“Excuse me, I think that’s my seat!”
Glancing up from his spreadsheet, Greg Lancaster liked what he saw.
Surely no more than eighteen or nineteen, the fresh-faced youngster was, if not the prettiest girl to ever cast a shadow across his retinas, certainly the best-looking in his residual memory. Drooling was not an option, and in the wake of his marginally over-emphasized “Oh yes, of course,” he clutched the lap-top to his chest, intending for her to squeeze past to the window-seat..
“Thanks,” she replied, inching her way forward delicately and providing Greg thereby, a momentarily arousing view of her compact rear-end in passing. “Oh God, please let her trip and fall in my lap,” he prayed silently, whilst watching that skin-tight little skirt in transit, her rather shapely thighs – a work in progress.
The moment closed out and the fantasies by necessity re-caged. Smiling at her briefly, he returned the notebook to his knee and continued adding data to column “F.”
The red-eye from Sydney to Perth is among the world’s stranger flights. Officially listed at three hours and ten minutes in duration, with the head-on influence of the ‘Fremantle Doctor’ – a high altitude wind that blows-inland along the Western Australian coastline, the flight can be protracted to well over five hours. Conversely, the return trip can be undertaken in as little as two hours fifty, courtesy of the same wind-swept conditions. In lieu of the available meteorological data, check-in had already advised this to be a five-hour flight in all probability.
Column “F” was beginning to fade in interest with the close proximity of Miss teenage distraction and the cruelly appealing scent that seems to cling to scrubbed and desirable young bodies such that she possessed. He wondered if in five hours time he would even know her name?
In his mid twenties himself, Greg was engaged to be married and knew his mind was wandering along fully undisciplined paths here. It wasn’t paying heed to his instructions quite obviously – probably the sudden exposure to that tight little skirt he reasoned. Out of the corner of his eye he could see she was reading-up on what appeared to be University notes – probably for her final exams in November he guessed. Hooked-up to her Ipod, she seemed (and probably was) oblivious to all around her.
As the plane taxied down the runway, she inclined her head to glance out the window, Rain was sleeting down now and as the 747 climbed rapidly, banking to the left towards the western corridor, the diffused halo of the city lights could clearly be seen to the east.
Right now though, Greg wasn’t dwelling on the aesthetic beauty of Sydney’s twinkling lights from a five thousand foot aspect, he was simply gazing at the girls slim shoulders, pretty blonde hair swept back in the most feminine of neat pony-tails….that spot just beneath her hairline that he would so like to kiss…..
“I don’t think so Greg,” the image of his young wife-to-be smiled at him sweetly from his conscience
Column “F” snared his attentions once again, although who really cared how the October sales figures were going to pan out when you could be pondering instead whether that was a conventional bra or a sexy little push-up, whose straps were so engagingly visible beneath the girl’s lacy top.
He was still considering those very possibilities a short time later when the girl packed away her books and Ipod.
“Really sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment,” she smiled at him, “I have to get to the overhead locker.”
This time he was treated to a forward view as she sidled across in front of him. The most perfect of young breasts passed but inches from his face. No more than a 32A he decided, not that any span of thirty two inches anywhere in the modern world could possibly encapsulate a more alluring set of curves. Even that mere hint of cleavage showed that God had been right on his game that night back in 1987 or 1988 – whenever it was the girl’s parents had gotten substantially beyond the light-petting stage.
It also gave Greg an opportunity to take in her facial details, not that this did anything but worsen the situation. A slightly softer version of young actress Keira Knightley he decided. High cheek-bones aided by a truly flawless complexion, set with ice-blue eyes and a mouth – if it hadn’t been kissed yet – was one that was most definitely needed to be….and soon!.
How many hearts was this beautiful visage going to subsequently break?…..his own already headed the list.
“student?” he asked as casually as possible as she inched herself back in.
“Yes….unfortunately,” she smiled, “Got my finals in a few weeks.”
“You live in Sydney?” he added, desperately wanting to prolong the conversation.
She looked puzzled by the question for a moment. “Ohh, no, I live in Perth. I just came to Sydney to stay with friends during the holiday. What about you? do you live in Western Australia?”
Her voice was as pretty as her expression. He was sure he gulped.
“Nope, I’m a NSW boy (he chose the word deliberately)…just going to Perth on business for a Company meeting…budgets and boring stuff like that I’m afraid. I think I’d rather be back studying for my HSC,” he grinned….”I’m Greg by the way.”
She took his hand. “I’m Candace, nice to meet you.”
‘Candace’ so suited her he was thinking. He had all but forgotten his fiancee’s name at this juncture. Right then the stewardess parked her trolley alongside them in the aisle and enquired as to their preference for a drink. Tempted as he was to ask for a bottle of champagne and two glasses, they settled for a ginger ale each. He was desperately hoping she wouldn’t ask how old he was because he would have to have lied. He knew he looked little more than twenty-two or three and that he prayed was her assessment too.
“Pretty late for a young girl to be flying alone isn’t it?” he said, changing the subject, “We’re not going to be touching down in Perth till almost two in the morning?”
“It’s OK,” she breezed, “I’m eighteen, I think I can look after myself, besides, dad will meet me at the arrivals gate to take me home. I’ll be fine.”
Greg barely had time to acknowledge this fact when the cabin-lights dimmed and the in-flight theater flickered on. As the credits for “3.10 to Yuma” began to roll, Candace muttered “I’m really tired, I don’t think I can stay awake for this,” as she pushed the tray back into its upright position.
“Would you like me to get a blanket for you?” he asked, bitterly disappointed that he was to be imminently denied her company for the rest of the flight.
“Yes please,” she answered sweetly, “It’s getting quite cold isn’t it?” He hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he did – she was right. He retrieved one for himself also from the overhead locker.
Some ten minutes later, the first time he dared glance in her general direction, he was mortified to discover she was still marginally awake. She smiled at him, which not only served to magnify his voyeuristic guilt but caused him to suffer aortic palpitations on account of her tempting closeness. So innocent and pretty did she look, wedged comfortably into that little niche between the seat and fuselage, her head resting against the small pillow, that he could but return her smile before re-aligning his gaze dutifully upon Russell Crowe and the small screen.
“What the Hell am I thinking?” he chastised himself silently. “She’s just a kid!”
Another ten minutes and she appeared to be asleep. He was now able to study the facial intricacies of what was undoubtedly one of Nature’s finer achievements. Essentially soft-featured, her skin was indeed smooth and blemish-free. Resident in her cheeks the flush of youth, whilst between them, that most delicate and appealing set of lips trembled perceptibly, in sync with her respiratory rate.
How feminine were those small locks of hair that now lay across her forehead, almost in defiance of the symmetry of her other features, he thought to himself. Stirring slightly, the blanket slipped and leaning over he pulled it up for her. What he would have given to be able to kiss her just once….even in her sleep!
Barely at the half-way point of the movie and Greg was distracted by some unexpected lateral movement. Restless quite obviously, the girl was now lying against his shoulder, still comfortably wedged into her night pillow. Unwilling to move her, he simply raised the intervening armrest to its upright position and retracted his own seat until gravity caused her to nestle protectively into his upper arm. Her face was now but inches from his, he could even smell her sweet breath. She was an angel, of that he had no doubt, but at that angle – an angel with marginally visible cleavage so tempting, he had to count backwards from ten to restore the status quo.
Most everyone else had turned off their night-lights now and “3.10” through no fault of its own, was obviously playing to a less than enthusiastic audience. He was finding the lightly pressured contact with the young girl most enervating and he longed for her to slip across even more. She looked so vulnerable he almost ached with hope.
Drawing up his own blanket, for a distinct chill was pervading the cabin, he found it impossible to sleep. Not that the girl was disturbing him at all – she had neither moved or stirred in any way. The soft rise and fall of her chest suggested she was deeply asleep and as comfortable as a Polar bear mid-hibernation.
Unseemly thoughts were gathering on the periphery of his consciousness. He tried ignoring them but they would not be silenced.
“She’ll never wake up – not if you’re really careful Greg.”
“You just gonna sit there and let this opportunity pass you by loser?”
It was that final insult, “What are you man? a doer or a dreamer?” that finally spurred him into action. Dammit, those all-tempting curves were now less than a foot away!
Drawing his own blanket up to chest level, so as to hide all trace of his imminent digital exploratory, his hand inched his way beneath the coarse material. Studying her face for the least sign of wakefulness his fingers had encroached to within centimetres of the underside of the girl’s breasts.
His own heart-rate itself loud enough now to waken the dead, he stopped short of his quarry. He couldn’t do this! This was sexual assault – plain and simple. Besides. how would he ever explain his actions?….to Candace? his fiancee? the Court?…Perhaps just one gentle squeeze and then if she woke, pretend to be asleep himself…only another couple of inches after all?
Even as his hand very gently encircled the girls left breast, barely making the slightest contact – he could feel the heat and decisive stirrings between his own legs. The intrinsic forbidden nature of his groping made it just that much hotter. His fingers closed around the young girl’s curves and imperceptibly squeezed that murderously soft and sexy mound.
Candace stirred but slightly and he was frozen with fear though not daring to relinquish his hold, in case such movement betrayed his encamped position. He thought he detected the onset of a smile but could not be sure. Again she resumed her regular breathing.
He was able to support the full weight now of her small breast yet had he been asked to describe the feeling right at that moment, words would have failed him. Buoyed by his progress to date, Greg squeezed once more, cupping her entire breast now and revelling in the sensations being afforded him. The girl murmured slightly and seemed almost to be nestling in to him closer. Moving his hand across with infinite care, he gently grasped her right breast and was immediately rewarded by an increased stiffening in the nether regions of his lap. How he wished he might check the lie and contours of the land beneath Candace’s own skirt. For now though, he was up to his fingernails in lust for the wondrously hot little female that lay so open and vulnerable right beside him, schoolgirl or not.
There was nothing for it – he had to do it!
Ensuring that she was covered by the blanket, pretty much to her shoulders, he allowed his hand to drop to the girl’s waist. Proving far easier than he had supposed, he managed to slip his hand up beneath her top – the heat from her body cauterising his logic circuits and over-riding all sense of caution.
At the point he reached the lower edge of her bra, so flimsy an article, one might have supposed it was supporting little more than just a pair of pre-pubescent nipples, he gulped.
Candace, sighing now audibly, wriggled in her seat and made as if to turn away from him. He figured he was but moments from discovery, being unable to extricate his hand. She would wake up and discover the facts of the case. As luck would have it however, she settled back in her original position, snuggling up against her would-be lover with but a soft murmur.
On a hiding to nothing, he slipped his hand up inside that closeted air-space and all but came in his pants as he felt the girl’s beautiful soft breast, finally skin to skin. Her nipple responded quickly to the intruder and as he began to manipulate her, Candace’s murmurs became more audible. Whilst far from moaning, she was reacting to his touch and a gentle smile was clearly evident on her face now. More than anything he wanted to kiss her and tell her how beautiful she was. That he could never do this was exquisite torture indeed.
Suddenly he felt her right arm in transit beneath the blanket, bringing her hand up to of all places – her other breast. He dared not move, even as she commenced pleasuring herself whilst still deeply asleep. Unable to see, but fully able to detect, Greg watched awe-struck as the girl’s hand roamed upwards beneath the blanket, caressing herself albeit, through her top.
The stewardess glanced across at row K in passing, seats 9 and 10 in particular. “How sweet,” she thought to herself, that nice young man snuggled up with the young girl there. If only her own boyfriend were so attentive!
Past caring for his own well-being, all Greg could think about was what wondrous prize lay hidden there beneath that tight little skirt. If her murmurs were anything to go by, there certainly would be no need for a can of WD40.
Managing somehow to find an entry-window between her upper thighs and the skirt itself, he propelled his hand almost to her panties without making any contact with skin – smooth and hot enough to seal inarguably, an appointment with the legal profession. Not that it would ever have gotten that far – Candace’s father would unquestionably be leaving him a quadriplegic and bleeding profusely on the baggage carousel.
Asleep or not, his first-up contact with the front of her panties produced what could only be interpreted as an embryonic moan from those pretty lips and if she wasn’t already wet and primed – even asleep – then he was a bad judge of female arousal.
Her legs parted, at least to the very restricted limit that tight little skirt would allow. It was enough though for him to slip a finger up beneath the leg of her panties whereupon he discovered a Utopia that is most certainly denied the average traveler. The lips of her pussy were completely awash and there was definitely a ‘vacancy’ sign hanging up there. Not even taking care now to avoid detection, he pushed a finger well inside the girl, passing comfortably beneath her fully intact hymen, not that this would have been any great hindrance given, his lust right then.
Pumping his middle finger well into the promised land, the girl was beginning to moan way too loud for comfort. There was no choice. As he inclined his head and kissed her deeply, he felt her hips beginning now to respond to his invasive digital therapy.
He sensed her orgasm marshalling itself even before she did. His own undies he knew were sticky as all Hell but nothing could detract from his intent to bring her to Heaven at thirty-five thousand feet. At the crucial moment, her eyes flickered open. In a blind panic, he withdrew his hand.
“Don’t stop now,” she whimpered in desperation, “Please, not now!”
© “Turbulence” appears courtesy of the published anthology “The Best of Peter_Pan” Peter_Pan (2007 Lulu Publishing Inc Morrisville NC)