There’s Just Something in the Air

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“What did you say your name was?” asks Bill Christian, a stud former quarterback at the high school from which we both graduated fifteen years ago. I struggle to hold in my shock because Christian is at least fifty pounds overweight, all of it in his neck and belly.

“Jonny Mohr,” I reply.

“Well, Bonny, I own a local farm implement company, Christian Farm and Tractor. Maybe you’re heard of me or even shopped there.”

“Sure,” I said. “Go there all the time.” Even if I didn’t, I’d say I did just to be polite. I do because one of his stores is the close to where I’m modifying two 53-foot shipping containers into a new house.

He’s clearly at a loss for what to say next to me. I know it’s futile to try to correct my name because he was my biggest nemesis in high school and called me that all the time just because he could. He even called his best friend at the time Sally when his nickname was Sully, short for Sullivan. I’m sure he never got a legitimate grade in high school because he never got into college. He wasn’t that good a quarterback.

I sigh in relief because they are the last people I need to talk at the fifteenth annual Dallasport High School reunion. We are in the Mixer time where everyone is supposed to introduce themselves and catch up on each other’s lives. Nancy Halpern, the busy body of our class, makes sure we’ve talked to everyone else there. Her job is fairly easy because of the forty-three students in our class, only twenty-three are here. Since about ten of them are married to each other, this doesn’t take long.

The school is not on any active list because a fire five years ago wiped out the entire town of five hundred. They never rebuilt the town since the following winter heavy rains caused the nearby hill to cover the settlement in mud and debris.

“Have you ever flown in or out of the local airport?” I ask

“Ya, all the time.”

“Well, if you look out the window while you are in the waiting room or on the plane and you see someone driving a motor pulling multiple carts filled with luggage and freight, that’s probably me.”

I brace myself for an onslaught of complaints about damaged or missing luggage, late or canceled flights, and all other problems travelers have with airports or airlines. Somehow people think that because I’m a Logistics Transportation Specialist, I have some influence on what goes on at the airport. I’m sort of surprised when he does nothing but grunt and walk away.

But then, Bill never had much time for me. He and his wife, Catherine, have four children and every one of them left her a little fatter. Still trying to be polite, I hold in my thoughts because she does look like a pig with a short nose, puffy face and boobs that lost the battle with gravity years ago.

Whew! I say to myself. That’s the last one. Time for me to do what I came here to do. Be the guy in the corner watching people.

Several minutes later I see Bill and his buddies from the high school team talking across the room. Time for me to leave, just in case they’re thinking of duplicating what they did during my junior year.

Because Bill continually called me Bonny every other student did too. Some of them cornered me outside the school one night, stripped my clothes off, and paraded me down the center of town in a woman’s dress. They never got in trouble for that either. I finished the year elsewhere. Their parents had enough pull that nothing legal was done.

I wound up taking my senior year online and the state lumped me in with my original class because this was a trial program.

In the morning I go to work by six AM. My first self-appointed job is to check the restrooms in our area and the section used by the flight crews. The condition isn’t bad for no one checking them for twelve hours. There’s a portion of one in the flight area that needs more attention than I can supply without some cleaning supplies.

Probably should do some background here. Between the ages of four and eighteen, I lived with ten other families after my parents died in a car crash when I was four.

I never understood why I was moved so much, nearly always to relatives. Twice I went back to an uncle and aunt who I’d lived with before. I wasn’t that difficult as a child.

When I was twenty-two, a local investigative reporter wanted to interview me.

“My name is Carla Jennings and I’m doing a story on corruption in the Department of Children’s Services. How much can you tell me about the families you’ve stayed with since your parents died?”

“Everything I tell you is off the record and needs to be verified elsewhere,” I said.

“That’s easy. We never publish anything unless we can confirm the fact through two disparate sources. No one but me will ever know we talked.”

Three months later a scandal blew the state apart. To make a long story shorter, my first caretakers were running a scam in conjunction with state employees.

Uncle Sam and Aunt Sue still were listed as the adiosbet yeni giriş responsible parties for funding in those years. Each family thereafter got a percentage of what the state paid. Another thing they’d done is bill the state for my care for a year after I turned eighteen.

Two important things for me came out of that investigation. First, my name never appeared anywhere; and two, I got a copy of my younger sister’s birth certificate. I never could find her.

I distinctly remembered a brown-eyed, blonde girl two year’s younger than me. I always asked about her and often was told I was dreaming, or I had confused the situation with someone else’s.

But I have an excellent memory. When I talked to the reporter, I rattled off more information than she needed without notes. When she called me the day before the story broke to tell me it was due for release the next day, she said that except for one or two cases, my information was one hundred percent accurate.

Sometimes I remember too well. Things like being paraded down the street dressed as a woman flick back into my memory all the time. So does the fact I can’t seem to keep a girlfriend.

One thing about memory over electronic or paper storage is that until I get Alzheimer’s, I won’t lose any information. But I do take notes just in case.

Okay, back to the story.

I’d finished cleaning the flight crew area restroom and was on the way back to my regular work area because a plane is due any minute. I see motion ahead. This area is well-known as a place where members of flight crews gather to plan and sometimes implement, sex. The area is highly secure with no windows.

But, then I guess I don’t know because I’m still a virgin at age thirty-three.

What I see is something even better for me. A female flight attendant is sitting on one of the benches changing clothes. She sees me as I near and moves like she’s been waiting for someone to watch. First, I see her right nipple before she shifts, and I see her left nipple.

Her boobs aren’t as big as Ray’s -he’s an older man who I’ll talk about later – more like a swell (full or gently sloped shape) on her chest. She’s about five foot four inches, I guess, dark auburn hair that is bobbed and one of those faces where I can’t decide if she’s cute or plain. Her eyes are deep brown and capture me immediately.

“Enjoying the view?” she asks me as I pause in front of her.

I can’t speak because this is the first time I’ve seen a woman’s breasts in person this close. I’m a purveyor of porn and I’ve been to strip clubs and seen more there, but not up close and personal as they say.

“What? Cat got your tongue. Maybe you need to see the whole thing.”

She opens her dress, and I can’t help but look at her crotch. Pantyhose and a pair of small panties cover all the good stuff. That’s when I realize she has one of those wrap dresses and she was purposing teasing me.

I nod my appreciation and do the right thing. I walk away.

“Hey Donna,” she calls. “Bring my bag back to me.” Donna continues to walk away with two small overnight bags.

“Damn, would you mind getting the lavender bag?”

Of course, I don’t mind. When I get to Donna, she’s sitting down talking to the air. I realize the reason she didn’t hear her friend is that she has one of those stupid earpieces on. I wave my hand in front of her face, she looks at me like I’m an imbecile, I point to the lavender bag, and she gives it to me and goes right on talking.

By the time I return, this unnamed woman has removed her dress and pantyhose. Now I can see her unshaved pussy through the nearly transparent material and her erect nipples. Of course, I’ve got an erection.

I give her the bag and she pulls out a pair of uniform slacks and a soft camisole, over which she puts the uniform top and presto snapo, she’s dressed in her flight attendant outfit.

“Come on Lothario,” she grins. “Escort me to my chambers.”

Despite my extensive reading, I don’t know what that word is. What I should have responded is to call her a seductress or something. I’m anything but a Lothario.

I crook my arm, she inserts hers, and we march fifty-one yards down the hallway, past Donna who never stops talking, and to the doorway of the female flight crew room which is as far as I can go. I know because I’ve measured the distance.

“Thanks, friend,” she says. “Do you have an email address or anything? I’ll send you something, so you have my info. Might be a few days, but I won’t forget.”

I dig out a card for one of my other businesses and give it to her.

“This is a good address,” I tell her, the first words I’ve been able to say since I saw her.

“Good. I like you. You remind me of someone. I just can’t remember who.”

I don’t even try to respond because she gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek and caresses my erect cock before she disappears inside the room. A few seconds later, Donna comes up, gives me her adiosbet giriş card and disappears too. When I look at her card, I understand why she was talking so much. She is an area flight attendant supervisor for the airline they worked for. On the card are written the words Don’t you dare hurt her!

I work the rest of my shift in a fog, but I’ve done it so long I can perform in my sleep.

Before I graduated from high school, but after I turned eighteen, I took a job working for the ground crews at the local airport. At the time I was attracted to the job precisely because it allowed me to work in the background. I’m pretty shy and have issues facing and talking to people. The job is union, pays a decent wage and has an option to retire after twenty years.

After fifteen years, the job is still a union position, only it wasn’t all that decent for pay. Our retirement is constantly threatened by my union mismanagement. Private sector pay has gone up while our wages had stayed stationary or gone down because of budget cuts or political infighting.

What bugs me the most are the conflicts between two or more of the unions that operate at this airport. At this time, two unions are fighting over who was responsible for cleaning the restrooms.

Public ones are covered by management during this battle, so I didn’t care about those. But after the employee restrooms on this side of the building went unattended for three days, I stepped in because that’s what I do. I’m constantly in hot water with both the union and management because if something is not being fixed right or done properly, I do it myself if I can. If I can’t, I hound people until it’s done right.

While I generally have a hard time talking with people, I’m different when it comes to inaccurate things in the workplace. I have to be.

Let me say this one thing. People are worse than pigs and flight crews are some of the worst. I won’t tell you about what I find, but it’s sometimes gross.

Here’s where Ray comes in. Several years after he died, we finally got permission to make legitimate what was already happening. A room hidden in the bowels of the airport was given to us as a resting place where someone who works at the airport can take a short nap if they get too tired. That room is where I nap if I’m working a 24-hour shift which I do once a week because it gives me more time to work on my new place. The overtime also helps pay my extra expenses on my new property.

Ray had gone in there to take a nap when it was still illegal to use the room. I found him dead when I checked. I managed to get him up, out the door, and far enough away that it wouldn’t be obvious that he’d been using the room.

Of course, the medical examiner caught on. He asked me to come to visit him one day.

“My autopsy shows Mr. Thompson died while sitting. It makes no difference to anyone but me and his family, but can you give me some information?”

I tell him everything. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll certify the death as happening in a prone position.”

“I don’t want you to cover up or do something illegally,” I say to him.

“No. I sometimes do things like this to help people out. There will come a day when I need a return favor and I’ll let you know.”

I find out later that if Ray had been certified as dying where he slept the payout on his union-paid life insurance would have been much lower than it was because he was in a non-certified space. Unions have good points and bad points too.

I only use a cheap cell phone where I purchase minutes in advance. Cellphones are prohibited in my area of the airport because they are timewasters and so many people watch porn. All we can use is an airport-supplied radio system. There is no coverage available at the property where I’m modifying the containers. The rest of the time I seldom use the phone except for emergencies.

Besides, I’m cheap. That’s why I had to get home to read the email.

She had sent a long message too, detailing her time since we saw each other. She also wanted to hear back from me. Her name is Andrea “Andie” Rather and she’s two years younger than me.

Soon, we were exchanging emails and texts constantly.

“I’m headed back in your direction next week. Can we spend some time together?”

“Of course,” I immediately shoot back. “I have so much overtime right now I can take the week off.”

“No, only Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I fly out Thursday evening.”

For three days we devote ourselves to each other, sometimes talking about serious things, sometimes chatting about silly things. I realize after she’s gone that I miss her badly. I take her up to show her my new place. I’ve had two used containers put on the property and I’m converting them into a house. She loves the land. The house, not so much, but then I’m only halfway done.

Over the next year, our friendship heats up to the point where we almost can’t keep our hands and bodies away from each other. We adiosbet güvenilirmi kiss frequently and hug a lot. I’ve had my hands on those small breasts, even a few times I’ve licked them. She always wants me in as few clothes as is allowed and I ask her to do the same. We take showers together. We sleep together. But something always stops us from going further.

I can’t believe a woman likes me as she does. I think I’m falling in love. But I’m also thinking This is too good to be true.

We bike, swim, body surf at the beach ninety miles away, everything together as much as we can. While the property is only thirty-two miles from the airport, the drive is slightly more than an hour because long sections are full of curves that limit the speed to twenty miles an hour or slower.

“I’ve tried and tried to get cell phone service up here, but I can’t,” she says.

“I know that. I’ll have to do something like add a high cell phone antenna and get satellite internet, but I’m not here often enough to justify that right now.”

“You do need to get a smartphone,” she said. “This waiting for hours or days to read your next text or email just isn’t cutting it.” I buy a new cellphone where the company gives me a free phone in return for a one-year contract. The phone isn’t the fanciest, but it will do because I still can’t use it most of the time.

We do everything but fuck or have oral sex. After extensive discussion, we’ve decided there’s something in our pasts that would destroy our relationship and we don’t want that. Even though I don’t like the situation, she is the first friend I’ve had since the second grade.

One of the first things I do is send her some sex toys. Adults can do that, can’t they? I get an immediate response when she gets them.

“Thanks. I already have most of those, but these are newer, better models.”

Soon we both have to keep our phones on the charger constantly because we use so much of the battery, I’ve seen her use the rabbit on herself in a plane’s restroom. I’ve seen her fuck her ass with a vibrating dildo. I’ve seen her play with herself on a bench in a public square. Bushes prevent anyone from seeing her unless they walk directly by.

This girl is a born exhibitionist.

Men are more limited in what they can do because they only have two holes and don’t have the same kind of breasts. I go as far as I can, but when I decline to fuck myself with a dildo, she’s disappointed but goes along.

One time the camera moves as she masturbates so I get to watch her closely enough I can see the juices in her pussy. Soon Donna comes into view, and I watch them non-stop for the next five hours. They lick each other’s pussies, not in a 69, but individually to allow me to see more. Donna and Andie take turns putting on a strap-on dildo and fucking each other’s pussies.

The high point of the night is when they bring out a double-headed dildo, stick the ends in their pussies and fuck each other through several orgasms.

When she invites me to go to a clothing optional resort in Mexico, I jump at the chance. We have seen nearly everything on the other person by now. We watch each other as we dress and undress. We’ve talked about why she did what she did that first time. (Same reason she told me that day.) We’ve even seen each other pee. We do it in public at my property. I originally chose the land because I thought of myself as a hermit, but now I don’t know.

We have a few logistical issues to work out because I don’t fly much while she does on a different airline than I usually work for. I do some horse-trading and we’re off for a week in sunny Mexico.

I’ve become an expert at trading favors. The people that helped me purchase and transport two containers to my property did so at their cost because of previous favors I’ve done for them. The medical examiner called me about six months later with a request to help him return home after a storm grounded many planes where he was. I bartered flights home in a way that didn’t bump anyone. Took him and his family twelve hours long, but that’s better than the thirty hours he was told.

I never bribe anyone, threaten them or do anything illegal. Bartering is the original form of trade and I’m an expert.

All this time, I’m sending her copies of the stories I’m writing. That’s one of my other businesses. I’m planning to retire at age thirty-eight when I can, but what do I do then?

She is the one who suggests adding erotic elements, including four-way same-gender sex.

Won’t happen with me. What I never tell anyone is what else happened soon after the dress/parade incident. Four of them, including Bill Christian, broke into my house one night when my guardians were gone. They stripped me down, tied me across the bed and proceeded to fuck my ass and come in my mouth until after I passed out. Bill Christian had the smallest cock of the four, but Miles, his brother, had one bigger than anyone else’s I’ve seen even in pornos. They wore masks, but I could tell at least those two by the sound of their voices.

When I woke up, I found myself all tucked into bed with all the bedding different. I painfully got up, staggered to the clothes hamper and found the sopped bedcover from my orgasms.

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