Aisle 13 – Part I

Graham sighed as he took his seat, the cold airline chairs being a welcoming relief from queueing with humid strangers. It was the 19:45 flight from Chicago to New York and he was very much spent from exhausting and often vapid meetings with other administrative personnel. Not much had caught his attention on this particular work trip. It was the usual cycle of cheap city lunches, awkward handshakes and feigned enthusiasm.

This New York flight seemed only partially full, with patches of passengers spread across the cabin. This was the type of airlines which would have forced families to separate, given its penny pinching ethos. He would have felt pity for them, if he had had a drop more energy. It was very much for him, the end of another meaningless ordeal and another branch of his limp excuse for a career.

On ruffling through his bags and ordering himself pre-takeoff, he found himself happened upon by one of the four (likely underpaid) flight attendants.

“Hi there” she said, with her casually polished salutation, “We seem to have nobody booked into the window aisle, and it is regulation to always have a customer occupying this section, would you be interested in moving to row 13 for us?”
Her tone was pleasant, bordering on lifeless, but there was something acrid in her stare. She bore heavy black makeup which cupped her blacker eyes, all roughly thrown into place perhaps on her journey to work. Her features were pleasant, yet contorted into another form, another human thrust upon the same face. Her hair was a short cut, landing just below her jawline with all tips curling forwards.

Pulling away from her features, Graham finally processed what was being requested. Sat beside a fifty-something woman whose knees were clearly in the middle of an argument and in needing of their own space, he gave a semi-assured yes and proceeded to collect his things. Unclipping his belt he felt a hand press into his shoulder.

“I will..” a sudden drop in her tone “have to ask you to consent to upholding all duties asked of you as an occupant of the winged aisle.”

The tone of her voice suddenly catching up with the soured features of her face.

“Is this something you are happy to consent to?”

Graham was slightly taken aback by the pressed nature of the question, he naturally, and unknowingly nodded, all the while holding her gaze. Was it a twitch of satisfaction that he saw on her face? Or just another pleasantry? The thought left his mind on settling into his new seat, choosing the cooling window and pressing his cheek flat against the faux-glass. It was not long until his body slumped towards his long awaited rest.

Jolted awake, he was pounced upon by the panda-eyed eyed air hostess.

“Any tea or coffee?”

Graham’s tongue bumbled about his mouth as he tried to regain consciousness.

“I asked you if you wanted any refreshments” she jumped. Slightly too quickly to be an act of courteous repetition.

Grahams lips cracked into the word “Tea please”

She picked up a black-rimmed canister and began pouring a chocolate colour liquid. The smell was unmistakable, this was not yorkshire’s finest, but Colombia’s.
Graham began “Sorry, I think I ……”

“Ordered a tea? Just give me a moment, insolence doesn’t get you anywhere here” she interjected, ensuring the cardboard cup was full with what was undoubtedly a coffee.

Carefully placing the lid upon the beverage, she leaned across the two empty seats to pass the beverage.

Graham felt the heat radiate from her chest, a likely cocktail of airport perfume mixed with hours of cabin work. Graham reached his hand out to take the drink, still slightly bewildered by her basic lack of distinction between hot drinks. He wrapped his hand around the base and noticed that this bob-cut flight attendant didn’t let go, instead, she held his gaze in an act of defiance. She smiled, then, unmistakably began to squeeze to the cup, tighter and tighter. It all happened too quickly for Graham to respond. She squeezed the drink until hot coffee erupted through the lid, bursting out of the sides and running down her hands on his lap. What should have been immensely uncomfortable seemed to curl her lips into a satisfaction. She was breaking the cup on purpose. Graham’s lap was sodden with searing coffee, staining through his trousers and soaking through the layers.

He took in breath through his mouth as if an inward hiss of a snake, stifling a yell as his trousers began to contort around his pudgy midriff. He felt the sting upon his public bone and the seeping sensation as if to have urinated himself in his underwear. His genitals now visibly suggesting through the layers how he had unknowingly arranged them whilst putting on his underwear after the last visit to the gentleman’s.

“Oh no, look what’s happened, you really are clumsy with your hands” she exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement of what she was provoking.

“You really are…” she began whilst leaning forward to collect the fallen coffee cup lid, unexpectedly changing course, leaning closer to his ear, “… a worthless pig” she whispered heatedly into his face. She then pulled away and pressed the attendant button above. Graham struggled to catch his breath. He was burning from the hot water pooling beneath his buttocks, whilst struggling to order the situation in his head, leaving his lips smacking in fish-like form with stupefaction. Yet, it was all he could do but help notice that a twitch had occurred between his legs.

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