As you will see below, my wife wanted a story. So did a charming lady I recently met. She wanted hers for her husband. She asked me, as a courtesy to her, if I would write the story out, the better to tease her husband with it. So... a White Knight story, with Miles as the lance bearer.
Courtesy
by Miles Naismith
Pity how courtesy has increasingly disappeared from our society.
In this case, it was yet another alcohol afflicted passenger who whose opinion of himself far outstripped the reality. A passenger who gave the appearance of being unable to understand how the pretty flight attendant could resist his virile demeanor and obvious charm.
He was seated across the aisle and one row up from me in business class, and I had heard him espouse this very insight to himself under his breath. And more loudly and aggressively over an annoying period of time.
It was, after all, Saturday afternoon, and he needed a date.
When he grabbed her arm and pulled her down to whisper in her ear, I didn't like the look in his eye. He clearly wasn't prepared to take "no" for an answer.
When he didn't let go at her protests, I got up and stepped to him. I took his thumb in a moderately painful come-along hold, and removed it from her uniform sleeve.
She jumped back, then hurried up the aisle.
I let his hand go, and suggested that manhandling flight attendants was not appropriate behavior.
As I turned back to my seat, he was up and at my back. I had rather expected this, so, in deference to the tight quarters I was ready with an elbow to the solar plexus.
As his breath whooshed out, I stepped forward to let him fall to the floor. He obligingly did so, but rather too limply for my comfort. I checked him, and unfortunately, he had stopped breathing. I hadn't hit him very hard, but some people are more susceptible.
I began rescue breathing, despite my reluctance to be mouth-to-mouth with this distasteful drunk. Soon enough the co-pilot showed up, with the flight attendant, and he had her bring the plastic air way for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from the first aid kit.
By the time she had returned, the man had begun breathing on his own, and was reviving in no better temper than before. I held him still while the co-pilot put on the plastic wire-tie handcuffs that airlines seemed to have stocked recently. We then moved him up to first class, which was nearly empty on this flight.
The flight attendant came back to my seat. Her name tag proclaimed her to be Natasha. She thanked me, and offered me a drink. I shrugged off the thanks, and declined the drink. I find that alcohol mixes poorly with adrenaline in me.
It was quite late in the evening when Homeland Security finally let me go. Having determined that the guy was apparently no terrorist, and after warning me to get a lawyer, since he would probably sue me, they handed me my bag and sent me on my way.
By then, any trace of adrenaline was gone, so I stopped in an airport lounge to have a drink... not my usual habit, but then this had not been a usual flight.
Natasha and the co-pilot walked by, late of their own grilling by security, I presumed, pulling their bags. When she saw me, she stopped and said something to him. He went on, and she came over to me.
"I want to thank you again for helping me today, Mr. Naismith," she said. "I owe you one."
"Well, Natasha, it's Miles, and if you owe me, which you don't," I replied, "please have a drink with me to help me decompress. Or not, if you are in too much of a hurry."
"Not much to hurry for here." She made a charming moue. "Yet another hotel meal with the rest of the crew, followed by an unfamiliar bed and an early morning return flight. I'll be happy to postpone that prospect for the time it takes for one drink, especially for my White Knight."
I couldn't resist a little flirting. "You shouldn't see me as your knight, you know. We men always knew how those maidens rescued from dragons were meant to reward their knights."
Pointing at her ring, I continued, "I doubt your husband would approve."
Fortunately for me, she laughed.
"You are probably right about my husband. But perhaps we can settle on a lesser reward, given that you only subdued a man, not a dragon. May I invite you to dinner with the crew. We'll pick up the check."
"Who could refuse an offer like that?"
She gave me the information needed to meet them, and we each went our own way. I had rented a small suite in a widely unknown but comfortable hotel, and there I went for a nap.
I called my wife and told her what had happened, and she twitted me for sticking my nose in, as always. Then she asked me if I were interested in Natasha. To my surprise, she told me I had her permission to bed Natasha if I could. I laughed, but she persisted.
"You're serious aren't you? Is this to clear the way for you to have an affair yourself?" I asked.
She demurred, "No, Sweetheart, I have no one I want. But I know we have fallen into a routine, and this could spice things up. If you succeed, I know you won't fall in love - men are well known to be able to have just sex. But I also know you will not succeed... Your stewardess is married!"
"How unfeminist: they are all "flight attendants" now, regardless of what gender they present. And it's back to gym for me if you are so sure that I cannot charm a woman who doesn't owe me marital duties with this manly physique... Or maybe I should try pheromones... But seriously, don't worry..."
She cut me off. "Don't tell me you won't even try. I want to worry. If you are too chicken to actually try, then you had better think up a good story to tell me, at least. Besides, I want to plan how to seduce you back to me after your tarty conquest. You wait... your cock will be so hard it hurts when I get through with you after you get back."
I was taken aback. She never used the word cock. She really seemed serious.
