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I am afraid I’m being positively pitiful. Air travel has always bothered me. Today should not impose too much on my petulant aversion to flying as it should only be a ten-hour flight. Hardly the epic trek that Heathrow direct to Sydney was. Twenty-two hours, imagine it. Carrie had been in a foul mood as well.
In preparation for today’s flight, I’ve swallowed two Phenergan, charged my phone and the little battery thing that I can recharge it from. I’ve also prepared a number of spotify playlists and downloaded some good e-books. Despite the Phenergan, I still struggle with nerves.
Once the plane is at cruising altitude, I’m fine. The parts where it is near the ground bother me though. As Daddy is fond of saying, “Flying won’t hurt anyone. It’s the last few inches as you hit the ground again that will make a mess of you.” He does so very much think he’s humorous.
Davy is being a dear. He forgives my grumpy anticipation and keeps me distracted with people watching japes.
“Here, love. Check out this nong.” He discreetly indicates a young woman with a pink and blue mohawk. “Fucked a parrot when I was pissed once, I wonder if she’s my daughter.”
He’s politely skirted around our wild night of debauchery like a lovely man. He’s never brash about that sort of thing. Always encouraging, he’s never one to make any negative statements; perhaps a little smirked innuendo but never anything derisive. My bottom is a little tender today but Amaya left us a tube of Bonjella, a baby teething gel that I’m really rather thankful for. It’s soothing and slightly numbing. Perfect for my well battered bottom.
We’re early as usual. I’ve learned a lot of things about my lovely husband over the last couple of years. Infuriatingly, he’s not one for strict punctuality but rather one for being cleverly early. “Always keep a few minutes up your sleeve for hiccups.” He likes to say in justification. A few minutes? He’s never less than fifteen minutes early for frivolous appointments and when it comes to things like today, he insisted we were half hour in advance of boarding.
“We’ll have time up our sleeves to find a good park, get a coffee and take our time about boarding, Jules.” He cajoled me. But all it has done for me is give me extra time in the lounge to stoke the rising panic that flight always invokes.
“Oh, cheese and rice, I hope that bogan scrubber isn’t on our flight.” He points at a large woman who corrals a gaggle of loud youngsters. “See that’s why I booked business.”
Bloody business class. I had already sourced some quite inexpensive tickets using the power of third-party ticket referral services. We could have flown economy for as little as eight hundred and seventy dollars. Business class turned out to cost almost as much as the bar tab for our wedding.
“Fuck cattle-class. Whinging kids, farting strangers, knocking elbows, bloody hell Jules you’re not a struggling tourist anymore, love.” Yes, well we’ll see. We’re married now and I hope to instil a little more frugality in Mr David Stimpson’s handling of his finances. If we’re to raise a family, he’s going to have some obligations. Oh dear. I am getting quite ahead of myself, lately.
“What? What’d I do?” He can’t read my expression. It’s a frown and smile mixed together. It’s good to keep him a little on edge.
“Nothing Davy, just nerves. We should probably start thinking about queueing.”
“Hey? Oh, still got a few minutes, love. You want something to settle your tummy? A bit of cheesecake or something from the display?”
“No, no. Quite fine. Let’s just go and get through boarding before it’s crowded.”
“Okay then.” He shrugs and checks his watch. Minutes later we are sitting in the most luxurious seats I have ever experienced on a plane. I’m doing my best not to gush.
“I’ve never been boarded quite so efficiently, Davy.”
“You were boarded quite efficiently last night, love. On and off a few times.”
“Don’t be a pig, Davy.” I can’t help smiling though. I was rather efficiently serviced and just thinking about it gives me a naughty flush of heat. “And these furnishings… Sheer luxury.”
“It’s the difference between arriving ready to go exploring and needing a half a day to rest when you get there.”
“I quite imagine so. And almost private too.” I wink at him. He confessed earlier that despite his jet-setting tennis career, he’d never… Well, the mile-high thing. Carrie and I had some cramped, fumbling mutual masturbations but I admit it would be nice to help Davy get his ‘wings’ should the opportunity arise.
There are three rows of seats and three pair of seats in each row. We have the window on the top right and Davy offers it to me like a gentleman. I decline of course. Looking out windows is for people who don’t mind being reminded that they are in a tin can high above the ground. There is a monitor and charging ports, flip down tables and well it feels a bit naughty, like I’m sitting in somebody important’s seat.
To the rear of this section are some doors through to bahis firmaları economy and in the front, I see a galley of sorts and restrooms off to the side. There’ll definitely be no sneaking off to the loo with my new hubby, not even if it were darkened.
Despite the comfort of the couch-like seat, my bottom reminds me again of my naughty wedding night and I excuse myself, taking the little tube of Bonjella with me. A pretty flight attendant notices me walking toward the loo and asks if I need anything.
“Just the loo a moment, thank you.” I tell her as she busies herself in the galley. As I wee and then attend to dabbing some ointment on my bottom, I think about the flight attendant. She was perfectly groomed as only flight attendants can be. Her blonde hair was held strictly in a tight bun, her uniform quite well pressed and fitting. She had a lovely figure despite being a little tall. Tall girls can so often get quite spindly looking.
The most noteworthy feature she sported was her mouth. It reminded me a little of Angelina Jolie if she was tall and very fair. Her accent too, was fascinating. Perhaps American, perhaps French. She spoke slowly like a drawl but enunciated her consonants quite clearly. Fascinating tattoo as well.
As I exit, she asks me, “Can I get you and your friend some drinks. I’m afraid that boarding will take some time and I won’t be free to find you refreshments until we’ve taken off otherwise.”
“Dear, that would be lovely.”
“Perhaps a bottle of something to share?”
“Something white please?” I have no idea what sort of wine stock they have. I’ve never been offered more than a beer or glass of white, maybe a poor imitation of tea or coffee.
“Take a quick look at this, Cher.” She hands me a menu and I’m sure my eyes boggle. It’s like a mini restaurant menu.
“The Brown Brothers Semillon would be lovely. Thankyou.” I return the menu to her.
As she takes it, I see that little tattoo around her wrist again. It’s little angel wings in pink and blue that make a bracelet around her elegant slim arm.
“And your friend? Perhaps a whiskey?”
“My husband.” Oh dear, I’m becoming such a possessive cow. “And no, I’m sure he’ll be happy with a glass of white.”
“Oh lovely, off on a romantic getaway?” She asks as she scoops ice into a bucket.
“Honeymoon.” I grin. “Two weeks in Thailand, a little while at home in Birmingham to visit family and erm, then out to some place in the desert where Davy grows cows for a couple of weeks.”
“How exciting. I’m Calista. If you two need anything just catch my attention. Enjoy your flight, Cher.” She hands me the wine and two glasses and busies herself with her duties.
Davy helps me like a dear. He takes the wine and settles me back in my seat then takes his next to the window and corks the wine (it’s a twist top).
“Oh nice. Did you and Carrie ever get down to the Clare Valley?” he asks. I just love that he speaks about her with such confident nonchalance. With Carrie I had to hide any mention of past lovers or simple attractions. But Davy is just not wired with jealousy I suppose.
“No. I don’t even know where that is. We visited Cairns and the tablelands. Once we went to Sydney for a long weekend. Apart from that we tried to do all the local south east Queensland touristy things.”
“Ah… You’ll love it. There’s a lovely little B&B I like. Could never much get Karen to come with me. She hated travelling. But the wineries and the scenery. God Jules…” And then he does that thing he does where he paints a picture of a place with his memories and I feel like I’m right there holding hands with him. As we sip our wine, I’ve quite forgotten my nerves and I’m simply lost in his story.
Suddenly, the pretty Calista is begging our attention and I find there are other people quietly sitting in all of the other seats around us. She drawls her mellifluous accent through the pre-flight announcement and the nerves return a little. Thank god for Phenergan and for the beautiful man who holds my hand like he will his children’s one day. We haven’t had much conversation on that.
As we buckle up and taxi, I’m thinking I’d like at least one of each. He’s indicated he’s open to parenthood but just happy enjoying how things evolve. It sounded non-committal but that’s just Davy. He is an in the moment man. I wonder what our children would look like. Would they be tall like him; have his eyes or mine. I love his eyes. Those same hazel pools that watch me now for signs of nerves as I feel the giant tin can thrust me hard back in my seat.
I giggle. Not in fear but with finding this moment analogous to my wonderment on our future. I’m sure it will be exactly the same. We’ll dive head long into whatever we choose and he’ll be right there holding my hand and smiling at me.
A proper Brummie girl knows that the most important thing in any situation is not spilling one’s bevvy. So despite my almost euphoric enjoyment of the take off and the feeling that no matter what life throws at me, so kaçak iddaa long as I have his hand, I’ll be fine; I grip the stem of my wine glass and instead of panicking about fiery plane crashes as I usually would, I worry about spilling my drink.
“Ta-ra a bit Australia,” I smile at Davy. “Thank god for the tot. I was ever so nervous.”
“The toot? The dunny?” Davy screws up his face. “What are you on about Jules?”
“The tot silly.” I tilt my wine glass to him. I’ve learned enough Aussie slang to know that the toot, is the toilet and the dunny is too. But a tot is something quite Brummie. “The drink. Oh, and for holding my hand. I’m such a silly when it comes to planes.”
The flight becomes boring quite quickly. Even the announced turbulence, given in the pilot’s slow baritones, was more like a bit of a love tap. My bottom though. It required quite regular visits to the loo for a little bit of teething goo. Every now and then, I was excusing myself to go and dab a little numb on my ‘bum’, to use Davy’s name for it.”
I learned a little French in finishing school after leaving high-school. Horrible little adventure in the alps that was. Deportment… Etiquette… Grooming… Lesbian 101… I aced them all. So, when I hear Callista muttering outside as she prepares meals or some such thing, I understand her a bit better than she probably thinks.
“Mon dieu, non peanut… s’il vous plait vegan… branleur!” I chuckle at her obvious disdain for someone’s foody problems.
“I don’t care. Not a bit. J’en ai plus rien à foutre.” She clearly doesn’t ‘give a flying fuck’.
“The moment the gorgeous cretin is distracted I’m going to fuck the salope. Agh, Callista. T’as pas de couilles.” She lacks the balls?
“Talking to yourself?” I hear the other hostess up our end ask. I don’t know her name, she’s been really busy forward in first class and such.
“Bob.” Callista says like it answers everything.
The other girl laughs and says, “Be vewy vewy careful when you’re hunting wabbits.”
“I know. I fucking know right. Merde.”
“He’s very good looking though.”
“God yes. I’ve seen you hovering. I agree. Definitely the best on board.” Oh, so that’s what bob means, not battery-operated-boyfriend after all.
“Hey Callie doll. Maybe… Look there’s still one royalty suite…” The rest is lost as I pat and flush and wipe a little bit of gorgeous soothing gel on my little bottom hole.
“Oh!” She startles and blushes, does our girl Callista, as I exit the loo. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi Callista.” She studies the bench in front of her trying not to meet my eyes.
“Hello. I’m Kannika.” Says the smiling little Thai girl that could not be old enough to be a hostess. She’s so petite and ageless.
“Hello Kannika. Did I say that right?”
“Very well.” She nods a bow and shakes my hand. “Who is that you are with? He reminds me of a tennis player.”
Her accent is very American but her turn of phrase quite Australian. Clearly educated in English by a television and foreign teachers but brushes shoulders daily with Aussies.
“Davy. My husband? He was a tennis player.”
“Mon dieu, ferme ta gueule. David Stimpson?” Calllista gushes.
“Do you know him?” I ask the girl who holds her heart.
“Know him? God, I… Shit… You’re married to him? He was with that leggy dégénéré blonde salope. Sorry. I… Can’t remember her name. I took two weeks off and had tickets for all of his games one year. But she was draped all over him the whole time. Do you think… Fuck… Look I collect autographs.”
“Lovely Callista, that would be fine. I’m sure Davy will sign something for you.”
“Oh merci, thanks Cher. Listen. Um, you seem to be a frequent flyer to…” She indicates the loo. “I have quite the pharmacy back here. I could rustle up some Imodium if that would help make you more comfortable.” Her warm hand on my arm as she makes the offer is genuine and empathic. My blush is total and dramatic.
“Erm… Calista, I… Well no, I don’t need Imodium. Oh dear… Out with-it Julia…” I take a deep breath, “My wedding night was splendidly vigorous and I’m a little sore.”
Kannika’s laugh is like a bunch of little bells ringing. “Dayum girl, that turbulence would have brought back some memories then.”
Calista blushes and apologises, “Oh merde. Sorry.”
“It was very kind of you dear. I best be getting back. Do you have something you want Davy to sign?”
Her blush deepens and she eyes me carefully before speaking, “My bra. I have something of a collection.” She giggles with embarrassment, “Haha, such a tennis groupie. I have thirteen signed bras. Some were more fun than others to collect. My husband believes I took spare bras for players to sign but he believes my little wings are for the angels that watch over me when I fly too.”
She waves her little wrist at me.
“Erm… Calista, my lovely Davy is quite a sport and will do most things I ask of him. Leave it with me, find a pen and I’ll send him back. Signal kaçak bahis me somehow when you have a pen.”
“Oh, really? Are you sure? You’re newlyweds. You’d let him sign it while I wear it?”
“Lovely, I’d let him take it off you with his teeth and sign it after he’d fucked you, so long as I could watch or maybe join in.” I wink like a good new Australian citizen.
“Nom de dieu, mon dieu.” She glances sideways at a laughing Kannika, “Mais. Oh Cher, you leave it with me a while aw-rite?”
I nod and smile my naughty way back to Davy. He’s watching some kind of football on the monitor. These Australians have so many different types. At home we have football and rugby. If you include the bog arabs we have have gaelic football as well. But these colonials have erm… Soccer, League, Union, Australian rules, touch football and they even have a women’s league. And heaven help your soul if you confuse them.
He looks comfortable so I simply smile in hello and check my phone photos. I took several the other evening whilst he and Aunty M were at it. Gawd they’re hot. I’m keeping them to surprise him with. A short time later Calista approaches shyly. Dear me, she really does have quite a crush on my Davy.
“Hello again, Julia. Hello David, I’m Calista.” She reaches across me and shakes his offered hand.
“If y’all don’t mind, the pilot would like to meet you. I may have mentioned that we have honeymooners and a former tennis star on board.” She blushes like a schoolgirl.
“Come see.” She waves us to follow. We walk forward through the doors to first class. It’s a weird layout. It’s only half the size of business class. One side is walled off with two doors in it. There are single suites to the left of the aisle against the wall and double suites on the right against the windows.
Calista fumbles with a key to the cockpit and ushers us through.
“Hello.” Oh god my knickers wet with the booming baritone. “I’m Pilot in Command, Roger Harrison. You must be Julia and David Stimpson.”
He shakes David’s hand then raises mine to his lips to place a slight peck on my fingers.
“Enchanted.” He tells me as I destroy the gusset of my knickers beyond redemption. He’s a little taller than Davy; has grey sides to his short dark hair and steel blue eyes that burn with intensity. David smiles at me as Roger continues. He can see straight through me the bastard.
“Well, welcome aboard. Calista tells me you’re honeymooning.”
“Married yesterday. Ring still feels weird.” David confirms.
Roger toys with his own wedding band. “It took quite a few months for my own to feel comfortable, David. So how do you like this old bus?” He directs toward me.
“It’s quite comfortable, although I’ve never erm… travelled in business class before.” I stumble obviously smitten. David’s smirk grows more tiresome by the moment.
“It was really quite a plane in its day, this old girl. We bought it off Emirates when they were upgrading their fleet.”
“You make it sound like an old tub, Roger. It’s not gonna spring a leak or anything is it?” Davy asks like his regular cheeky self.
“No Mr Stimpson, I assure you they are maintained within an inch of their lives.” He smiles charmingly back at me, “Birmingham, I presume Julia. I’m a Leicester lad myself. Been living in Australia for almost twenty years now though.”
“Guilty as fock.” I chuckle.
He does seem rather fond of my chest. His eyes flit back and forth from my eyes, my mouth, my chest, Davy’s shit eating grin and rinse repeat.
“I’m sorry. Rather obtuse of me. You’re probably wondering why I called you forward.”
“Thought it might have been my devilish charm and razor-sharp wit.” Davy says dryly, “That or my good looks but I don’t have you pegged for a poof.”
Thankfully, the lovely man laughs at David’s droll humour. “Indeed. Well, look the old girl comes equipped with two large first class compartments that we’ve taken to calling royal class. They take up the same space as six first class suites each and only royalty could afford to pay for them. We can’t sell tickets for them at the price tag they’d require so we use them as crew sleepers or occasionally we upgrade someone.”
“God help me,” He continues, “There was a dreadful woman with three simply obnoxious children making a ruckus back in economy and I set them up in the first compartment before the other passengers threw them out the windows.”
“See Jules,” Davy says, “Don’t fly cattle class, love. Brutal back there.”
“Anyhow. There’s one left and Calista tells me you’re ahm… experiencing a slight discomfort Julia.” There’s a naughty twinkle in his eyes that turns my nethers to a swampy jungle. “So, if you’ll please follow the lovely Callie, I’ll have your baggage and things brought forward. Please do say you’ll accept. It’s a shame to have the best go to waste.”
“Bloody hell bloke. It’s a hell of an offer. Thanks heaps, mate.”
“Thank you, Roger. I wasn’t aggin about our seats, they’re lovely, but I’d be delighted.” I’d be delighted to drag him to the bloody compartment and… “Ahem…” I pull at his shoulder and peck him on the cheek. Davy is being a pig and chuckling silently. Callie, likewise recognises my distress and smirks.
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