Frequent Flyer Pt 02

Beep. Beep. Beep, go the monitors.

I open one eye.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I'm feeling way better now. I wonder... I open my other eye.

There are people around.

No one is tasing me. I breathe a sigh of relief.

A nurse is talking to me. Things are looking up. I'm in a hospital!

If I could, I would have done my happy dance. However, I'm hooked up to all kinds of wires. It's like I'm swimming in spaghetti.

She has a soft voice. Soothing. Sorta pixie like.

I smile at her, she is a cute one. Slender, blond hair.

After a while, having been poked and prodded by the medical establishment and declared awake, it was time to chat with law enforcement.

They were a matched pair. A hard case detective and a beat cop. They start grilling me and me being just not that bright, am telling the truth.

"So, they put you on a plane, a private plane, fed you weed infused gin, flew you to a secret lab..." I don't think the beat cop believed me.

We got into the nitty gritty of it. My story stayed the same, retelling it over and over.

They left thinking I had my bell rang. Which, of course was true, I couldn't deny that. I had spilled my guts, told them everything. Well, almost everything. I really didn't see where the smoking hot bad ass chick in boots who had introduced me to a whole new level of blow job, even without a happy ending, was worth mentioning.

They left promising to check my story.

I finally got a moment and asked for a phone.

I was about to make a call when the hospital's billing lady stopped by for a nice chat. We got to fill out a bunch of paperwork. I didn't have my wallet, but it turns out hospitals have computers, so they knew who I was and more importantly, who was my insurance provider.

I signed on the bottom line, quality medical care doesn't come cheap.

Finally! I call my office I get Dorothy on the line.

"Hey, it's me" I said.

"Holly shit, where are you? Michael is pissed, you blew off a ton of customers!" She exclaimed.

"I'm in the hospital" I say to our hold music.

Michael comes on. "What the hell Bob!"

"I'm in the hospital Michael." I said, I can hear him deflate.

"I'm in DC, I was mugged". Hey, after the looks the cops gave me, I figured the truth wouldn't be my best opening.

The next morning the Doctor Tribe visited with me. After the poking and prodding, which is apparently the way Doctors say hello, we got down to brass tacks. Some stuff was torn, but nothing broken. A couple of strains and a whole bunch of black and blue for decorations. I figured I got off easy.

The cops came back in the afternoon. The TSA had found my "abandoned" luggage and as a precaution they had blown it up. The CCTV didn't catch anything, but the system was notoriously glitchy, or so they said.

The biggest problem they had with my story was there no record of a private plane's departure around that time. Air Traffic Control had no such a plane in their system; not on the ground, not in the air, no plane here and no plane there, the FAA doesn't see the plane anywhere...

So, nope, the cops didn't believe a single word of it.

I used to think being in a hospitals was boring, now, I found it relaxing. They "released" me the next morning. Michael had Dorothy book my flight home.

What wasn't relaxing was being in the D.C. airport. I stuck to the walls. I watched my back and I avoided cute gals...period. After a very long flight I landed on the west coast. Good to be home. Bad to be in another airport.

Michael picked me up and hauled me to my house. He told me to take my time, get well, and be at work the next Monday.

I hobbled into my empty house. Every time I walk in it hits me. Empty. She isn't here anymore. I sighed and dragged myself up to my bedroom and collapse on the bed. Fuck, what a week!

***********

A couple of weeks have gone by. I know what happened, but there is no evidence, except the lingering pains and bruising. The cops back in D.C. have written me off as a whack job. I have no leads, and frankly nothing make any sense. It is really starting to drive me a bit crazy.

Why? Why me? Oh boy did I have a bunch of questions...

My work was suffering, I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near an airport. Michael was pissed that I had canceled my trips that week. I just couldn't do airports.

***********

It's been about a month. Michael fired me today. I can't blame him, it's part of the job to travel, and I'm just not up to it. I was grateful he carried me through the month. It really helped.

I'm starting to question my own sanity. My friends have pretty much written me off. My only companion is an ally cat that I leave opened tuna cans for.

**************

It's December. This far north, the days are pretty short, it's been raining for the last two months. I have some scratch in the bank. I sold the old place, downsized. I have turned into a detective. I sift and filter the internet. I am looking for reports of other men who have also claimed to have been abducted from airports.

I have found 28 police reports that mostly match my experience. I dove deeper into the internet. We are kinda like the folks abducted by aliens I guess, but those folks talk about it. Eventually I ran across a blog of another "abductee".

I sent an email to the blogger. In minutes he responded, yes he wanted to talk to me as much as I wanted to talk to him. 5 minutes later we were chatting on the phone.

It was a breakthrough for me. I wanted to meet him face to face. The good news was that he lived in Portland, just south of me, and only about a 3 hour drive.

************

I arrived at a fancy condo building in Portland's Pearl District. On street parking was a bitch. I finally found a space about 10 blocks away and wandered back through the Portland mist.

Joel was his name. He had the same haunted look in his eyes I saw in my eyes each morning. But it was good. We talk about it. His gal was a blond, mine was brunette. Same plane. He didn't piss his pants, he didn't get tased. He did get the martinis. He did get the shot. He only got splotchy red for a moment. He got beat up and dumped in a Motel 6. He got nailed in Denver, I was in Chicago. We both ended up in the town we were scheduled to go to. He was in Oklahoma City, I was in D.C. It happened to him a year ago in September, for me it was last October.

Oh, and his number was 420.

We had something to go on.

Over the next couple of days we piece some stuff together. Joel has a pretty nice apartment. Penthouse, 4 beds, 5 baths. Apparently Joel was loaded from his days in high tech before...airports became a no no.

We pulled up the police reports, he had found them too. We tried to contact the others. Of course, everyone we were able to reach didn't want to talk about it. But you could tell by a couple of voices, they were abductees. The closest one we found was in Phoenix. We headed out the next day.

Phoenix was nice. No rain. We found Frank in a run down apartment in Chandler.

It didn't go very well. Frank was just too damaged by the experience. We did finally get him to talk with us for a few moments, the only thing we got from him was his number, 582.

We headed home. We were at a dead end. Both of us were pretty low. Heading back to rain and concrete sky's wasn't helping. Long drive.

I thought about my life, with no one and really no place to go; so I hung at Joel's place. Joel and I kept picking at the puzzle. We didn't unearth any new information, we kept going over and over what we already knew; with a hope that we missed something. It became more like banging our heads on a brick wall. After a week, I headed home. I was going to try and put this horrid experience behind me, maybe get my life back on track. Maybe get a shrink to help me.

It was about two weeks later when we caught a break.

Joel was watching the local news and a story come on about a abductee that was found in Portland. He called me and I, right away, grab some stuff tossing it in my car and drove down to Portland. Joel and I then headed to the hospital.

His name was Ralph. Ralph is a tough son of a bitch. Yea, even though he was being called crazy, he wasn't changing his story. Ralph was coming from Charlotte via Atlanta to Portland.

It took a bit to get to him. You know hospitals. Brunhilda, late of the Nazi SS Death Squad was on duty. She was a nurse we could tell brooked no shit. We hung at the elevators, waiting. Finally some poor chump went into cardiac arrest or something. The battle axe headed his way, we slipped by the now vacant nurses station and just strolled into his room.

He was a little leery, but when we said we had heard his story, and believed it, he was relieved. It didn't hurt when we said we didn't think he was crazy. That's when we gave him brief versions of our stories.

We visited with Ralph a couple of times in the hospital. He was a pretty good guy. Like Joel and me, divorced, no close family. Joel offered to let Ralph move in to his place, no need to go to an airport. Ralph nodded, airports were way dangerous places.

They were "releasing" Ralph the next day. Joel and I headed back to his place.

The next morning we moved Ralph to Joel's place. After we got Ralph settled in I told Joel I had to run home and take care of some stuff, but I would be back in the morning.

As I drove home, I was on auto pilot. I kept running everything over and over and over in my mind. Somewhere around Tacoma I realized that just wasn't doing me any good. By the time I got home I had, for the first time, mentally set it aside. I sat in my car just being calm. It must have been about 11:30 when I decided it was time to go up to the apartment.

I walked into the apartment, kicked the door closed with my foot, turning I flicking on the lights - and about shit myself. There she was, between my TV and MY FUCKIN COUCH!!

I heard the door latch behind me click...

She is still smoking hot in those boots, the sheer teddy was new, and I gotta admit it was a nice touch.

Ohhhhh and those tits. She had one nipple pierced, she was so cute with the nipple ring. Man, boots, nipple ring, mind blowing blow jobs; a smile crept upon my face. Airports, Tasers, planes, stairs, firehoses, needles, pain, hospitals...I am lucky I wasn't pissing myself; oh, and I had no smile on my face.

She slithered up to me, rubbing her leg up and down on me. I'm waiting for the taser. I get her tits smash into my chest. I am so shocked at seeing her, I freeze, like stone. I am barely breathing. I have flash backs of pain.

She unbuckles my belt, she drops my pants, she drops to her knees, she starts worshipping my cock.

OK, now I'm pretty sure I have gone all the way around the bend. I must be just nuthouse batshit crazy. I am not in touch with reality, that train has left the station.

"Soooo, ohhhh so gooood..." I moan.

Now she has all of me, as deep as I can be, I am rock fucking hard. She is milking me. Oh my God, thank you thank you thank you. If this is my break from sanity, I'll take it! Please pass the lithium.

I cum, and she shudders, sighs and collapses on the floor. She is out cold.

I, to put it mildly, am totally freaked. I pull up my pants and look down on her. I snap into action. I grab some duct tape and wrap it around her wrists and then her ankles. Then around her wrists and then around her ankles and then around her wrists and then around her ankles.

I search the apartment. No one else is there. I look out the windows, I don't see anyone else.

My breathing is ragged. My heart is pounding,

I pull out my phone and call Joel.

"Hey man, SHE is here." I tell him.

*******

Joel and Ralph arrived at about 3 am. I wasn't tired, I wasn't excited, I was just numb. But I was relieved they had arrived. She was still wrapped up in duct tape on my floor. I hadn't moved her. I hadn't done anything but sit on my couch watching her. To say I was fucked up wasn't quite right. It was more that I had no idea what to do but wait for them and admire her nipple ring. It glinted in the light as those amazing breast move with her breathing. It was the longest three hours. I had armed myself with my heaviest frying pan, just in case.

God it was good to see those guys.

********

After a bit, we decided that my cramped shitty apartment was not a good place to be, after all, she had found me there. We taped her up a bit more, rolled her up in a carpet; then duct taped it up.

I grabbed a few things; some of my clothes and what we could find of her's; a purse, her luggage and two tasers. We dump the luggage out and stuffed her stuff into trash bags. Left her cell phone, took her tasers. We were out of my place by 4 am. We hauled "the carpet" out to Joel's SUV. I followed Joel's back to Portland. We hit the morning commute. The last 10 miles took forever. We finally rolled into Joel's condo building around 9 in the morning.

We hauled the "carpet" out of Joel's rig. It was a damned long elevator ride up to Joel's place and dropped "the carpet" in his living room. No noise from "the carpet".

Ralph headed out to pick up some needed items. Joel and I cleared everything out of the smallest bedroom except for the mattress. Ralph got back with the chains and locks and other stuff. We got to work on her room.

Joel and Ralph unrolled "the carpet" in the living room. She was awake. It took everything Joel and Ralph had to get her squirming body back into the bedroom where I was waiting with the chains, locks and handcuffs. She head butted Ralph. Damned near nutted Joel.

Once they had her in the bedroom she saw me.

The oddest thing happened.

She quit struggling and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. She tried to hopped over to me. She seemed to almost shiver when I closed the handcuff around her wrists. She looked like she was smiling under the duck tape on her mouth.

Weird, right?

With me, she was a pussy cat, with Joel or Ralph she was a backed into a corner pissed off mountian lion.

Now we had her chained up on the bed, I went to work cutting off the duct tape, Joel and Ralph served as my back ups and look outs. We left the light on, locked the door and went to Joel's kitchen for a bite and to figure out our next steps.