Up in the Air

"I'm gonna go with it . . ."

"V-one! Shit, baby, move it! Come on . . ." Overton inched up and peered over the panel; he couldn't see the end of the runway any more . . . they must be right on it! "Rotate!" he called out and the nose lifted imperceptibly. "Rotate plus five!"

"Goddamn-this-pig-is-heavy!" Evans yelled.

Overton glanced out the left side window; the runway's end raced by seemingly just as the main trucks lifted from the concrete, and he halfway expected to feel them smash into the strobe towers just ahead. He looked down at the flight director: about seven degrees nose up and a rate of climb of two hundred feet per minute. "Gear up?" he asked as he switched frequency to departure control.

"Yeah, fuck, might as well! This is as close to a positive rate as we're gonna get for a while!"

"Hear that."

The radio blared: "Ah, United two-two heavy, say altitude please."

Overton laughed: "Two-two heavy, we've got one seven five AGL, indicating two five zero FPM."

"Two-two heavy, have you lost an engine?"

"Ah, two-two, negative, we're just a tad heavy this afternoon."

"Ah, roger, two-two. Climb at your discretion to five hundred AGL then turn right to one eight zero."

"Roger, five hundred then one eight zero," Overton replied, then to Evans: "We're gonna rattle some windows down there today." Looking down at the scene below, he could make out upturned faces on the streets and in a couple of backyards. "Two hundred indicated, now reading three-two-five FPM."

"Damn, Paul, I've never felt anything like this in my life! How about flaps seven?"

"Flaps seven, roger. Okay. Now three seven five FPM and nine degrees nose-up. Two fifteen indicated airspeed. Three fifty AGL. Okay, now four hundred FPM, passing three nine five AGL. Okay, coming up on five hundred AGL."

"Okay, flaps five please."

"Flaps five. Now five hundred FPM, five hundred AGL, two-two five indicated airspeed. I'd keep your turn pretty easy."

"Roger. How're the temps? Can I come back a little?"

"Maybe try ninety eight percent; temps look okay. Wouldn't go any lower yet. Probably have to write this up, though."

"Clean the wing, would you?"

"Roger, flaps up. Coming up on eight hundred AGL, two five zero indicated, now ten degrees up."

"Paul, have you ever had one this heavy before?"

"Yeah, once. Quito - on a hot day, too. Ass puckered-up so tight they were picking vinyl from my hole for a week. Okay, now one thousand AGL and two seven five indicated, heading one-one five."

"Man, I hate to say it, but I've really gotta take a dump!"

"Really? I did about five minutes ago."

___________________________________

They reached a decent cruising altitude about halfway to Iceland and powered back a bit, let the autopilot settle in, and they both heaved a sigh. Evans pushed her seat back and stood, then walked to the head. Overton could see the back and arms of her blouse; they were soaked through with sweat and he smiled.

Out ahead the sky was tracked with dozens of contrails headed west; off to the south dozens more pointed eastward. The sun hung high overhead and the cockpit grew uncomfortably warm. He adjusted the temperature, checked in with Oceanic Control and received clearance to climb another two thousand feet, then set the altitude bug on the flight director and watched the altitude display slowly climb again. The head door closed and Evans returned to her seat.

"Want to try lunch?" she asked.

"You know it. Those clowns at Heathrow know how to cook!"

She opened the lunch box and took out a couple of trays, one marked salmon, the other some bizarre form of curry. Without asking she passed the curry to Overton and they both laughed.

"I don't know if I can eat this crap without a beer."

"Well," she said, "first time for everything. Want a Dr Pepper . . . oops, no DP. Ginger ale or Coke?"

"Fucking limeys. You choose."

She handed him the ginger ale. "Coke and salmon," she added, "breakfast of champions."

"I wonder what the hell you call shrimp masala and ginger ale?"

"Diarrhea?"

"Oh, thanks ever so much. What's the fuel flow look like?"

She coughed, laughed a little, then reached up and checked a dial, flipped a rotary switch and checked another dial. "About one eight zero. Looking good."

"Go ahead and run a weight for approach when you finish that stinky fish."

"Stinky? You calling my fish stinky. I can't wait 'til you start blowing farts after another load of curry. Your seat's gonna catch fire."

He shook his head. "No respect. I just don't get no respect."

She laughed, then reached up and turned off the cockpit voice recorder. "Want a blowjob?"

Overton coughed down a choke and turned crimson, then looked up and saw the recorder was off. He looked at her for a moment, at the hungry look in her eyes. "You really like doing that? I mean, have we created a monster here?"

"I can't help it, Paul. I love it, the way it tastes, the way you feel just before. But I love it, you know?"

"Yeah, well. I've never even heard of anyone trying something like that up here."

"Just push your seat back and leave the driving to us!"

"You serious?"

"Paul, I'm horny as hell. Now push your seat back, goddamn it!"

He shook his head again, then double-checked the autopilot settings. She was out of her seat and getting on her knees behind the center console, licking her lips all the while; he hit the button and his seat rolled back, then he dialed in a little recline and undid his belt and the button on his trousers.

Evans pulled the zipper down and pushed his briefs around until she freed him, then she engulfed him, worked him over with her mouth for a while, then pounded him with her fist. She kept at it for what felt like an eternity to Overton, then he felt his groin tightening, his back arching, and she pushed him so deeply down her throat he thought she would choke. She grasped him around the base with her fingernails as her head bobbed furiously; soon he heard her gulping ravenously as his seed flooded into her sucking mouth.

Again she bobbed and swirled and he felt himself stiffening again, again he felt her standing, heard her zipper opening, and he felt her contorting around the controls, mounting him, and he gasped when her liquid warmth engulfed him. With her hands on his seatback she ground into him, her hips swayed and rocked, her head drifted back and snapped forward in complete abandon and within moments he felt her shuddering into her first orgasm. He held her hips down, tried to thrust against her weight without jamming his feet forward against the rudder pedals, then felt his own orgasm building. He moved his hands to her shoulders, held her down while he did his best to impale her, then gasped as his orgasm took over.

As he came back to earth he felt her dismount, then encircle him with her mouth again and clean-up the remains. She licked her lips as she stood, then made her way to the head again.

Overton looked at the instruments; everything was as it should be, but he knew now that nothing was. He looked down at the wreckage, tried to wipe up the mess in his lap before he zipped up and fastened his seatbelt again. She came back a minute later and leaned over, kissed him on the mouth, then took her seat. He tasted toothpaste on her breath and smiled, then without saying a word reached over and took her hand.

"Never again, darling. Alright? Now flip on the recorder."

"Sorry, Paul. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, you know?" She reached up and hit the switch, then called out some fuel flow numbers and started working up some landing weights. She went to work on the pre-landing checklist while he made his way back to the head, and she smiled when he came back and stopped, leaned over and kissed her forehead. He bent closer still and whispered in her ear, and she looked at him while he climbed back into his seat. He sat and buckled himself in again, brought his seat forward and scanned the instrument panel. He felt her looking at him and tried as hard as he could not to look her way, but after a few minutes he gave in and looked at her.

There were tears running from her eyes, a smile parted her face, and he winked at her.

Silently the words formed on her mouth. He watched them form, watched them cross the air between them, felt her words wash over his parched soul . . .

I love you too. I love you too.

For how long had his life been up in the air, waiting, wanting to be reborn. How very odd to find love twenty years after he'd promised another woman his love 'til death do us part.

And they had parted, and with his wife's death his life too had seemed over.

But now this.

It was all so very sweet.

He looked ahead, looked at the New England coast approaching beneath a carpet of puffy white clouds.

Maybe he was a fool to dare love another woman again. Their relationship would be complicated, he knew, but theirs would be a relationship of equals.

He looked at her again, then began calling out the checklist. He did so with a gentle smile on his face.

*

[Of course this is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents and descriptions of events are without any basis in fact, and any resemblance to any person is pure coincidence. AL]