Flying High by Rachel Kramer Bussel Read Free Book Online Page B

help?”
    It was my redheaded friend. “No,” I called, stifling a laugh, “Just scared by the turbulence. It’s fine!” Then I stood unsteadily and kissed Jannie’s full lips. “Lady, you really are the Scream Queen.”
    â€œSweetie, you ain’t heard nothing yet,” she said and kissed the tip of my nose.

WILD CHILD
    Matt Conklin
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    Sex on planes is stupid. These people think they’re so cool for joining the the “Mile High Club.” They probably think that sneaking a joint makes them oh so rebellious too. Whatever. Fucking on airplanes is overrated. They’re just dumb conformists who want to do it because they read about it in a magazine. I just want to get to L.A. already. This whole thing is stupid….
    I couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. She was sitting right next to me, after all, and I’ve never been one not to notice a woman, even if she is fifteen years my junior. But even if I weren’t the type to try to see what my seatmate was reading or check her out, the furious way this girl was scribbling in her notebook, a loud, angry kind of scrawl, was the equivalent of pounding a piano keyboard, hard, and it was difficult to ignore.
    Her entire aura was angry, and she was dressed in typical
post-teen fashion—black tank top over jeans, with a black hoodie, plenty of black eyeliner, an eyebrow ring, and a scowl. Oh, and dark green Converse sneakers. As I took in her words, I knew immediately that she was all but a virgin. She was too fired up, too cocky to have ever fully surrendered to a boy—or a girl. She had all the charm of a young woman whose sensuality is hidden not so deeply beneath the surface, but who just hasn’t figured it out yet.
    She made me want to smack some sense into her, or fuck her. I could’ve told her to grow up, but what would be the point? So she could become jaded, I mean, “mature,” like me? No, I figured I could have some fun with her, though, and maybe let Miss Attitude know that there’s more than one way to get screwed on an airplane.
    Her eyes, once you got past the shaggy bangs and overdone makeup, were almost sexy. And yes, I was now officially a dirty old man, likely twice her age or damn close, for even considering what she had going on under that hoodie. But she started it, and I felt like it was in both our best interests to pursue it.
    â€œYou’re wrong, you know,” I said in as snotty a voice as I could muster. Like meets like and all that. “It’s not just about yuppies sneaking off for a quickie and calling it the best sex of the year. There are all kinds of ways to fuck on a plane. You’re just too young to know about them.”
    She glared up at me, and let me tell you, it was the sexiest glare I’d ever seen, the kind of sneer that says “Leave me alone” and “I want to suck your cock” at the very same time, the kind of stare that made my dick even harder. “Like you’d know,” she muttered, then cut me with her eyes before turning to face the window, deliberately closing her journal and curling up into a ball as best she could within the confines of the seat. Normally, I don’t care what my neighbors are reading or eating or doing
on a plane; I’m intent on getting where I’m going as quickly as possible. I’ve had my share of fun on planes, but for the most part I think they’re utilitarian vehicles, the fastest way to get from point A to point B, nothing to get too excited about.
    But I was excited about this girl, because she was definitely a girl, not a woman—not even close. I’d been spending my time with women who’d been around the block, who knew exactly how to give a blow job designed to make me melt, who approached sex like a sport they’d already won several medals in. Maybe that’s not totally fair, but I was bored. I was on the plane