Two Mile High Club

Chapter 62:

TWO MILE HIGH CLUB

62. Friday morning arrived. I topped off my travel carry-on with phone chargers and whatnot, then hailed a ride. Fortunately, it was way too early for any of the derelicts from shore to be up and about. My car arrived and whisked me to the airport.

I had reserved an aisle seat, hoping that some hot stew would grace me by leaning across to serve the window seat, while giving me a face full of bosom. My hopes were soon fulfilled. Even though it was just over an hour flight, the crew served drinks and those worthless packs of peanuts or pretzels.

Three attendants serviced the main cabin. Two were lookers wearing tight-fitting uniforms that showed off just the right assets. I was sitting in the last row, so I got an eyeful as the eye-candy sashayed up and down the aisle.

When they had finished serving everyone, I got up to visit the head, uh…bathroom. The hot babes were huddled in the rear galley, chit-chatting. The bathroom was occupied, so I flirted with the attractive staff as I waited.

“So, how often do you see passengers joining the mile high club?” I asked. They glanced at one another, and the middle one, Melanie, it turns out, answered. “Almost every flight. Why do you ask? Are you a member?”

“Not yet. But I’m dying to join the club. I don’t fly often so there’s not much chance to audition.” One of the other hotties grabbed her airline issued digital device and the third reached for her phone, just as the bathroom door opened.

When I emerged, the ladies were much more attentive. I guess they had ‘vetted’ me in their system and online. Melanie said “You seem special, Mr. Sailor, or at least your profile says so. Is there anything we can do to make your flight more enjoyable? Just ask and we’ll see what can be arranged.”

Melanie was slightly taller than me, hair brown and falling in soft waves to her shoulders. She had a pretty face, in a classical beauty kind of way. Her body was fit, the uniform custom tailored to hug every curve. She wasn’t runway model stuff; just a solid 8 on a 10 scale. You could tell that she’d be a reliable fuck, time after time.

Eager to join the club, I boldly said “Well, I wonder if any of you can help me become a member of the much-talked-about club? Or is that against airline ‘rules’?”

The three looked at each other, ‘talking’ among themselves without words. Finally, Melanie offered “Well, Mr. Sailor, first we need to know if you prefer natural or shaved. Once we know that one of us can assist you with that under one condition.”

“I prefer natural but what’s the condition?” I asked.

“You must use protection.”

Damn! Shit! Offered on a silver platter, my choice smooth or hairy, and me, without a condom!! Damnation!!!

Thinking I’d be cute I responded “Is there a vending machine handy? I seem to be fresh out of condoms.” All three gave a forced giggle, like they’d heard this retort a million times. Melanie answered “Call me a vending machine, then. I’ve got you covered.”

She stepped into the bathroom and quickly, like a rehearsed skit, had her skirt hiked up above her waist, her panties on the floor. She looked at me intently and whispered “Well, come on. It’s now or never.”

I stepped into the bathroom. On airplanes they’re designed to accommodate only one person at a time. Instantly, we were touching. She leaned over and grabbed the toilet, using it for support as she bent over, her legs spread wide. There was a condom on the lavatory. I got my pants down around my ankles and began fondling my little guy. The novelty of the situation and the expectation of what was to come got a rise out of him in no time.