"Why, oh why did I choose to travel Pakistan Airlines and that too from JFK, the worst airport in the Western hemisphere?" I questioned myself, as the security queue inched a bit further on towards the metal detector and then to the relative peace of the departure gates.
Well, I had taken this flight because a single aircraft would jet me home to Karachi with just two fueling stops in Manchester and Lahore, and would take 12 hours less than the trip on Emirates via Hamburg and Dubai. JFK was the obvious choice as PIA flew daily from there to Pakistan. Also the cost on this airline was significantly lower than on the Arabic carrier, and I had bought a return ticket during my last visit home.
The queue was long and painfully slow. Furthermore the pressure of people adding to the line kept forcing those ahead together and I could feel myself sandwiched between a fifty something mom in front and a thirty something South Asian looking man behind me. As the line surged behind us, I lost my footing and the he grabbed me from the waist and left arm. Without this support, I would have certainly ended up on the floor. Another push from behind meant that one of his arms was around my waist and the other was holding my left hand, and this while my body was totally melded against his.
"Careful, miss," he said, "the people behind are pushing like animals."
I thanked him for his help and he slowly released me. But we were unable to fully disengage and another shove meant that I had to just accept that we would be in very close proximity until the metal detector was navigated. Here was a good example of where the norms in Pakistan are a lot better, there women and children would get preference to get through such devices and would not be forced into a unisex line. It took another 10 awkward minutes or so before I finally arrived at the top of the queue. During these moments I was saved from tripping a couple more times and all the while I could feel his pelvic region right up against my ass. I could swear I felt something growing and stirring next to my behind, but was too focused on getting through to realize that the friction was probably giving him a hard on.
Add to the friction the fact that I was at the prime age of 23, having just finished college in the US. I had embraced the country and culture wholeheartedly in my four year stay. Today, given that I was an experienced traveler, I had opted on a smart mid length skirt, short heels and a T-shirt. I figured I would change to a shalwar kameez closer to Lahore. This attire, though fairly ordinary, nicely allowed me to show the curve on my legs. I was proud of the athletic regimen I had strictly followed to ensure my figure was well proportioned and maintained. The T-shirt was not buttoned all the way and let me display a fair bit of cleavage, notably if I bent over. With my hair cascading down nearly down to my waist, my fair skin and light eyes, I was quite the ideal Pakistani-Western woman. It was no surprise that the guy jammed up against me was getting turned on; he could probably feel the warmth of my skin through the light fabric of my skirt and the flimsy panties underneath.
Thanks to heaven no lights lit up as I went through the detector. I was not in the mood to be strip searched by the dyke type female security guard standing next to a close by check room. The same did not hold true for my handbag. Though I had been careful about what I had carried, I was sent to another inspector who began to look through and take out some stuff. Of course, there was nothing suspect inside and the guard mouthed a low "thank you" and allowed me to proceed. However, as I was refilling my bag, my passport and ticket dropped to the ground. I was pleasantly surprised to see the same gentlemen, who had I been squeezed up, handing the things to me.
"So you are from Pakistan too?" he queried, "are you going to Lahore on PIA by any chance?"
"No, I am on PIA but continuing to Karachi," I replied politely.
Seeing my name on the boarding pass he responded, "I will see you on board then, Ms. Iram Mansoor".
I thanked him again and as he went off towards the Business Class lounges, I figured I would not be running into him any more. He was a rugged and handsome guy, with features that would not easily identify him as Pakistani. He was dressed very smart casual, and carried a sizable notebook computer and expensive looking luggage.
II
After what seemed like an endless wait, given that the aircraft was delayed by two hours, boarding was finally announced. A wave of people rushed to get on quick, but they were held back by the departure lounge crew. Once order was restored, I found myself about mid way in the pack. Slowly I made my way to the counter and handed over my boarding card.
"Miss Iram," said the gate agent, "we had a free seat in Business Class and have upgraded you all the way to Lahore. You may have to change back to Economy for the Karachi leg, but check with the staff before you do so. Have a good flight."
That was certainly great news, given that the PIA Boeing 777 aircraft, while quite new, was pretty cramped in the economy sections. I would now have a lovely business class experience probably all the way home. Why I was upgraded was not a concern that I had, I figured I had made a good impression at the PIA check-in desk and the guys had remembered me. I did look and act memorable compared to the normal load of passengers on this particular flight. A couple of batted eyelids had melted the resolve of the check-in agent to charge me for the significant excess baggage I was carrying along. I knew I was pretty, so why be shy and coy. America had taught me to use my resources to my advantage, and beauty was something I could count on.
I had the window seat on the right side of the aircraft and in the second row. It was not that I had never been in business class before. I had just never been upgraded or flown for such a long journey. The seats looked very inviting compared to the sardine can layout in the back sections and I flopped in to mine with a smile on my face. I gratefully accepted the glass of fresh juice and the newspaper from the stewardess. As I read the paper, I felt someone take the seat next to mine. Looking up, I was surprised to see the fellow from the security line sitting there.
"Hello again Iram, I was wondering if they were going to get you into this seat," he said.
"Hi again," I replied, "and you are?"
"Forgive me, I am Fareed Mir from Lahore and Chicago," he introduced himself.
It was Fareed who had talked to the PIA Station Manager about giving me the seat next to him, and since the Manager remembered me from the check-in desk, he complied. After all he was Fareed's friend from high school and this was the least he could do for his buddy.
"So why did you ask for me?" I queried him with some suspicion.
"I'll be frank, I would rather have a very beautiful young lady, who I believe will carry on an intelligent conversation, next to me rather than some average Joe from Pakistan," he confessed, "I hope you do not mind my company all the way to Lahore."
Actually I was rather hoping to have someone good to talk with also and Fareed fitted the bill, and now I was in his debt for the upgrade.
The aircraft finally departed nearly three hours behind schedule and we ascended into the night for the journey eastwards. Almost immediately the crew came to life and soon as we leveled dinner was served. I was pretty famished, since I had an early lunch and dinner was quite late compared to my routine. The food was exquisite and I wolfed it down with gusto. During the meal, Fareed nudged me and asked if I would like an alcoholic beverage. PIA does not serve booze and he had brought a bottle of Vodka on board from the Duty Free. Not being a prude as far as alcohol went, and figuring it would help me get some sleep, I accepted and soon we had polished off more than half the bottle. We did get a few stares from the other passengers, either a rebuke for drinking or an appreciation that we were having a good time. By the time dessert was done, I was fairly tipsy. The lights dimmed and I extended the sleeper seat to its fullest and dozed off.
III
Aamir and I had been introduced to each other a couple of years ago by our respective families. He was completing his Master's level work also in the US and there was a feeling that we would make a good couple. Aamir was presentable, articulate and knew he was going places. He also was the single child of very wealthy parents, so money was not going to be an issue in his life. Just before I returned for my senior year at college, we were engaged in a lavish ceremony in Karachi.
Aamir attended university on the West Coast, while I was in College on the Eastern Seaboard. Because of the distance we would spend hours daily chatting on the phone. I had not yet experienced sexual intimacy, despite three years of college in the US, since I was at an all-girls school. However, as boys were the favourite topic of discussion at any gathering of girls, I was intrigued by the descriptions of various acts that were given by my colleagues. I often fantasized about making love to Aamir and almost always woke up with a sticky feeling down below.
Then Aamir surprised me by showing up at my dorm during Thanksgiving break. He had come to visit friends in Boston and his plan to be a bolt from the blue worked well on me. Luckily I had just finished mid-term exams or my grades would have taken a serious beating. We made plans to go for dinner at a fancy restaurant that evening and he made sure he arrived punctually. I wore stylish designer jeans and high heeled boots and topped them with a lovely blouse and short jacket. Aamir's eyes ate me up and I could see that I had made a real impact. Dinner was lovely and we made small talk for a couple of hours as the courses were served. Aamir, like me, was not averse to having a drink, and we celebrated with a bottle of champagne.
I was quite giggly as he drove us home. Since it was a holiday, most of the girls had gone. No one challenged Aamir as he walked me over to my room. Guys were not normally allowed into the rooms, but rules could be bent if you knew the right people. Aamir pulled me close and kissed me deeply. The champagne had dulled my inhibitions and I melted into his arms, allowing him to kiss my lips, cheeks, face, neck and so on. He shut the door, sat on my desk chair and placed me on his lap, still kissing me wherever he could. As I began to get more flushed, he slid the jacket off my arms. I next felt his fingers undoing my blouse and soon he was touching the bare skin on my torso as this piece of clothing was discarded. I tensed as I felt him releasing my bra clasp and tried to push him away. Instead he stood us both up and with my back towards him, slowly took the bra off. His hands grasped my breasts and I could feel his throbbing manhood at my rear. He sat me down on the bed, unzipped my boots and set them to one side, correctly figuring I would throw a fit if my shoes were scuffed. Putting his hands to my midsection he then undid the buttons on my jeans and soon these were lying on the ground.
"No Aamir, please do not do this," I pleaded, secretly hoping that he would ravish me that very instant.
My pleas fell on deaf ears and my panty was too slinky to survive the pull he gave, as it shredded off my legs, exposing my vagina to him.
Aamir bent over me and whispered, "now remove my clothes, Iram."
In a flash, I had him out of his clothing. He took a condom from his jacket and rolled it on to his penis, which was the biggest I had ever seen so close up. I lay back expecting bells and whistles to go off. Instead, I felt myself being rent apart as his prick entered my virgin orifice. He slacked and pressed a few times before I felt an intense pain and then had a sense of being filled up. Aamir's cock was firmly inside me. As a Pakistani girl, I should have kept my virginity to my wedding night, but since I was fucking my husband to be, it did not feel wrong. Aamir began breathing in a laboured fashion and soon jerked as a gasp escaped his throat. I was too focused on the pain to feel anything else. He relaxed and lay back on top of me.
Through the night we made love a few more times. Although my vagina became quite sore, I began to feel some inner pleasure from the battering Aamir gave me. I enjoyed his exploration of my body and when he licked my privates. However, I was not bold enough to agree to sucking his cock. After all it had given me so much pain when he had deflowered me, I could not fathom the hurt it could lay on my mouth. Aamir made up for his disappointment at not get a blow job by fucking me doggie style. I again drew the line at anal sex, though I allowed him to stick his finger into my back side. Finally exhausted, we cleaned up and I sneaked him out of the dorm before too many people were up and about.
