Flying High (5 page)

At last, the pilot switched off Zirbin's trademark FASTEN SEATBELTS sign—a cartoon crocodile in sunglasses, whose 1970s-style belt and buckle appeared to be part of his body. Even as Jared registered this, he heard a deep, sensual sigh from next door, and he could only assume that his invisible companion's fingers had made welcome contact with her intimate zone.

He extricated his cock from his briefs, letting out a silent sigh of his own as his fist finally met his flesh. At least he thought it had been silent, but a peculiar discontinuity in the breathing from beyond the curtain made him feel that his partner had heard him, and had tracked his progress. It excited him to speculate that she was that aware of him, as she gently nurtured her hungry pussy lips.

He squirmed in his seat, and he accidentally brushed the curtain. For an instant, he felt the solidity of the body on the other side.

“Sorry.” He whispered it.

“Okay,” returned a breathy voice, raw with intensity.

The voice, that aroused
“Okay,”
echoed in his head as he
stroked himself. Its imagined repetition became a masturbation mantra, blending with the real sound of the jet—and the real sounds coming from lap and mouth level one seat over. Her wetness was now audible, and Jared could visualize the slippery activity of delicate fingers across and between pouting lips, as vividly as if it were being displayed for him on Zirbin's egg-shaped video screens. As her breathing dipped, plodded, and crested to a complex and ever-changing rhythm, he thought he could actually follow her trail along her folds, in and out of her cunt, and back and forth to her clit. His own rhythm, simple but powerful, rocked him in harmony with her.

He reached for one of the generous, Zirbin-monogrammed handkerchiefs, which were provided within a candy-striped Personal Intimacy Kit that also included plastic bags, disinfecting gel, and—just in case people wanted to join forces—a box of condoms. With a grape-colored handkerchief wrapped around him, he gave out a prehistoric grunt.

“Hey,”
the breathy voice suddenly said, in a labored whisper rich with erotic texture.

“Yeah?” Jared was tingling right on the edge.

It was technically a “maybe” statement rather than an invitation, but Jared knew what it meant. Clutching his swaddled cock in his left hand, he used his right, with passionate dexterity, to release the catch that had kept the curtain anchored. With a
shoooop
of relief, it disappeared into a slit in the ceiling—leaving only a plastic nipple visible, by means of which future passengers would, at some far-off time, pull it back down.

The face that greeted him was a tableau of melting, sensuous beauty. The woman's blonde hair was in disarray, her eyes were glazed in preorgasmic semifocus, and her mouth twitched in a way that made her lip gloss repeatedly catch, and transform,
the sterile cabin light. Her white blouse was unbuttoned enough to show two cheerful breasts, each half-out of its bra cup, with nipples erect and moistened.

She was so far gone down the road to ecstasy that Jared couldn't tell what she might look like in repose, what expression her face would hold under normal circumstances. But here, now, she was stunning—possessed of that quintessential grace that comes to a woman on the verge of orgasm.

She smiled at him, then closed her eyes.

He realized that a moment of eye contact with him—enabling her to observe that his gaze was on her exuberant breasts, on her hiked black skirt, on her cunt-clutching fingers, and, most important of all, on her radiant face—had been all she needed to go over the top. Now she threw her head back as far as the seat in its fully upright position would allow, and she quivered, absolutely quivered, from panty-draped ankles to self-mussed hair. Her moan sounded all the more intense for its courteous softness.

And Jared got his money's worth out of Maxwell Zirbin's big purple handkerchief. He pumped for what seemed like forever as he inhaled her aroma, contorted his eyes shut, and visualized a night sky of milky clouds over the Atlantic.

Just when he had milked himself dry, he heard her voice again.

“Want a taste?” She sounded shy, but somehow confident. He opened his eyes. Her fingers, held aloft, were glistening, and her pupils were sparkling.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and sucked one finger, then another, then another.

“Nice,” he commented, feeling suddenly drunk with impetuousness, and completely at ease. “You taste like berries. And maybe, uh, tamari. And—mm—a hint of black pepper.” He licked his lips.

She laughed. “Thanks. But I think you may have read one too many of
Zirbin Magazine
's extreme wine columns.”

He joined her laughter. “Well, yeah, it's possible.”

“Just don't tell me I taste like cilantro. I hate cilantro.”

“Deal.”

They laughed again, and Jared noticed that she was perhaps even lovelier when she laughed than when she came. He wanted to see more of both.

Thank god it was going to be a long flight.

 

 

 

 

 

I couldn't resist. It was only ten minutes into the flight when I leaned in and said the inevitable, “Hey, aren't you…?” Then I stammered, embarrassed at my fandom.

“Jannie Blair. Yes. Guilty as charged.” Her hair was close cropped and alternating shades of dark gray and silver. Her blue eyes sparkled. She smiled and incredibly white teeth shone behind full, mauve-painted lips: gorgeous. I crossed my legs and flexed my thighs, but it did no good. It didn't stifle a damn thing. My crush on her reared up, bright and shining and feeling brand new instead of twenty years old.

“God. Not to sound like a babbling idiot but I loved you in
All Saint's Eve
. Edna, your trained parrot, too. My god! You were so sexy in that movie,” I gushed. I wanted to shut my damn mouth but it wouldn't stop. I could hear myself, as if from a great distance, rattling off favorite movies and characters, and dear god help me, wardrobe choices. “That blue dress was so incredible. I have tried and tried to find a dress that makes my
tits look that good and I can't.” Then my face was scorching red and I swallowed. I had just said the word
tits
to Jannie Blair. “Maybe I just don't have the tits.”

Damn it. It was getting worse.

“Your tits are very nice. Don't be that way,” she said. Her eyes were a shiny bold blue and her laugh was easy; sensual and captivating, just like in the movies. “I'd say you have a lovely pair there…um…?”

“Judith. Judith Montgomery. I work for Suncoast Studios.
Dames of the Dead
, that's one of mine. I'm sure you've never seen it. Really. I think four people saw it and you were not one of them. Of that I am almost positive.” I took a huge swig of scalding hot coffee to shut myself up. I wasn't sure, but it felt as if a whole row of blisters had just blossomed on the roof of my mouth.

She laughed and then put her hand on my thigh and squeezed. I looked at her hand to make sure the sensation was genuine. Yep. There it was, on my thigh. Her hand, all long fingers and red manicure, rested on my thigh, squeezing my leg through my black pencil skirt. “Don't be so sure. My youngest son is nineteen. It just so happens that
Dames of the Dead
is one of his favorites.”

“I…” I flexed my thigh under her hand and she squeezed again. Then her thin hand slid higher and she squeezed my upper thigh. I felt a warm trickle of fluid in the crotch of my sensible black cotton panties. I closed my eyes, then opened them. Her hand was still there. I was not hallucinating.

“Darla, they'll eat you…alive!” she recited.

“That's Baby Cathy's line!” I said, excited and shocked. She wasn't just bullshitting me. She had seen the movie.

Jannie nodded and leaned in closer. When she leaned in, her breasts pushed up high in her tight black dress. Her cleavage seemed a mile deep and I fought the mental image of sliding my
tongue along the seam of flesh, burrowing my tongue into that cleavage and then finding a sweet blush-colored nipple to taste.

“I told you. Chuckie has watched that movie about a billion times, and I've watched it at least a dozen times. It's hard not to. The birthday cake scene is the best.”

“Eew!” I laughed, though. A birthday cake adorned with flaming fingers instead of candles was a hard image to shake. Almost as hard as Jannie Blair's naked thighs in
The Sun Sets Blood Red
in 1977. Or her shower scene in
My Deadly Darling
at the end of her career. When Jenson Belmar fucked her blue in the shower as Kelly Dubois kneeled in front of her. It was not only a killer zombie movie, but that was a killer threeway scene, one of the first, and she had been in it. I had always wondered about her after that scene.

Turbulence rocked us and I thought that was bad, so soon into the flight. Not good at all. “Jesus.”

“You don't like to fly?” Her breath was hot along my neck and for a moment I forgot about the turbulence and just wanted to kiss her.

“Not so much. Not a big fan, actually. But business is business and I'm flying out to scout a location in New York and…” I shrugged.

“My hometown.” She said the words right against my earlobe and the vibration meandered down my belly to my pussy. I shifted in the cramped airplane seat and felt the seat belt rub my belly in a not unpleasant way.

I cleared my throat and reminded myself who this woman was. Jannie Blair was not interested in me. I was suffering from delusions of grandeur. She was one of the premier slasher sirens. She had screamed with the best of them and had made blood and terror sexy. She had thoroughly earned her name, the Scream Queen. I shifted. “Have you been to Rico's? That's what
I'm looking at. We're shooting a huge vampire smack down in Rico's. The stonework and gargoyles are amazing. At least from the photos I've seen.”

“They are.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she leaned in and nipped my ear. I gave a little cry and her hand moved just a fraction of an inch higher on my leg.

“Oh. Good. I…” I what? I had no idea. My brain had shortcircuited and my body had hijacked all sensation. My heart was banging restlessly and my pulse jumped in my neck. I shook my head because I felt dizzy and the plane jumped, making it that much worse.

“I like your skirt. It's what a real woman would wear,” she said. Her breath smelled like chocolate.

“I'm sorry?”

“Oh. Don't be.” She laughed at her own joke and the crow's feet at the corners of her big blue eyes deepened. There was something sexy about how they made her bright blue eyes even brighter. “What I mean is, I watch all these professional women walking around dressed like teenagers. This is beyond sexy, this skirt. And it shows off your hips.”

Yeah. My hips. I wasn't too crazy about my hips. But I was starting to think the whole shower scene had been fairly accurate. She was flirting with me. “Thanks. Thank you.” Then before I could still my tongue, I blurted, “I have to pee.”

And I did. Nerves had gotten the better of me. The flirting wasn't helping. Years of fantasizing about this particular woman had set me on edge. Here we sat, side by side, and she had just bitten my earlobe. Her hand was on my thigh. I was thousands of miles in the air and the flight was a bit turbulent. And I had to pee.

“This is a nice plane,” she said. “They have big bathrooms. Big enough for two.”

I had finally caught on. I had no doubt that Jannie Blair had just offered to join me in the restroom. I stood and she steadied me when the plane rocked and tilted. Normally, terror would have ripped through me but excitement served as a distraction. I took my time moving down the aisle, working my way from seat to seat.

“Miss, you'll have to take your seat,” the flight attendant said.

“I'm really not well.” I was only half lying. My stomach had just done a nice loopdy loop and I wondered which emotion would win, fear or arousal.

“Miss, please.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. He frowned at me and bit his bottom lip. His bright red hair stood up in tufts from his having run his hands through it in frustration. I didn't budge, but stood my ground in the narrow aisle. “Look, if I let you go, will you promise to come right back? Quickly. People are freaking out left and right and truth be told, if you are careful and hold on in the bathroom, you should be fine. Just keep your hand on something. Stay steady.”

I nodded slowly and the plane did an unexpected dip. My stomach bottomed out and I swallowed a whoop of surprise.

“They're afraid people will lose their balance and fall or hit their heads or…” Someone in the front of the plane started to cry and he sighed. “Just hurry, okay?”

I nodded again and walked the remaining distance to the restroom on numb legs. I heard him speak again and then heard Jannie's calm smoky voice say, “I'm with her. I have her medicine.” I knew exactly what I would have my hands on to keep me steady.

I smiled when he chirped, “Yes, Ms. Blair!” There was something to be said for slasher stardom.

I had time to register that she was right about the bathroom
size. That was all. My eyes took in the chrome room and the extrawide shelf area for your bag or purse. I got all that at a glance and then I heard the door and Jannie was on me, aggressive and quick. I laughed a little even as my heart seized up in my chest. She pinned me face-first to the pebbled silver wall and shoved her slim, cool hands down the front of my skirt. “You are wondering about the shower scene. Or you have,” she said in my ear.