DC-9 Flight with Amy

She interrupted, "So you went to Margarita Monday at Gonzalez and Gertrude's!"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I've been there dozens of times. I'm surprised I didn't see you in there."

"Well we only stayed for a couple of drinks. I had to drive to Nashville early the next morning, so I couldn't stay out too late or drink too much."

"Did you see my friend? She works behind the bar. Short, dirty blonde hair, real curly, green eyes, really cute with big boobs."

At that point I recalled the bartender that had served my friend and me, so I said, "Jennifer."

"YOU KNOW JENNIFER!"

"No I don't really know her, but the guy sitting next to me called her over to tell his friend 'HER JOKE,' so that is how I knew her name."

I almost felt like she was finishing my statements, "The joke about a blowjob?"

I said, "Yeah and when she got to the punch line, she filled her mouth with seltzer and…"

She did it again, "It looked like a load of cum was spewing out of her mouth. She does that joke better than anybody!"

Suddenly I realized I was setting here on a plane talking to one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen and SHE was talking about being a slut, Jennifer's boobs, blowjobs and spewing cum as if it was commonplace. I said, "I really like your outfit, do you wear it often when you go out?"

That had to sound like a 12 year old kid standing in the kitchen soon after getting home from school and saying, "Mom that hot apple pie sure looks good, do we have any ice cream."

She explained, "I just bought the shirt yesterday, so this is the first time I've worn it."

"I bet you have to be careful not to fall out of it when you bend over."

She was holding her drink in her left hand by then, so she pulled her feet toward her seat, rotated her shoulders slightly in my direction and reached down to scratch her right ankle with her right hand. Again the right half of her blouse fell forward giving me an unobstructed view of her right boob. Yes it was the same boob I had seen when she sat down. It was just as perky and delicious as before, only this time she knew without a doubt that I was looking. She said, "You mean like this?"

Again, I was speechless.

She straightened up quickly and twisted toward me, bringing that same hand across her body to grab my arm once more, "You really do think I'm a slut now don't you?"

Her exaggerated movement to reach across the empty seat between us to grab my arm provided another good view. This time it seemed her erect nipples provided a "stop" for the lapels of her blouse. I was provided a great view of her chest and the swell of both boobs, but her nipples were covered slightly.

"I don't know about that, but I am not used to girls showing me their boobs on an airplane."

She explained, "I didn't mean to shock you; I've just never been shy about my body."

As prophetic as it seems now, I said, "Well I certainly won't forget this flight for some time."

Then she asked, "When will you be back in Memphis?"

"Sometime next week; I'll be there at least one night per week as long as we have projects there."

"Do you have something I can write on? I'll give you some places to go while you're there." I had lowered the seat back tray on the middle seat in front of us and we were sharing it for our drinks. My now both my beer can and her drink cup were empty, so we each placed the empty container on the tray.

I leaned forward to get my briefcase from under the seat in front of me and when I had it on my lap, removed a yellow legal pad and pen for her. As soon as I handed her the writing supplies, she immediately started writing places to go and places to see.

At the top of the page she wrote her name in two row high cursive letters. As she wrote "Amy Wilson" she was narrating her writing. She said, "I'll put name here at the top and you can just tell any of these people I told you to come see them."

She then proceeded to write several on her favorite places and events ranging from the "Memphis in May" festival to downtown and the Beale Street area to Poplar Avenue, Germantown and South Memphis. Next to many of the location names, she wrote the name of the club manager, bartender or door person and gave me instructions to tell that person that I was a friend of Amy Wilson's.

She had asked me so many questions; I figured it was fair game, so I asked, "How often do you go out?"

"Three or four times a week usually; sometimes more."

"Do you work…go to school?"

"Oh I work; I'm not going to school right now, I graduated last spring." She added, "I will probably take some real estate courses this fall, though."

"Did you go to MSU?"

"Yeah, but I started working at a real estate office right out of high school so I could get my own apartment. I worked and went to school part time. That's why it took me so long to graduate."

I was a little confused, so I asked, "How old are you?"

"I'm 27."

"I would have guessed younger, maybe 22 or 23."

"Thanks, I'm sure I will really appreciate that is a few years, but right now, I like being 27!"

I felt a little bolder by now, so I asked, "What would you guess my age to be?"

She looked at me closely for a few seconds and said, "38."

"Wow, you are really good. You're just a little early. My 38^th birthday is just a few weeks away."

"Yeah, I've always been pretty good at guessing ages. Most of these places I am writing down are a little bit older crowd. You will probably feel a little more comfortable at these places than at some of the other places I go."

I'm not sure, but I think Amy Wilson just told me in a casual, but diplomatic way that I was too old for her. Well she was probably correct. How embarrassing; to die of an aneurism or heart attack just after climaxing into something like her.

When she handed me the yellow pad, I started reading it which broke the conversation. Amy picked up the paperback book and started turning paged until she reached her spot. Holding that page open, she said, "I hope you don't mind, but I really want to finish this chapter."

I just smiled, winked and nodded my approval before returning the legal pad to my briefcase. When it was stored properly, I set back and relaxed as dozens of thoughts danced through my mind. While I was relaxing, I began to notice my surroundings more; at least more than just the one occupied seat to my right.

The guy across the aisle from me, in the single seat one row up, was keeping constant surveillance on Amy. Two or three times every minute, he would turn his head 90 degrees to the right and cut his eyes toward the yellow shirt. Sometimes, he would twist his back or maybe his neck as if there was some discomfort there, but he never looked or twisted to his left, always just to his right. If Amy changed positions, like crossing, uncrossing or re-crossing her legs, he never missed a movement. If she turned a page of her book, he knew it by the time she did.

I cannot remember ever witnessing a voyeur who was more obvious and conspicuous in their efforts. Watching this guy was the height of my amusement for the remainder of the flight; at least until we touched down at D/FW.

Once we landed, it took several minutes for our plane to taxi to the correct gate. During that time people were arranging their personal belongings in preparation of getting off the plane. Amy placed her book back into her purse and did a quick look around as suggested by the flight attendants. As if to explain her actions, she said, "I feel almost paranoid, I hope I'm not forgetting anything."

That acted as a reminder, so I asked, "What was it you remembered back at the airport in Memphis, just after you sit down?"

She first looked confused and inquisitive, then as if a light went off, her eyes lit up and she said, "My birth control pills; I wasn't planning on sleeping by myself this weekend. I hope he don't mind using condoms."

Wow! Maybe it was the age difference or maybe the cultural differences between being raised in Memphis versus raised in a small rural community, but I could not believe how openly this beauty talked about such things. Don't get me wrong, I didn't say I was offended, I was just shocked.

By now we were slowly approaching the jetway at our gate and I mustered the courage to open a subject with Amy. I nodded my head toward the man in the single seat across the aisle and said, "You should just flash this guy across the aisle, he has almost broken his neck trying to look down your shirt ever since you got on the plane."

Her expression was one of concentration, but I could not detect if it leaned toward being offended or confirmation of who I was talking about.

As soon as the plane stopped, all the people in aisle seats jumped into the aisle as if that would hurry their departure. Who am I to judge, I did the same thing. I took my briefcase and placed it in the seat I had just vacated leaning against the armrest and then reached up to open the overhead storage bin and remove my carry-on. I lowered it to the floor beside me and just stood there like a fool waiting for the red sea to part so I could move.

That did give me the natural opportunity to face Amy and study her one last time before we deplaned. She stood also and turned toward the aisle even though there was no room for her to exit the row. She placed her left knee in the seat and with her right foot planted on the floor for balance, got the attention of a guy standing a couple of places behind me.

She said, "Do you see a dark blue duffle bag up there?" and as he removed the bag she confirmed, "Yeah, that's the one; thank you."

He handed her the bag over the top of the seat backs allowing her to place it in the seats between by briefcase and her knee. She unzipped the bag and dramatically leaned forward, but with her back and shoulders arched a little more than would be natural. She started rummaging through the bag as if she was looking for something in particular. She would use her right hand to dig into its contents and then lift up slightly and shift her shoulders some before using her left hand to dig.

The end result was; anyone within two or three rows in either direction had the opportunity to see at least one, if not both of her titties. The guy who had handed Amy her bag, leaned into the person between he and I so hard, they took one step forward causing me to take one step toward the front of the plane. I guess that movement provided this younger man the view he wanted. He took a good look at Amy's boobs and then said to her, "I like what you do with your make-up; it really brings out the color of your eyes." That dumb line certainly made me feel better about some the babbling blunders I had made since she sit down beside me.

After several seconds, she straightened up and zipped the bag. She looked straight into my eyes, smiled and winked. She had not removed anything or placed anything into the opened bag. I don't think anyone except me noticed it was purely a fabricated act to allow her the opportunity to bend over and expose her tits to anyone who wanted to look. Oh, it just happened to include the guy across the aisle who had so desperately been trying to get this view for the last hour and a half.

As the aisle in front of me cleared, I let Amy out in front of me and proceeded toward the front of the plane. In my struggles to get up the aisle while carrying my oversized hang up bag, there were other window seat passengers able to get out between me and Amy. As I exited the plane and proceeded up the jetway, Amy was several positions in front of me and I never spoke to her again. She turned one direction and I needed to turn the other way to catch the shuttle bus to remote parking.

Over the next few months, our business in Memphis did increase, allowing me the opportunity to spend many days and nights there during the next year. I visited a couple of the clubs Amy recommended, but never saw her and they were not my favorite spots. However, for months after that Friday afternoon flight, every time I stopped at a traffic signal in Memphis, Tennessee, I would look to my side and hope Amy Wilson was in the car next to me.

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