DC-9 Flight with Amy

This may be the shortest story I will ever submit to Literotica. I will minimize the introduction and only recommend you read the beginning of "My Neighbor Jessica" and possibly "The Tale of Two Strippers" for the proper setting of the background for this true story. My employer was the same as when I met Trish and Tabatha from "Tale of Two Strippers" and the promotion was the next in a series following the one described toward the end of that story.

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In late 1985, my employer promoted me to a newly established position requiring quite a bit of air travel as well as windshield time. I was assigned to their most important client, which just happened to be based in Dallas, Texas. Actually, that is a little misleading; because the parent company of this client owned retail stores nationwide and even internationally; but the division office we serviced and the one yielding the highest profit margin, was located in Dallas. My title was Field Coordinator, but defined to me initially as "a liaison between the office, the field (meaning jobsites) and the client." In this new position, I was to visit every single jobsite for this client, every single week. When this assignment was first issued, all the jobs were in Texas and Oklahoma and close to airports serviced by Southwest Airlines. Initially, it seemed I was constantly skipping between Oklahoma City, Dallas, Amarillo, Houston, San Antonio and Austin.

Shortly thereafter, our client started to expand into the State of Tennessee, so Memphis and Nashville were added to my routes. Suddenly, I found myself with five projects located in; Northwest Fort Worth, Southeast Dallas and Galveston, Texas; as well as Memphis and Nashville, Tennessee, all at the same time. In 1986, Southwest Airlines served all these cities except Memphis; however the Nashville flights only connected to Houston Hobby.

Often, I would need to haul some item to one of the jobs, so I would drive that leg of the trip. The extra time needed to drive would put me behind schedule for seeing the other projects, so it was not unusual for me to drive to one city, then leave my truck at the airport there and fly to the other locations. When this happened, it might take several days to return and retrieve my truck, before starting a driving trip once more.

With Galveston being south of Houston, flying into Houston Hobby on Southwest, was better than flying into Houston Intercontinental on the north side of Houston with any other carrier. However, if my next stop needed to be Memphis, my best choice was Houston Intercontinental. In Dallas, if I needed to fly to any of the Texas cities, Southwest out of Love Field worked best, but if I needed to go directly to Memphis or Nashville without going through Houston, then I needed to connect at D/FW, located between Dallas and Fort Worth. After just a few weeks, I was more familiar with airline connections between these cities than most travel agents.

One of my job titles should have been "fireman" because anytime there was a problem; I was dispatched to squelch it. The needs and travel schedule of the client's representatives as well as the needs of the jobsite and the needs of the corporate office, necessitated constant changes in travel plans. As a result, I learned to travel light, usually with only a carry-on bag and briefcase. I might point out that with this additional burden, occasionally I would skip a week at one location if everything seemed to be going alright.

On one particular Friday afternoon in the late spring of 1986, I was in Memphis needing to travel to D/FW Airport to retrieve my pick-up truck. I called three different airlines and found the best available flight to be with Delta. I had not flown with Delta out of Memphis before, so I was not familiar with their gate locations. I also needed to return a rental car, so I headed to the airport with plenty of time to deal with these unknown factors.

When I arrived at the airport, the rental car return desk was virtually empty of customers, so already I was ahead of schedule. I had reserved the airline seat over the phone, but needed to go to the ticket counter to purchase it and get my boarding pass. When asked about my seating preference, I chose an aisle seat. When I asked about the gate location, I discovered the departing gate for this Delta flight was the very closest one to the ticket counter. I had overcompensated for the time needed, so with that much extra time, I could call the office and speak to my boss about the last few items of business that week. Remember in 1986, very few people traveled with cell phones and the airport pay phones were the most popular place in any concourse.

My gate was at the bend in the concourse and there was a cluster of pay phones located in the corner of that bend. From there, I could see the gate area, see the walkway coming from the ticket counter and see the concourse walkway headed toward the other Delta gates. I chose a phone allowing me a constant view of the gate area, but only needed to pivot to see the other directions. I could see out the window and tell there was no plane at the jetway, however there were several passengers waiting at the gate. I set my briefcase and carry-on bag on the floor next to the phone and made my call.

Just after I got my boss on the phone, I looked back toward the ticket counter and saw an absolute vision of loveliness headed my direction. I did my best to keep my concentration on the business conversation while watching this beautiful creature get closer. I could not tell an approximate age at first, but based upon dress style, walk and posture, she would have to be between 19 and 30. She had blonde hair that hung 5 or 6 inches below her shoulders, with a lot of body and curl to it. She wore bright red shoes, with open toes and 5 to 6 inch tall skinny spiked heels with no more than a ½ inch square tip touching the floor.

Her stone washed blue jeans looked like they were painted on with an air brush. I know terms like; "skin tight blue jeans" and "painted on jeans" have been used so much they have become clichés. I just don't know of a better way to describe jeans so tight you could not place a pencil between her skin and the fabric of the pants anywhere from her hips to the hem. As a matter of illustration, I later saw that the back of each leg had an upside-down zipper for the bottom 8 inches to enable her to get the tight lower portion past her heel and ankle. The legs of these jeans stopped at the very smallest part of her leg, just above the ankle, leaving her ankle and the top of her feet exposed.

She wore a red glossy belt that matched her shoes and on her left side she carried a medium sized shoulder strap purse that was the same color. On her side opposite the purse, she carried a duffle bag with both a handle and shoulder strap. The walkway was sloped toward where I was standing at probably 2%, causing her to walk carefully in her heels while clutching her purse and bag with both hands. Her hair and face looked like she had just come from "Make-up" on a TV or movie set. She was not overdone, but looked like you might expect Jennifer Aniston, Faith Hill or Carrie Underwood to look prior to a public appearance. Now that I think of it, those are good comparisons for her appearance.

From a distance, her blouse looked to be the most conservative part of her clothing. It was sunflower yellow and appeared to have some sort of small design in a dark color, spaced at 1 ½ inch intervals in both directions. It had 3 to 4 inch sleeves with a 1 ½ inch collar that stood up against her neck and then transitioned to narrow lapels that disappeared before meeting the buttons down the front. There was a waist band about 2 inches wide that would move up and down as she walked; alternating between hiding and flashing her red belt. Occasionally, I would also get a brief glimpse of her bronze skin just above her belt. In contradiction to her jeans, there was nothing tight about her blouse. It was not oversized; the shoulder seams and sleeves struck her correctly and the waist band was located at the proper height, it just was not designed for a tight fit.

As she got closer, I realized her blouse was unbuttoned almost to the waist band, possibly contributing to the loose fit. As she walked carefully down the slope, there was only a narrow gap that displayed a very tall and skinny "V" of skin from her neck to almost where her navel would be. As I was standing there talking; no, listening; no, just standing there acting like I was listening to my boss, I was really wishing she would somehow be on my flight. As she turned the corner about 10 feet from where I was standing, I just could not contain myself any longer. I said to my boss, "You'll just have to excuse me for seeming distracted, but if you could see what just walked past me, you would be distracted too."

What he couldn't see was that this girl's blouse had NO BACK! From the back you could only see glimpses of her yellow collar through her long blond hair. Outside her hair, you could see some of the shoulder and the back of each sleeve. The way her arms were positioned, holding onto both the purse and the duffle bag, none of the blouse below the sleeves was visible until it got below her elbows. The 2 inch waist band continued around her back and like in the front, it sometimes hid and sometimes exposed her red belt. Her back was totally bare, tanned to a golden bronze with no tan lines.

I can only assume that most men are like me and when you see someone like this in an airport, bus station or train station, your first thought is, "I sure hope she ends up sitting next to me!" With her turning the corner and heading toward the other Delta gates, the chances of that happening were pretty slim.

Just then another woman passed by me, headed toward the same gate as me. I could not help smiling inwardly and saying to myself; "No, this will probably be the person who sits by me." She appeared to be between 60 and 65 years old and looked exactly like she was headed to a costume party, but couldn't decide if she wanted to go as an 1870's carpetbagger or as Willie Nelson. She had on a leather hat and leather vest. She wore dark blue (unwashed look) denim jeans and a plaid shirt; carried a large duffle bag "of many colors" and to top it all off, she had her hair in Willie Nelson braids.

About this time, my plane approached the jetway and there was a rush of passengers approaching the gate end of the jetway as if the plane was about to leave without them. With assigned seats, I failed to see their rush. There were about 15 to 20 people that got off the plane and in a few minutes, the gate attendant announced boarding schedules. Because my dream girl had disappeared down the concourse, my main thought was to NOT be seated next to the female Willie Nelson wannabe.

In a few minutes, the gate area approaching the jetway was clearing, so I thought it was time I took my seat. I hurried a closing to the conversation with the boss, which had now transitioned from business discussion to a pure bullshit session. As soon as I hung up the phone, I picked up my briefcase plus my carry-on and approached the jetway with boarding pass in hand.

As I entered the plane, I realized this was a DC-9 with uneven rows of seats. If you were facing the front of the plane, the right side had 3 seats per row and the left side had only 2. I was not real familiar with this plane so I was careful to read the row numbers and seat letters as I walked toward the rear of the plane. I felt a little relieved when I passed the female Willie and still had not reached my row number. By this time, I had determined my seat would be on the right hand side of the plane, next to the aisle. As I counted down the rows, I noticed the overhead bins were all open but most were filled to capacity. As I approached my row, there was another peculiarity about this plane. Where the emergency exit windows were located on either side of the fuselage, there were no window seats. On the right side of the plane, there was an aisle seat and a center seat, but you could walk through the area where the window seat should be. On the left side, with only two seats per row, the missing window seat left a single aisle seat with free space on all sides.

Just then, I felt a stroke of luck as I found my seat was immediately behind the irregular row, all three seats were vacant AND there was just enough open space in the overhead bin directly above to store my carry-on/hang-up bag. I placed the bag overhead and stowed my briefcase underneath the seat in front of me and took the aisle seat assigned to me. Having the row to myself, I did not lower the armrest to my right. As I relaxed in my seat, I noticed there were not many people in the aisle and figured this plane was about fully boarded. I had dodged a bullet with Ms Willie and by now, an empty row seemed welcome. There was a 50ish guy seated in the single seat across the aisle and one row in front of me. I was thinking I was glad I didn't have that seat; it was just too conspicuous and resembled being in detention.

Just as I thought the door would close and the plane began to move backward, one more person entered the plane. It was my dream girl with the yellow top. I again started to wish she would be seated next to me, but it was just too much to wish for. She kept moving my direction, but her total attention was on the overhead bins. She approached and then passed my row with no change in her attention or focus. I somewhat relaxed with that "Oh well, it was too much to wish for anyway" attitude.

Just a few seconds later, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard, "Excuse me, that's my seat over there."

I quickly looked up to find that good looking girl in the yellow backless top and skin tight jeans. I uttered something brilliant like, "Oh, excuse me. Here, let me let you in." I then stood up in the aisle and turned to face the empty row. When I stood upright, I was looking her eye-to-eye. Her heels made her height equal my 5'11". As I placed my left hand on the headrest of the seat in front of mine, I gestured with my right hand as if I was presenting the entire row to her. How chivalrous; NO, how lame! Okay, I'll admit it; I was totally intimidated by the beauty and dress of this young lady.

Have you ever noticed how people over exaggerate as they stoop under an overhead obstruction? Well this girl did the same thing and I am so glad she did. As she sidestepped from her left to her right, she stooped much more than was necessary to clear the overhead storage bin, air conditioner vents, lights, speakers, etc. As she bent forward, her yellow blouse bellowed forward and provided a very nice view of her right tittie. She was probably an average "B" cup, cone shaped (at least while leaning forward) with a nipple about the size of a maraschino cherry, although a little darker and not quite as "red."

As I stumbled back into my seat, I am sure my face was just as red as that cherry and my heartbeat had to borderline on turning every single artery in my body into a potential aneurism. I was so overtaken with this girl, if she had turned to me at that very moment and invited me to follow her into the toilet to join the "mile high club," I would not have been able to move. The Memphis airport is only about 280 feet above sea level and we were still setting at the gate, but after seeing her tittie, I was certainly "Mile High!"

As she settled into her seat, she stretched her legs out in front of her in the extra room provided by there being no window seat. I do not understand exactly why, but there was just something about her legs stretched forward in those tight legged jeans and those red "fuck me" shoes that made her extraordinarily exciting. There was something about that open space, where there was no seat to hid any portion of her legs, that made this girl seem even more exposed, more open and even more vulnerable.

Similar to what I had done, with the empty seat between us, she did not lower the other armrest. She removed a paperback book from her red purse and opened it to a dog-eared page; although it did not seem she was concentrating on the book.

As I settled into my seat, I was trying to allow my pulse to return to near normal and figure out what I was going to do during the 1 hour 40 minute flight to D/FW. I was far too intimidated to initiate any conversation. I'm sure I had that proverbial "brook trout" look on my face, but the only person who would have seen it was the man setting in the single seat across the aisle and one row forward. He was near getting a crick in his neck from turning to get a better, or another look at this temptress.

The flight attendants started the pre-flight safety instructions just as we moved away from the gate and soon after that, I heard a gasp from my neighbor. As I looked her way, her expression clearly told her thinking. She had just remembered something she had forgotten to do before catching her flight.

The first few minutes of the flight were quiet as she was alternating between looking at her book and looking out the window. I was still trying to figure out a way to start a conversation as my mind tried to dissect what had happened so far. Did she know she has flashed me her tit as she took her seat? Did she care that I looked? A person cannot dress like that and not know that flashing is more a probability than a possibility. I really think a person who dresses like that wants you to look.

Finally, the fight reached altitude and the attendants began to take drink orders. When asked about our drink preference, I requested a beer and my beautiful neighbor asked for a vodka tonic. Neither of our drinks was free, so retrieving cash from our wallets, paying for the drinks and handing the money and the drink back and forth with her in the window seat, started some easy and comfortable dialog.

As the flight attendants moved to the next row, she initiated a conversation with the most common of all opening questions on any flight, "Are you from Memphis or from Dallas?"

I replied, "Neither one. I have jobs going on in both locations and I'm headed to Dallas to pick up my pick-up." Oh my God, I thought. Did she notice how stupid that sounded?

She laughed and replied, "You should try just driving it; it's probably a little too heavy to pick up."

Her light hearted joke seemed to ease the tension, at least on my part. I replied, "What about you?"

"I'm from Memphis."

"Why are going to Dallas?"

"I'm actually going to San Antonio; I have to change planes in Dallas."

"Oh, do you have family in San Antonio?"

"No, I'm just going there to spend the weekend with my boyfriend. Well he's not exactly my boyfriend; just someone I met recently and he invited me to come to San Antonio for the weekend. I've never been there; so I thought it might be fun."

Considering my conservative upbringing and naivety, I didn't know what to say or think. I ended up saying, "I see."

She grabbed my right arm with her left hand and said, "I know, it makes me sound like a slut doesn't it? Especially the way I'm dressed. I dressed for us going out to a club tonight. I should have dressed a little more conservatively for an afternoon flight, I just wasn't thinking."

Again, I was at a loss for words, so I was silent while I took a long drink from my beer.

She took a good swallow from her vodka and tonic, and then continued her questioning. "So how often are you in Memphis?"

"I usually spend one night there each week."

"Do you go out when you are in Memphis?" I had no idea where this was headed, but she was tearing down any barriers and inhibitions that could have possibly existed between the two of us.

I tried to answer her question as truthfully as possible, without sounding like a total dork. I said, "Well I have only been in Memphis 5 or 6 times and all on week nights, so I haven't really been out very much. My superintendent and I did go out last week on Monday night." I said continuing, "We went to eat ribs at The Public Eye in Overton Square and while we were eating, we noticed a lot of people walking by on the sidewalk, so we decided to see what it was all about."