Economy–Awkwardness Of Zero Inches

The romantic tryst had lasted a mere minute, which had felt like eternity circling onto itself. Another guy had crawled onto the bed on his hands and knees, naked. He had gently rolled the couple on its side with Pam's back to him. Pam had been placid. Hector had been the good guy with the doggy bone. Wide eyed, he had let himself be rolled to the side, as long as he could kept thrusting his penis into Pam's vagina. And he had grown so familiar with the sensation of her vagina, the feeling of her pubic bone hitting his, her hip bones pressing against his belly, and the juiciness of her thighs that he had held on tighter than a rodeo cowboy holds onto a prized bull.

The image before the second guy entered Pam's ass had burned itself into Hector's memory. The guy's body had been stiff like a plank. His eyes had been at the utmost lower edge to peer at his cock angling at Pam's puckered hole. The green condom rolled dick went effortlessly into Pam's ass. "She's so intoxicated, she's completely flaccid," had the guy exclaimed to the room upon entrance.

Hector had been able to feel the other guy's penis from Pam's vagina. There had been only a thin wall between the vaginal canal and the rectum. So, when the guy poked into her ass, Hector could feel the push against his penis. The guy had grabbed Pam's hip bones, so that he could push himself deeper into Pam. Her bum had kept the guy from fully entering her ass. Hector could feel the guys' knuckles against his hip. At first, he was thrown by it. However, the homerun stretch of getting the last inch into Pam had felt so good that Hector had quickly been pushing with all his force against the guy's knuckles. And the guy had been too occupied with the nastiness of Pam's brown insides to bother.

A tear had formed in the corner of the upper eye of Pam. The glistening water bubble had grown. It had grown to proportion that made it roll over the stem of her nose to trip onto the dirty, beer soaked mattress. Pam was crying. Hector could tell that it wasn't the pain. There was no tension in her vagina or anywhere in her body, in fact her arms had been flopping when she was rolled to her side, so no tension meant no pain. He could sense that it had been the psychological pain of being taken into the ass, the dirty pooper, where only shit goes, the place that is so private and guarded that nobody ever even sees it. And this dick was deeply inside of her, leaving nothing, nothing at all, private to herself, leaving her utterly delivered to all the guys in the room to her utmost depth.

Hector had locked eyes with her eyes. The tears had been streaming freely down her face. Her motor functions had been subdued by the alcohol. The emotional tears ducts hadn't. The exquisite feelings in his groin had kept him pummeling her vagina, while on the upside, he looked deeply into her eyes to be with her in her pain and misery.

"This is my first ass fucking. This is so awesome," yelped the guy behind Pam.

The peanut gallery cheered with warm support, "go fuck her brownie!"

Gushing had formed in Hector's penis. Convulsions had grabbed his body. His stomach muscles had flexed as if they had wanted to crush rock. His eyes had twitched. Pam's faint emotional expression shifted to a good-bye-don't-leave-me. He exploded inside of her belly. The back guy's dick was softly rubbing along Hector's shaft muted by the Pam's lining. Hector had felt Pam's entire body filling with his energy, glowing red and with warmth and happiness. Frozen, unable to move, Hector's penis was pushed into Pam as deeply as he could. Pam's pubic bone was hitting his each time the guy behind thrust against Pam's pair of butt pillows.

Mike had stepped onto the mattress. Hector had been able to feel the deep shift in the mattress. Mike had slapped Hector on the bare ass. "Come on! Time's up. There are people waiting!"

Hector had moved out of Pam and away in obedient, polite rush. He had starred down at his cock to see Pam's wetness glistening on him. It did glisten on his bare skin.

"Fuck, I forgot to put on a condom," Hector breathed in panic.

Mike was towering on the bed. He had left dirty boot prints on the sheets. "Don't worry, mate. We gave her plan B half hour ago. If nobody hits her tonsils so that hard that she throws up, you are good. You are not the first one to forget to put on rubber."

After those matter of fact words, Mike hadcoveted for the next taker, "Half-price midnight special. $10 gets you this nubile hot girl. $10 only!"

Hector had been left in the half light. Mike was bouncing on the bed. The second guy had still been fucking her in the ass. His hands had found their way down to her unoccupied pussy. He had been gently nibbling the side of Pam's neck with his teeth. Hector's hand had been searching the dark floor for his shorts in empty bags of chips and half full ones. When he had found them, they had been wet and sticky from something that had spilled on the floor.

All disgusted with himself Hector had left into the hallway and out into the dark, cold night.

Flipping back into the reality of the plane ride, Hector took another look at doctor Jenibelle. He was surer now that doctor Jenibelle could be Pam. Yet, he was doubtful. Wouldn't she have definitely berated him or gotten him arrested for rape? Or had she also needed some time to remember. And now that she remembered, she tried to avoid the topic at all cost?

Doctor Jenibelle was flipping through a scientific magazine and forking Cesar salad thoughtlessly into her mouth. A dripping of Cesar dressing was on her chin. Hector had the urge of politeness to inform doctor Jenibelle. "You have cum on your chin," shot through Hector's face. Then, he caught himself. He realized about himself that he was half way in between the alcohol induced gang rape and the reality of potentially a different woman on the plane.

He tried to say nothing. He tried to stick to his drinking game. Though, he couldn't help himself glance at her to wonder about her identity. And each time, he saw the Cesar's dressing on her face, the word "cum" shot into his mind and "I'll wipe it away for you." Images of that guy shooting his cum on her lips, and his excess cum pouring out of the corner of her mouth flashed passed him.

He had suppressed those memories for all these years. He worried about getting arrested. He worried about getting a scene on the plane. There was no place to go for him. The economy seats were literally so close together that his elbow had been touching hers for the whole plain ride. He felt nauseous. He was fighting the urge to throw up. His face was pale like a ghost's.

The cabin binged. The seatbelt sign came on. The whole cabin dipped with a turbulence. Doctor Jenibelle looked at Hector for a brief moment.

"You look like you are in awful pain," stated doctor Jenibelle.

"Yes, I am," burst out of Hector. The state of pain had been so overwhelming. He couldn't keep it in. There was the feeling of catharsis to admitting to a horrible crime.

Quietly, doctor Jenibelle reached into her purse between her feet to pull out an orange prescription bottle. "I have taken these for years to numb the pain," said doctor Jenibelle.

There was the innocuous comment of another passenger sharing her long fear of flying. There was also the possibility of double speak. There was the possibility that doctor Jenibelle was Pam. And Pam didn't want to talk about it. Pam had told him that she used pain meds to flush that night out of her memory.

Hector felt like he was biblically pre-ordained to accept whatever doctor Jenibelle handed him. If she was Pam or not, god had sent doctor Jenibelle as a stand-in. He was to take whatever he deserved for his deeds. He accepted the pill out of the full bottle with thirty others. He swallowed it without asking what it was or what it would do. He had surrendered himself to doctor Jenibelle like a fallen good man: "I will take my punishment. I will even take my punishment if it is unjust and out of proportion for I have done what is without excuse."

Hector looked at doctor Jenibelle expectantly, yet silently like a good fallen man would do in front of the high judge. Doctor Jenibelle went back to reading her scientific magazine.

That campus night, he had returned to the house in the morning. He had stepped out of the cool morning air and the light returning normal to campus. The house had still been a mess. The daylight was piercing through covered windows to create a half-light in the room. A handful of party revelers had stayed behind to pass out on the couches. Some had probably been intoxicated enough to fall asleep. Some had probably not really had a place to go to.

Hector had forged his way to the bedroom in the back, next to the laundry area. The room had been empty, except for Pam in the center of the bed. Her limbs had been artificially splayed like a murder victim caught in an unnatural pose. Her mind had been too intoxicated to adjust herself. Her eyes had been closed now. She had been sleeping.

Her body had been even more succulent than before. The glimmers of daylight had illuminated her smooth skin, her belly, a perfect picture of youth of an unpretentious girl. Discarded wet condoms had been flung on her body. The guys had been so terrified of catching the cuties from her after guy after guy had fucked her. Yet, they had cared not at all about their juices leaking out of the translucent latex, rolling down her body. There had been a green, crumbled one that had a street of semen dripping down to her pussy. Someone else had seemed to have finished her in the ass, because a thicker stream of cum had started at her puckered hole.

He hadn't been able to see any of her clothes in the mess on the floor. There had Polaroid photos of her discarded all over the floor. There had been one thrown on her chest. On the photo, she had been propped on her knees to raise her hips higher. Her face had been carelessly left flat down on the mattress. The black cross country running champing was squatting behind her rump. His shins were unusually long. His shins were skinny with only a sliver of muscle showing. He still had his shiny purple running shoes on. He had been fucking her squatting from behind. Both his arms were raised straight overhead in a double victory sign. The lankiness of his body made the photo as grotesque as his eyes did. His eyes always looked like he was wearing round coke bottle glasses, even though he never wore glasses. His face was gleaming with joy of victory, of running across the finish line with the ribbon stretching across his chest, all naked, all butt naked, and poor little Pam passed out and limb, the complete opposite of energy and exuberance.

Hector's conscience slowly rolled back into the now on the plain. His reaction and movement was dampened by the white pill that was crawling through his blood stream. Doctor Jenibelle's finger was on the word "guilt" in the magazine. He wondered if it was a signal. It could be a coincidence. The booze had always loosened him up to talk. The memories were flashing limbs and cocks into the flight cabin. The pill was spreading stupor and ambivalence about it all, including prison time.

He looked at doctor Jenibelle again. Taking off the stern mom look and the blank face from staring into a computer too long in the office, doctor Jenibelle was definitely Pam. He was sure of it. She had a family now. She had moved on.

"Have the stewardess fill up the water glass with wine too, or just ask her for two glasses. You'll be doing her a favor."

He tried to psyche himself up with one of his travel mottos. The stewardess wouldn't serve him anymore. He looked way too out of it. His eyes were shot red. His motion was delayed from the white pill. He slurred from the existing bottles of Jack. His life was unrolling as lonely, average success, and spread over America's second tier city hotels. It suddenly dawned on him. That he had never forgiven himself for that night that he had suppressed. For a year of therapy, the therapist had been digging. And that was it. He was a piece of shit. Pam was the one that had moved on. She had a life.

"Don't cry on me," said the doctor Jenibelle with her mother voice. "I should know better than handing out psychotropic prescription drugs. Sometimes, a second one fixes what the first one messes up."

"Yes, fix me," blurted Hector out.

Doctor Jenibelle rushed to reach her purse before increasingly out of control, overcome by self-pity Hector could cause a scene.

He swallowed the pill in religious deliverance to his penance. A few minutes in, his mind was drifting between gathering a realization to where he was to a blanket of stupor.

An hour had passed, the seatbelt sign turned on for the final approach.

"If there is a male steward, always keep your seat belt buckled. You don't want him with his hands in your lap when you are passed out before landing."

That was the clearest moment during departure, when another of his travelling mottos popped into his hand, while the male steward was fumbling around his lap.

After the plane landed, the herd of economy humans collectively rose to their feet. The orchestrated sequence of departure started. A tense, and stiff doctor Jenibelle squeezed through the tiny space between his knees and the seat in front. She was eager to get away from him. When he saw her ass in front of his face, he tried to grab it. His arm wouldn't lift.

When he realized that she was leaving him, he tried to say, "stay, you can do anything to me. Nothing you can do can be worse than you leaving me!" He couldn't say it. He could only think it. Droopy eyed, he saw her walk away down the aisle.

He imagined how she had walked home that morning from the party house. Her panties and bra had probably been gone to be trophies for guys. With luck, she probably only found one of her flip flops at the most. Her top had probably been torn by a guy ripping it off her body, so that her boobs would be exposed in various angles in the street. There was probably beer, melted chocolate, and unidentified sticky substances on her clothes. She had to pull that ick on her body. She'd probably take one last look at all the demeaning photos of her being abused like a trophy hunting animal by guys she had never seen and a number of guys that would have sent her head spinning.

And there she would have been walking in public like a slut with the cool air whisping her in bare places to remind her how exposed she was. The disgustingly sticky clothes would remind her how much of a slut she had been. The looks of the faces on the people would have made her feel like an outcast, like a hunted animal trying to flee into the shelter of her dorm room.

When the male steward helped him stagger to the gate, Hector assured the male steward that he knew what he was doing. He had a motto: "Never drive yourself to the airport when your flight is over two hours. Odds are, you'll be getting off the return flight smashed."