Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/edmaria1.txt

Text File | 1996-04-15 | 7KB | 107 lines

                   "Fly By Night"

  I wasn't looking forward to the flight. San Francisco to Boston, with a
three-hour stop in Phoenix -- not the easiest way to make the flight, but I
was flying on my own funds this time, so I had to keep it cheap. If you want
cheap, and inconvenient, American West is the way to go. Worse, we were
leaving San Francisco at midnight, and even if I could get to sleep on the
plane, the Phoenix stop would eliminate any chance for real rest. Worse
still, I was horny. It had been about two months since the woman I'd been
seeing had unceremoniously scrapped the relationship, and my need for sex
was starting to get to me.

  I had packed for the trip as I usually do -- walkman, assortment of tapes,
a few apples, a package of cookies, and a couple of books. I don't generally
sleep on flights, and being a night person anyway, I figured I'd be awake
the whole way. Settling into my seat, I pulled out my book and started
reading.  The book was "Sundiver," by David Brin, an excellent piece of
science fiction.  I didn't have very many pages to go, so I was glad I'd
packed a second book.  With so many other passengers getting on the plane, I
had a hard time paying attention to my reading, so I put it aside for a
moment, and watched the moving crowd. I was quite pleased when I noticed a
very attractive young woman sitting down across the aisle from me. Not that
I expected anything to happen, of course, but having a nice looking woman
nearby can often make a flight a little less tedious.

  A moment later, though, I realized that I'd gotten my hopes up for
nothing.  First, at a closer look, I realized that she couldn't be over
sixteen, probably more like fifteen. Second, she was sitting all the way
across at the window. And third, the two people seated between her and me
were undoubtedly her parents.  My dirty mind was going to have to look
elsewhere for entertainment. Although, when it comes down to harmless
fantasy, there's no reason why a sixteen-year-old can't be the subject,
right? I stole another quick look at her, to confirm that she was as
beautiful as I'd thought, and she definitely was. Dark skin, long black wavy
hair, perfectly clear complexion, large dark eyes, delicate nose, slender
body, and a surprisingly full bust. All of which, I suspected, would
probably be destroyed by the time she was 21 or so.

  Now, this wasn't just random speculation on my part. As I said, her
parents were there, too, and if she was heading for the same life they
seemed to have, her best years might already be behind her. Her father
looked like a low-rent drug dealer from an old episode of "Starsky & Hutch":
hispanic, with a bushy mustache and long, black hair -- probably trying to
compensate for the widening bald patch on top of his head. He wore half a
dozen gold chains around his neck, and several rings on his fingers. And
while he looked to be in his early forties, he looked like one of these guys
who would never really leave adolescence. He also walked with a cane, and
had a very bad limp. I could see when he walked that there was something
seriously wrong with his right knee.  The girl's mother, on the other hand,
was white -- or closer to the truth, grey, with pale skin that had acquired
that unhealthy tinge that comes from years of smoking.  Her hair was also
black, and while I could see faint echoes of her daughter's beauty, they
were buried under at least 20 extra pounds, and further blurred by age
lines.  I could see her nervously clutching at a pack of cigarettes, and
wondered how she would make it through the flight without lighting them.

  It seemed a shame for a lovely young girl like that to face such a
disappointing future, but who ever said life was fair? Anyway, the plane had
finally finished loading, and we were taxiing out to the runway. Figuring I
wouldn't be disturbed any more, I plugged in David Bowie, pulled out my
book, and forgot about the people across the aisle. Forgot about them for
about half an hour, that is. That's when the stewardesses (or flight
attendants, I suppose) came to serve drinks to us. I asked for a Diet Coke,
as had the girl across the aisle. Her parents had both asked for beer.
Unfortunately, the stewardess had just run out of Diet Coke, and had to go
get a couple from another cart. While her parents sipped their beers and
talked to each other in Spanish, I noticed the girl looking at me. Being in
a mood for trouble, I looked straight back at her, threw my meanest eye-lock
on her, and gave a slight smile as I looked away again. It's a technique
I've used on unsuspecting high-school girls and cashiers all over the
country. It's got nothing to do with my appearance -- it's all in the
execution. The look has to tell the girl that you want her *badly*, but you
know she wants you worse.  None of it has to be true, but the right look
will convince her of it.

  Well, this time it worked, because a moment later, when the stewardess
came back with our sodas, I glanced over again, and the poor kid was staring
at me and looking like she couldn't make up her mind whether she should have
an orgasm or burst into tears. Her mother had to address her twice to get
her attention and get her to take her drink. I caught her name then, by the
way.  It was Maria, just like in "West Side Story."

  I figured that I was in for a little bit of fun this flight, at the young
lady's expense. I went back to my book and my music, and tried not to pay
too much attention to her, since I didn't want to get either of us in
trouble with her parents. But, from San Francisco to Phoenix, every time I
glanced over her way, she was sitting there staring at me, with that
gorgeous, wide-eyed innocent look. I would smile at my private joke, or
raise one eyebrow slightly, or just shake my head and look away. Each time,
the result was the same -- she'd give a little swallow, and then shiver
slightly, as if somebody had just run their fingers up her spine. And of
course, from the way I was looking at her, there was no telling what kind of
touches she was imagining. Anyway, her parents didn't seem to notice, or
mind, and I figured my fun would be over when I had to go to my connecting
flight in Phoenix.

  The plane touched down, and the pilot came on announcing that we had
landed, and that all passengers should leave the plane, and told us where to
catch our connecting flights. Throwing one last smile at Maria, I grabbed my
backpack and suitcase, and headed for the waiting area to wait out the three
hours for my connecting flight. Needless to say, I was a little surprised
when she and her parents came and sat down in the same area, just a few
seats away from me.

  To Be Continued in chapter 2: "Getting to Know You"