Sexy Book of Sexy Sex (22 page)

The bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Stacee took a good look at herself in the mirror. She was pretty. If she pouted her lips and squinted her eyes, she was even sexy. If she flipped her dress over her face and openedher legs, she was a sex object. She took off her sweater and wedged it in the paper towel dispenser. It almost felt like a dressing room. And when Rex knocked on the door she felt dangerous.

Stacee pulled open the door a few inches and wedged herself by the toilet so that Rex could squeeze through. He entered, erection first. Rex closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Jesus. How did you get that thing down the aisle?” she whispered, instinctively grabbing it and peeling down his Jams like they were a splotchy, fluorescent banana peel.

“Jedi mind trick. Now take this skyfucker’s light saber, my princess.”

Stacee steadied herself against both walls of the bathroom while lifting her leg onto the sink. Her foot came down on the soap dispenser, and blue gel squirted everywhere. Rex was having an equally hard time wrangling his rigid cock in such close quarters. He might as well have been trying to break a pińata inside a phone booth. Stacee’s hip hit the flush button, and a mighty WHOOSH roared from the stainless-steel bowl.

“Just... try to get under...”

“I’m trying! I’m trying!”

“Are you in?”

“That’s my elbow. Hold on.”

Rex grabbed a handful of blue soap and smeared it on his forearm, hoping the extra lube would let him slide it up and over Stacee’s knee. It worked. That accomplished, he went about the tricky business of guiding his shaft into her glistening triangle. In the cramped lavatory it was hard to miss... and it was waiting for him.

Stacee couldn’t believe it. She was having sex in an airplane bathroom. Though the accomplished librarian spent her days surrounded by knowledge, nothing in those musty books could have prepared her for the ecstasy she experienced in that Newark-bound fuck-cubby. With each of Rex’s powerful thrusts the bathroom shook. Was it turbulence, or was the jackhammer action of Rex’s cock actually putting the plane in danger? Neither of them cared. Lust was at the controls now, and Pleasure was the copilot.

Rex and Stacee’s simultaneous sky orgasm rivaled anything they had experienced at SandWhispers. When it was over they collapsed into each other’s arms and panted like newborn colts, weak-kneed and in desperate need of a good brushing.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Rex and Stacee froze.

“You all right in there?” It was the stewardess.

“What do we do?” Stacee whispered.

Rex’s face took on a look of resolve. “We pull up our underwear and act cool.”

Rex drew a deep breath and pushed open the door. There was a long Une of people waiting to use the bathroom. It was exactly what Rex and Stacee had been afraid of. Stacee tugged on Rex’s sleeve, silently signaling him to stick to the plan.

“My wife is diabetic so I was holding her hair!” Rex blurted.

They were busted.

The remaining three hours and forty minutes of the four-hour f light were understandably awkward. As a copilot, Pleasure had been nothing but accommodating to the couple’s sexual needs, but the actual copilot was far less sym-pathetic. He told Rex and Stacee he could have them arrested and even made them clean up the soap in the bathroom while the other passengers watched. Fortunately for Rex and Stacee, he was used to dealing with amorous SandWhispers clientele and let them off easy. Still, the experience was mortifying. With a planeful of laughing eyes upon him, Rex couldn’t have gotten another erection even if he wanted to. And he definitely didn’t want to.

When they finally landed, the humbled newlyweds made their way to the baggage carousel to claim their suitcases full of SandWhispers erotic souvenirs. As Rex and Stacee waited for their bags they silently hoped none of the other passengers would approach them for one last indignity. But their luck had been lost along with their luggage. The old man from the flight shuffled their way, his mocking French cackle echoing through the baggage claim. As he drew closer, he ogled Rex and Stacee head to toe as though trying to conjure a better mental image of them in the act. “Eef eet eesn’t zee leetle lovebairds,” he sneered.

Rex tried yet again to make sense of his botched postcoital alibi. “Diabetes! I was holding her hair, er, I mean needle—”

Rex didn’t have a chance to finish. The Frenchman pulled a canister from his coat and sprayed a fine purple mist in Rex’s and Stacee’s faces. The smell reminded Stacee of cupcakes and how nice it was to take a little nap after eating six or seven of them.

Then everything went black.

Stacee and Rex woke with a jolt. It felt like an earthquake.

“Oh, lovebairds! Are you awake, mon chéries?”

Stacee lifted the rosewater-infused cucumber slices from her eyes. Her head was throbbing, and she was having trouble focusing. “What the—?! Where are we?”

The Frenchman eased her back onto the massage table. “Eet’s joost tairbulance.”

It was only then that Stacee became aware of the gentle hum of an engine. They were on an airplane. And not just any airplane, but one with a beautifully tiled Russian spa and working steam room.

Their attacker had traded his rumpled travel clothes for a crisp butler’s uniform and now presented them with a bottle of champagne. Rex, an ex-sommelier, read the label and gasped. “That’s Louis Roederer, Cristal Brut 1962. It’s $17,625 a bottle!”

The Frenchman just sniffed. “Eet ees compliments of zee president.”

As if on cue, the oldest woman Rex and Stacee had ever seen made an entrance. She looked like a skeleton, the flowing white scarf around her neck seemingly the only thing keeping her head attached to her body. Despite this, she held herself with an air of superiority, taking a long drag off her cigarette holder before she spoke. When she did, the words came quick and urgent like a reporter in an old movie, staccato puffs of smoke punctuating each syllable.

“Stacee, Rex, sorry for the Shanghai treatment. My man was a little trigger-happy with that voodoo gas. Hope the fancy booze made up for the crop dusting. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Amelia Earhart, Presidentrix for Life of the Mile High Club.”

The words nearly blew Rex and Stacee out of their cashmere slippers. Could it be? Had they really been kidnapped by the shaggy-haired heroine of the skies, the woman who single-handedly took the cock out of cockpit, only to tragically put the Ms. in missing? Before Stacee could challenge their captor, Rex spoke for both of them.

“Bullshit. If you’re Amelia Earhart, you’d be like two hundred years old!”

The scarved mistress ignored Rex and looked to Stacee. “Your hubby sure has a way with words. It’s no wonder he talked you into bumping uglies in the bathroom.”

Stacee felt as though she’d been slapped in the face. Having strangers know about her bathroom tryst was embarrassing enough. But hearing the famed aviatrix mention her skanky sky-romp was like having Susan B. Anthony walk in on her giving a blow job in a voting booth.

The Frenchman pussyfooted up to Earhart balancing an impossibly long-stemmed martini on his tray. Amelia plucked the glass off the tray and took a graceful sip. “This is Fred Noonan, my manservant and sometime navigator. I say ‘sometime’ because he certainly wasn’t doing it over Howland Island.”

The butler’s whole body slumped, resigned to this sort of abuse. Stacee’s brow furrowed. Something seemed fishy, and it wasn’t the caviar hors d’oeuvres. “I thought Fred Noonan was from Illinois.”

The butler gave a pained sigh. “She makes me talk like zis. Pardon mois while I breeng moir dreenks.”

Amelia swigged down the rest of her towering martini and got back to business. “I suppose you two are wondering why you’re here. You randy rabbits don’t realize it, but when you made whoopee in that airplane bathroom, you joined an elite group.”

Rex was confused. “Are you saying us fucking on the plane was a
good
thing?”

“Now you’re on the trolley,” Amelia laughed, giving Rex a congratulatory slap on the back. “Every bone in your body—well, almost every one—told you canoodling in the can was a bad idea, yet you two still did it. That takes real moxie. The stuff leaders are made of.” Amelia pulled a jewelry box from her pocket and presented Rex and Stacee with what looked like pilot’s wings. “Welcome to the Mile High Club.”

“Your drinks.” In a flash, Noonan had returned with two cocktails frothing out of matching penis pumps. Stacee recognized it instantly. Not twenty-four hours ago she had proclaimed the Foamy Cocksucker her new favorite drink while lounging poolside at the resort. “How... how did you know?”

“SandWhispers is just one of the many business ventures controlled by the Mile High Club,” Amelia boasted.

“Pigs in a blanket?” Noonan offered the pampered abductees an even silverer tray of tiny hot dogs.

Rex downed the contents of his penis pump in a single gulp. “If you guys are such hot shit, what do you want from us? Are you looking for more flunkies or something? Because I don’t play butler.”

Noonan rolled his eyes at Rex’s posturing. He’d seen this routine a thousand times, from men far more powerful. Heads of state. Captains of industry. Anyone who’d had the audacity to make love in an airplane lavatory. In the end, they always succumbed to Amelia’s wishes.

“Cool your propellers, bub. You and little Miss Encyclopedia here are VIPs: Very Important Pals-of-Yours-Truly,” Amelia said, jabbing her sternum with her bony thumb. “How ‘bout I give you the dime tour?”

With that the spa door opened, revealing the main cabin of the plane. It was spectacular. Dozens of couples milled around aluxurious lounge, covered from floor to ceiling with red shag carpet. There was a gold Jacuzzi, a sushi and cocktail bar, a contortionist, and a trapeze artist. The room was lined with plush red couches almost invisible against the matching carpet, which were covered with couples cuddling. But what caught Stacee’s eye more than anything were the two bathrooms bookending the bar. They were as small as the one they’d made love in, something Stacee could tell even from where she was standing because they were made of glass.

When Amelia walked into the room everyone went silent. “Hello, lovelies. I’d like you to meet the newest members of the Mile High Club, Rex and Stacee.” The introduction was met with eerie silence. Stacee felt a familiar chill, something she hadn’t felt since Abercrombie. It was fear. “What’s with the silent treatment?” Amelia barked. “Did cats shit on your tongues? Say helio!”

Instantly and all at once, the club members muttered lukewarm greetings. Most of the couples were Rex and Stacee’s age and were dressed casually, but a few old-timers were wearing threadbare vintage clothes. Stacee was having trouble taking it all in, especially since her bladder was pushing against her brain. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

“There are two right by the bar, so you can wet your whistle on the way back. Rexy, maybe you’d like to join your better half for another roll in the soap?”

Rex and Stacee looked at each other in horror. For all the experimenting they did at SandWhispers, the thought of having sex in see-through bathrooms for a captive audience was something they never wanted to try.

“Actually, I was hoping that you had a more private bathroom?” Stacee surveyed the room but couldn’t make out any doors on the shaggy walls.

“You’re out of luck, toots. Those are the only two cans on the plane.”

Stacee cursed her small bladder and the two exquisite drinks that filled it. “That’s okay. I’ll just wait till we get home.”

This tickled Amelia pinker than the penis pump drinks, and her laugh boomed through out the cabin.

“Ahhh, Stacee … Rex... My dear sweet horny treats. That’s the thing about the Mile High Club. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. You’re never going home.”

“You can’t be serious!” Rex protested.

Amelia looked him dead in the eye. “Serious as a heart attack.”

“It’s fart attack,” Rex said, correcting her.

The muffled sobs of the other couples told Stacee and Rex she wasn’t bluffing. They looked around and took in their new home. Then Stacee made her way to the bathroom. “I’m going to need another Foamy Cocksucker.”

Federated Airline Agency

LET THIS BE A LESSON

Having sexual Intercourse in aircraft lavatories Isn’t just dangerous, it’s ILLEGAL. Since the Underwear Bomber Incident of Christmas 2009, the only two activities allowed in airplane bathrooms are urinating and defecating. Also, aircrafts have a limited supply of hand soap, and using excess amounts for sexual lubrication could lead to potentially unsanitary conditions. Although this is a cautionary tale using fictional characters, the Mile High Club is very real. It just goes by a different name: jail. If you absolutely must make love, please do it in your seat, trying your best not to disturb fellow passengers. TOGETHER WE CAN DEFEAT TERRORISM. Thank you.