We were flying above the storm. You could see lightning flashes deep inside the clouds as if God was flicking an on and off light switch.
I sat inside the pressurized cabin and felt sorry for the poor slobs on the ground below who were getting snow dumped on them. Sloshing around, freezing their asses off while I have stewardesses asking me if Iād like coffee, tea or a vodka tonic.
I took an orange juice and thought about the last time I was on a plane.
I sat in the lounge and waited for my flight number to be called.
I held two fingers up, motioning to the bartender. "Vodka."
She came over and poured me a double.
I took it and downed it. "Again."
She refilled the glass when I heard behind me an anonymous voice announce "I need some help before I fly, too."
I turned and saw an older woman executive type. The kind with the briefcase, cellular phone and the designer suit who's always looking for a deal.
"Excuse me?" I responded.
She took a sip of her martini. "I hate to fly. Donāt you?"
I gave her a quick look over.
She had a nice pair of legs for someone her age. "Yeah."
She put a cigarette between her lips. "Where you going?"
I took the pack of matches from the ashtray and gave her a light. "L.A.."
"That's were Iām going," she said, the cigarette smoke billowing out with her words. "You going there for work or play?"
"Work. The dance troupe Iām in is doing a short tour. L.A. then San Francisco."
Her overly manicured hand brushed against my wrist. "Maybe weāll sit next to each other?"
Coo coo ca choo Mrs. Robinson.
We did sit together.
She paid for the drinks so I let her fondle my thigh.
She got up and headed for the bathroom. I followed.
I lifted her onto the sink and slid my hands up her skirt as we began to experience some turbulence.
She undid my pants as I unbuttoned her blouse.
I cupped her breast and she guided me forward.
She started to moan very loud.
I put a hand over her mouth to quiet her and pumped faster as the RETURN TO YOUR SEAT sign illuminated above the sink.
She raked her nails down my back and began bucking against me-- the turbulence increasing.
I pinched her nipple and felt her dig her fingers into my flesh as we came.
We dressed and went back to our seats, receiving a suspicious eye from a passing stewardess.
"By the way." She said. "My name is Iris."
I knew then I'd never be able to look at one of the those flowers again without thinking of flying and the uncertain joys of turbulence.
