almost okay

SEVERAL DEATHS IN
THE FAMILY
Chapter One: A Stranger Lends A Manicured Hand

When I came to I was in the cabin of a 737. It was dark, the space being lit by fluorescent bulbs along the tops of the overhead carry-on bins, the night outside the window black as ink at three A.M., and only a handful of reading lamps tossing weak columns of light down on red-eyed insomniacs unable to sleep on the plane. We were cruising somewhere over the Midwest and through the window to my right I could see clusters of tiny lights on the ground below where cities lay, a galaxy of artificial stars in the inverse firmament of our man-made hell.

The white noise hum was just about to carry me back to sleep when I picked up movement out of the corner of my eye. A woman sat to my left - an attractive one with brown hair and smooth skin the color of buttermilk, full lips and high cheekbones. She looked to be in her thirties. Like me, she was covered to her knees by a flimsy red airline blanket, her eyes closed and her head propped against a flat airline pillow. At first glance I thought she was sleeping, but the movement I had detected was at the center of her blanket, a gentle, rhythmic stirring as if a tiny dog were jumping quietly in her lap. I looked further down and noticed that her bare knees were parted and quivering, tensing and relaxing in waves timed with the movement of the blanket.

She was masturbating, surreptitiously frigging herself while the rest of the passengers snored. I immediately got stiff, closed my eyes and absently started rubbing myself through my jeans, imagining her sitting astride me later at the hotel or bent over before me in the tiny airplane john. With my eyes shut, sleep began to return. Just as I was dropping off, I felt another hand on my bulge massaging rhythmically. I glanced over and caught a quick knowing look from the woman, a light lick of her upper lip as her tongue darted out, a furtive smile. Without saying a word, she slid the armrest between us up and out of the way with her right elbow, moved her right ankle so that it crossed over my left, parting her knees even further. Before I knew it she had guided my left hand to the hot, naked flesh of her thigh, drawn it up to her center, which was completely unfettered by panties and slick with her moisture.

With my eyes still closed I felt the soft touch of her finger on my lips, picked up the scent of her from her still-damp fingertips. I opened my mouth slightly and she slid two fingers in, swirled them on the tip of my tongue for just a second to allow me a taste before pulling them out, then slipping her hand back beneath my blanket. By this time she was breathing heavily and my fingers were working fast at her now-sloppy slit, encouraging quicker motions of her hand on me. With my right hand I unzipped my fly and in seconds she had pulled me free, was squeezing and stroking me furiously beneath the blanket.

Suddenly her legs turned to jelly and her knees shook with force. I heard a low gurgling moan from deep in her throat. When her orgasm had subsided, she put her head on my shoulder and set in to finishing me. She had clamped her thighs together, holding my left hand in place, soaking wet and three knuckles deep inside her flower, while she stroked a perfect, practiced rhythm on my shaft. I was getting close. Real close. She pulled her left hand from beneath her blanket, cupped it under her pretty lips and let a sweet mouthful of saliva slide out into her palm, then quickly transferred it to my shaft, all the while pumping vigorously with her right hand, now a perfectly tight fist working me high and hard. In just seconds she had me going, my hips making small, circular involuntary thrusts as she squeezed out every last drop.

A double ping issued from the airplane's speakers, then a crackle and a low hiss before the pilot came on... “Folks, we're beginning our initial descent into the Atlanta area and should be at the gate in approximately twenty-five minutes. Hope you enjoyed your flight. We sure enjoyed having you. Weather conditions in Atlanta are nice... breezy and sixty-two degrees. They're expecting sunny skies today and highs in the low eighties.” I swallowed hard and my ears popped.

A flight attendant was making her way towards us down the aisle. I glanced over to my left and the woman was again feigning sleep, only now with a satisfied smile, her face turned towards me, her throat and cheeks flushed and pink. She opened one eye briefly, pulled her hand back under her own blanket and relaxed her thighs, releasing my hand. I wiped myself off on the airline blanket, tucked Marty Junior back into my jeans and zipped up.

Once we had landed and were lining up to deplane, my new friend pulled a business card from her purse and slipped it into my shirt pocket. “I'm based out of Detroit,” she said. “I travel a lot, though. For work.”

“Me too,” I said. “Quelle coincidence.”

“Parlez-vous Francais?” she asked.

“Speak it? Not really,” I said with a smile. She smiled back, displaying dimples and white teeth, a tiny, sexy gap-toothed overbite, her perfect imperfection.

Just twelve hours earlier I had been sleeping on the futon in the basement of my brick bungalow in suburban Detroit, drenched in sweat and having nightmares about this job. In the span of twelve hours more, the first target would go down in the bathroom of a dive bar in Marietta, Georgia.

But not without a struggle.