Turbulence

Republished at several readers request:

**

“Excuse me, I believe that’s my seat.”

Glancing up from his spreadsheet, Greg Lancaster liked what he saw.

Surely no more than eighteen or nineteen, the fresh-faced youngster was, if not the prettiest girl to ever cast a shadow across his retinas, certainly the best-looking in his residual memory.

Drooling was not an option, and in the wake of his marginally over-emphasized “Oh yes, of course,” he clutched the lap-top to his chest, intending for her to squeeze past to the window-seat.

“Thanks,” she replied, inching her way forward delicately and providing Greg thereby, a momentarily arousing view of her compact rear-end in passing. “Oh God, please let her trip and fall in my lap,” he prayed silently, whilst watching that skin-tight little skirt in transit, her rather shapely thighs – a work in progress.

The moment closed out and the fantasies by necessity re-caged. Smiling at her briefly, he returned the notebook to his knee and continued adding data to column “F.”

The red-eye from Sydney to Perth is among the world’s stranger flights. Officially listed at three hours and ten minutes in duration, with the head-on influence of the ‘Fremantle Doctor’ – a high altitude wind that blows-inland along the Western Australian coastline, the flight can be protracted to well over five hours. Conversely, the return trip can be undertaken in as little as two hours fifty, courtesy of the same wind-swept conditions. In lieu of the available
meteorological data, check-in had already advised this to be a five-hour flight in all probability.

Column “F” was beginning to fade in interest with the close proximity of Miss teenage distraction and the cruelly appealing scent that seems to cling to scrubbed and desirable young bodies such that she possessed. He wondered if in five hours time he would even know her name?

In his late twenties himself, Greg was engaged to be married and knew his mind was wandering along fully undisciplined paths here. It wasn’t paying heed to his instructions quite obviously – probably the sudden exposure to that tight little skirt he reasoned. Out of the corner of his eye he could see she was reading-up on what appeared to be lecture notes – probably for her end of year exams in November he guessed. Hooked-up to her Ipod, she seemed (and probably was) oblivious to all around her.

As the plane taxied down the runway, she inclined her head to glance out the window, Rain was sleeting down now and as the 747 climbed rapidly, banking to the left towards the western corridor, the diffused halo of the city lights could clearly be seen to the east.

Right now though, Greg wasn’t dwelling on the aesthetic beauty of Sydney’s twinkling lights from a five thousand foot aspect, he was simply gazing at the girl’s slim shoulders, pretty blonde hair swept back in the most feminine of neat pony-tails….that spot just beneath her hairline that he would so like to kiss…..

“I don’t think so Greg,” the image of his young wife-to-be smiled at him sweetly from his conscience.

Column “F” snared his attentions once again, although who really cared how the October sales figures were going to pan out when you could be pondering instead whether that was a conventional bra or a sexy little push-up, whose straps were so engagingly visible beneath the girl’s lacy top.

He was still considering those very possibilities a short time later when the girl packed away her books and Ipod.

“Really sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment,” she smiled at him, “I have to get to the overhead locker.”

This time he was treated to a forward view as she sidled across in front of him. The most perfect of young breasts passed but inches from his face. No more than a 32A he decided, not that any span of thirty two inches anywhere in the modern world could possibly encapsulate a more alluring set of curves. Even that mere hint of cleavage showed that God had been right on his game that night back in 1986 or 1987 – whenever it was the girl’s parents had gotten substantially beyond the light-petting stage.