s. I didn’t even think about it—I smashed my mouth into his and kissed him.
Chapter Eight
Harry
Well, shit, what was I supposed to do when a beautiful woman climbed half into my lap and started kissing me? Kiss her back, obviously.
The rush of lust that turned my previously-shriveled dick iron hard took me unawares. Truth was, I’d also been freaked out by the turbulence and the dive, even while I’d been trying to comfort my seatmate. Although I knew there were plenty of good reasons for a pilot to put the plane into a rapid descent, and that getting us to a lower attitude was vital if there was any doubt about the aircraft’s pressurization, it still scared the shit out of me. Passenger planes had dived from cruising altitude all the way down into the sea. Or into terrain. It was a rare event, but it had happened.
Once we leveled off and the white-faced flight attendant got out of her seat and started trying to calm everyone down, I knew we were going to live. And part of living meant feeling alive, right? And feeling alive meant having a hot, pliant female body pressed against mine. Spread out under me would be even better. Or kneeling over me, riding my cock while I teased her breasts and pinched her nipples. It didn’t take my heated brain long to conceive even more complex scenarios. The luscious Emily really turned me on.
Given that the first class flight attendant barely gave us a glance as my seatmate and I lip-locked, I guessed we weren’t the only ones cuddling up and expressing affection. Or whatever we were expressing. Relief, thankfulness and the sheer joy of surviving.
As we kissed, I loosened both her seatbelt and mine so they wouldn’t get in my way. I’d been stoked about this woman ever since I’d first seen her in the passenger lounge. That attraction had increased during the past couple of hours as we’d talked. She was friendly and smart with a great smile and an even better laugh. One of those husky, sexy laughs that starts out slow, then builds until it’s sending tingles all through you.
But I hadn’t expected to get the chance to make an actual move on her during the flight. Instead, I’d been wondering how best to approach the idea of her spending some time with me on the island. I’d thought I’d caught a hint or two that she might be amenable to that suggestion.
I didn’t know why, but this chick excited me. When I took control of that kiss and escalated things, she responded. My hand dove down to her tempting breast, found a pointy nipple, and flicked it. She sighed and opened to me with a fervor that shot me into I’m-gonna-make-this-happen mode.
She’d been huddled under one of those thin airline blankets. I pulled it over so it was covering my hand—protecting her from anyone who might try to cop a peek at us. My body would shield Charley from the view of the folks in the seats across the aisle from us. As for the passengers directly behind
us, I didn’t think they’d be able to see anything.
I stroked under the fabric of her top and her bra until I reached bare flesh. So smooth and silky. She was arching her back, pushing her breast into the palm of my hand. She was on fire! Damn, what I really wanted to do was fuck her. I couldn’t quite figure how one did that on a plane, though, despite all the jokes about joining the Mile-High Club. I sure as hell wasn’t going to try to lure her into some skanky airplane bathroom to get it done.
Truth be told, I didn’t even care if I got off. I wanted to get her off. She’d been so scared by the stupid pilot and his antics, whatever had caused them, that I wanted her to feel better about flying. Her memories of this flight could be physically pleasant instead of physically terrifying. If I gave her a good experience, she wouldn’t end up with airplane PTSD, right?
Right, I was such an altruist. What I really wanted was to score a more extensive hookup with her after we landed. I had ten whole days of solitude coming up in a spot where I had originally planned to get lots of wild loving. Emily was coming to the island as a single, too, and I wanted to make sure that when we got off this aircraft, we wouldn’t be nodding goodbye forever.
So I pulled the airline blanket tighter around our bodies and kissed her harder. She responded with the same eager intensity. Her lips were so soft and her breath was warm and sweet. She thrilled me on several levels. There was the basic hard-driving, cock-swelling drive for conquest and penetration that I always felt with a female in my arms. But there was something else that was harder to define. It seemed to rise right out of the cells and atoms of my being—an odd sensation of chemical bonding. A biological imperative. I didn’t just want any woman; I wanted this woman. She was right for me. She fit.