Best On Board

Author's Note

All characters appearing in this work are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Seven and a half thousand meters! And yes, the seatbelt light is still on. Ah Bob, you've still got it!

Bob had set himself a challenge: to calculate the maximum altitude of the plane he was on before it reached that altitude. And it was hard, too; not just a case of looking up the cruising altitude of the plane. This was a short hop flight from Sydney to Coffs Harbour, the airline wouldn't waste fuel getting all the way up to an efficient cruising altitude; it would only spend a few minutes there before having to descend. For one, that wouldn't leave enough time for a pass of the service trolley, and secondly the airline would save fuel on the shorter climb.

Bob wasn't exactly thrilled by this trip, so a good mental exercise spiced it up a bit. Mum had virtually kicked him out of the house. He could still her barbs ringing in his ears.

~~~

"You're nineteen years old, for God's sake Bob! The prime of a young man's life and you're spending it playing World of Witchcraft ten hours a day..."

Man she couldn't even get the name right.

And it wasn't ten hours a day either; he usually goggled back in for a few hours after she went to sleep.

"... no job, no girlfriend ..."

Geez, Louise!

He was going to Uni in March.

What's the point in getting a shitty job at McDonalds for a month? And girls?

Bob froze whenever a girl talked to him, especially a pretty one.

What if she thought I fancied her? That I was trying to chat her up? She'd think I was a creep.

It was safer to say nothing.

"... I'm sticking you on a plane to visit your Grandmother ..."

What the fuck?

"... You're a good looking kid, Bob. Get out and enjoy the nightlife, Coffs is full of young people in summer. Get a tan, smoke some dope if that's what you want to do; just live a little!"

And then the kicker: if ever there was a take-back moment, the one thing you did that you wish you could reverse, it was this one.

"Does Gran have broadband?" he asked.

Big. Mistake.

He'd never seen that look in Mum's eyes before. It wasn't frustration; and not hate, exactly, but it was a close cousin. "No!" she yelled. "No electronics. No laptop. No X Box," she turned on a heel to leave and then: "AND NO PHONE!"

~~~

And that

, he thought wistfully,

is how you come to be sitting on a plane with no calculator and two pages of differential equations and aerodynamics

. Still, it wasn't

that

hard; he had to give himself a time limit to make it interesting.

But I still need to check if I'm right,

he thought. The airlines were on top of this stuff, the pilot would be on strict instructions to minimise fuel. He didn't hear any announcement from the pilot earlier, but the flight staff would know. As soon as the seatbelt light went off, he pressed the button for assistance.

Shouldn't take long to call a flight attendant

, he thought

. Only a dozen or so people on the flight.

Most of the rows were empty.

Bob looked back down at his calculations, running a few last minute double checks. He had just satisfied himself that all was well when an arm reached above him to switch off the assistance light.

"Good afternoon, Sir. How may I assist you?"

Bob looked up from his work, sweeping a lock of dark hair away from his glasses and ... froze. The flight attendant was young, about his age, and achingly pretty. Not beautiful. Not a sex goddess, but very, very pretty. She was tall, of course, but it's hard to tell when you're sitting; and dressed in the stylish and elegant uniform of the airline. Short black heels, skin toned pantyhose outlining a trim pair of calves, a navy blue pencil skirt curving over her slim hips and finished with a thin red belt, a tightly fitted navy on white polka-dot blouse cut narrow at her trim waist to accentuate the shelf of her small round breasts, and a navy blue silk scarf with red and white detail knotted at her throat, modestly covering the view down her blouse as she leaned over him.

The name tag pinned on the curve above one breast said "Vicky – Trainee." Daring to look at her face –

anywhere but those tight, firm breasts

– Bob saw delicate features: a small, straight nose, chocolate brown hair tied into a neat pony tail that reached just past the shoulder, and maybe the prettiest olive-green eyes he had seen ... not that he ever looked into girls' eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out, just an embarrassing croak.

She smiled down at him; white, straight teeth, soft pink lipstick.

What would it be like to kiss those lips?

~~~

Seeing that 10C was tongue-tied, Vicky dropped into a squat so that she wouldn't be looming over him. He was cute. Geeky-cute, with thick black hair that hung in locks – not greasy – just a bit tousled; and he had a pencil with a couple of pages of diagrams with lines and curves and numbers and symbols.

Nutty professor

was her first thought; but he wasn't old enough to be a professional academic, he looked about her age, maybe 20 or 21 at a stretch.

She looked into his eyes, rich and blue with dark lashes behind a pair of black rimmed glasses that were so nerdy they were actually a bit cool. His gaze flicked downwards to her hem, not long enough to linger, but she realised with a thrill that her lap fell in a perfect line to his face and that if she didn't have her knees together he would be able to see her panties.

She felt a little flush rise to her cheeks to match the one blooming on his.

"Hello Sir," she started again, catching his blue eyes and feeling goose bumps rise on her breasts. "Is there anything I can get you? A glass of water, maybe?"

"Hi," he said nervously ... and then nothing else.

Vicky smiled, not just with her mouth but with her whole face. The poor guy was more nervous than she was and this was her first flight out the academy. "Hi, to you too, Sir. I'm Vicky."

"No. I'm sorry," he stammered. "High. How high? The plane?"

Nervous flier,

she thought.

The plane's nearly empty, I bet I could sit here and hold his hand the whole way. And if he got really nervous, he might need a cuddle, too,

she thought mischievously.

"Vixy Vixen!" she heard from behind her in the aisle.

Ah, crap; Celeste.

Celeste was the latest in a lifetime of girls who constantly demoted Vicky to the second or third prettiest girl in any given room. Vicky knew she was attractive, but she never seemed to know how to best do her makeup, or her hair, or what clothes to wear. There was

always

someone; someone with bigger boobs or better hair or nicer clothes. A uniform should have been a saving grace; Vicky thought she looked

très élégante

in the flattering skirt and blouse, and the scarf made her feel like Audrey Hepburn, but Celeste

rocked

it. She wore the skirt a little higher, showing more leg and lengthening her narrow waist; she knotted her scarf at the side and popped the top button of her blouse, showing a glimpse of one lacy bra cup when standing and a whole face full when she bent over ... which she only ever did to the cute guys.

Celeste wasn't pretty though, she was gorgeous. She was also the Senior FA on this flight and therefore not just Vicky's boss, but her instructor as well.

"Oh, you little Vixen," she teased charmingly. Vicky touched a scarlet manicured nail to her breast beneath the name tag, capturing the attention of 10C again, his dreamy eyes widening as her breast dimpled beneath her finger.

"Vick-key!" she mouthed in pantomime at the cute passenger, smiling and rolling her olive green eyes at Celeste's adopted nickname. He seemed torn as to whether he should be looking at her breasts (at least the one with the name tag), her eyes, or her lips; and instead cycled between them looking more and more distressed. Finally he lookup myopically up at Celeste and Vicky realised with an uncharacteristic surge of satisfaction that his glasses were for reading; he couldn't focus on Celeste a few paces down the aisle.

"I see you've found BOB," Celeste smiled. "Well done you."

Vicky blushed again. This was probably the first thing you learned in the academy, but not from the instructors: BOB is Best On Board; the cutest, (hopefully) single guy on the plane for whose attentions the girls would all do battle. Vicky never imagined herself buying into it, and now here she was on her first flight, smiling and touching her breasts at a cute guy and getting jealous of the gorgeous Celeste sneaking up behind her.

"How did you know my name?" 10C asked, squinting up at Celeste.

Vicky snorted a little in spite of herself. What a coincidence! BOB's name is actually Bob! She held a hand to her mouth to hide the smile.

"Flight manifest," Celeste trilled, quick as flash.

Oh, she's good!

"Now, Bob, you gorgeous thing," she said, leaning over Vicky's shoulder and displaying ample cleavage and lacy underwear. "What can the two of us do for you today?"

"Um," he began. "I wanted to, uh, know our ...," he seemed to be searching for an elusive word. "... How high we are going? Today. In the plane?" He seemed to want to keep talking but had run out of words.

"Oh, you cheeky thing," giggled Celeste. "You're making me all giddy. I've been asked that every week for the last twelve years, but never by BOB!" She flashed her eyes and fanned her breasts, smiling and flattered. "How high do you want to go, handsome? One mile? Or maybe two?" she asked, putting a hand on Vicky's shoulder.

Vicky felt less self-conscious about her blushes earlier, because now her cheeks were flaming scarlet and her earlobes incandescent. Then Bob saved it by deliberately misunderstanding her thinly veiled Mile High Club reference; a confused look contorting his fine features as he looked back down at his pages of calculations.

"Huh! That doesn't seem high enough. I had us at over four miles, maybe I made a mistake."

Vicky giggled and stood up, whispering "Touché" to Celeste as she escaped back down the aisle to hide her embarrassment.

As she slipped past Celeste, she heard her lean closer Bob and said in a conspiratorial whisper "No mistake, Sweetie. Let me get service finished and I'll make sure you're looked after."

~~~

Altitude! Oh man, Bob. Altitude! Altitude! Altitude! You're such a dork!

The pretty flight attendant ...

Vicky, it even sounds pretty

... had his head spinning. Girls sometimes did talk to him – mostly to get help with a physics prac or maths homework – which was fine; it put him on familiar ground. But talking to him and smiling ... not a fake I-want-something-from-you smile, a real one ...

and Bob, just on a by-the-way here mate, did I mention she was pretty

! That was surreal. He thought he had made a bit of a fool of himself. Vicky was probably laughing about him with the other red-haired one right now.

And man, was she strange?

Beautiful too! He couldn't see her properly until she leaned in above Vicky ...

she called her Vixen ... Vicky didn't like it

... and then he saw too much; right down her blouse, the tops of her full breasts, her lacy white bra ... he even saw her belly button straight through the cleft in the middle. He couldn't look away fast enough. And then her face: clear creamy skin, beautiful dimples, green eyes, long lashes and cascades of glossy auburn hair.

He would have frozen into a statue there and then, but she surprised him back into reality with the altitude. She must have had it wrong ... the plane seemed way higher than one or two miles. Then Vicky ran away and the redhead promised to check the altitude after service ... or something. She wasn't very clear.

Bob looked out the window past the vacant middle and window seats – he always sat on the aisle – and started sketching the wing. It had those V-shapes ...

V for Vicky

... that combat wing-tip turbulence. Plotting force vectors on the wing, he reckoned he could estimate the mass of the plane. He'd need the air-speed velocity though; the redhead could probably ask the pilot for him, it's not like they had much else to do on an empty flight.

~~~

The in-flight service started coming out. Bob hoped it would be Vicky and she would smile at him again, but there was a man facing backwards and the redhead was on the other end. Bob took off his reading glasses to get a better look.

Oh, man. She is beautiful.

His memories of earlier were just clip show flashes of breasts and skin and beautiful red hair, but now, as she stepped back from the trolley to serve a passenger he could see her through the gap between the trolley and the seats.

Long legs, high narrow waist, curves everywhere!

He could still see just a peek of lace above the vee of her open neck blouse, reminding him with a shiver of the more substantial look he had been afforded earlier.

As they moved a few rows closer he could make out her name tag: Celeste – Senior Flight Attendant.

Wow! Senior?

She looked maybe twenty-five, but she said something weird about twelve years on the job, so she must be at least thirty.

And Vicky's boss, too.

There was only one aisle on the plane. He wondered where Vicky was and looked around to see if she was serving from the back, but there was just the one trolley up front. He looked forward again as the male attendant backed though and stopped the trolley just past his shoulder. Celeste finished pouring water for a passenger and walked towards him, hips swaying and smiling. Bob felt his heart beat faster.

"Hello Bob. Looking good! Feeling good?"

"Um, yes thanks," he managed.

"We have a lean chicken breast with rice, or the vegetarian option is cucumber and pickle sandwiches." Celeste squatted down, one hand on Bob's knee and the other reaching under the trolley for a tray. Little electric shocks of pleasure ran from her fingers up his thigh; he was surprised and embarrassed to feel himself getting hard at her touch. Leaning closer and looking straight into his eyes, she asked "Is there anything that you fancy?"

"Oh! Ahhh, cucumber gives me ... you know ...," he mumbled, not wanting to say 'gas'. "I'll have the chicken ... uhhh ..."

"Breast?" she smiled. "With rice?"

"Yes please," he answered, relieved, looking down at her hand on his knee and checking discretely to see whether his erection was visible as he fumbled with the tray table.

"There you go, Sweetie," she said, placing the meal on his table. "Would you like a soft drink? Or you could buy a beer or a glass of wine?"

"Um ... no," he said. Confident now that nothing looked amiss around his groin, he looked up again to admire her beauty again before she left. "Just water, please." He brushed away another lock of hair and smiled nervously.

You, Bob, are developing a way with the ladies

, he congratulated himself for putting together three words, eye contact and a smile all in one complete package.

While Celeste poured the water, he took the opportunity to take a mental snapshot, noting how high her breasts sat and swelled at the sides of her blouse. As she turned back to him with the glass, she slipped and juggled it for a moment, spilling a good slosh right in his lap.

"Oh my goodness," she cried, grabbing for serviettes. "I am

so

sorry! Oh my God, I am

such

a klutz, I've

never

done that before!" And then in a whirlwind of hands that belied her clumsiness with the glass, she flipped down the middle tray table, moved his tray across, stowed the water, flipped up and locked his table, and then pressed a handful of serviettes into his lap, right, smack on his erection. Pressing, dabbing, mopping the water and all the while babbling apologies.

Bob was dumbstruck. He couldn't move, couldn't talk, and couldn't believe what was happening. Tossing the sodden serviettes into the trolley, Celeste pulled another handful, this time dabbing more gently, the serviettes in her palm and her fingertips curved around the bulge in his pants, improbably growing harder despite the cold dousing it had just received.

Expertly flipping his seatbelt open and taking his hand, she said "Come with me, quickly. We'll use the dryer in the bathroom and fix you up in a jiff." And then she was standing and pulling his arm; mechanically, he stood and allowed himself to be led quickly down the aisle so quickly that the other passengers couldn't see the spreading mark on his pants.

~~~

Vicky was in the galley checking inventory when Celeste came rushing in, dragging 10C ...

Bob, his name is Bob

... by the hand.

What happened next was an acrobatic performance worthy of a standing ovation. Vicky tried to reconstruct it in her mind as she lay in bed that night, and still she couldn't fathom Celeste's grace, dexterity and confidence.

"Vix," she said quickly, snapping paper towels from a dispenser. "Glad you're here. Teachable moment, I need your help!" She thrust them into Vicky's hand and then cupped the back of it, pressing her fingers – and the paper towels – into Bob's crotch.

"I've slopped water all over Bob," she said, kicking open the bathroom door, still holding one hand over Vicky's and using the other arm to herd them into the bathroom. "I need you to help Bob dry off with the hand drier while I finish service with Daniel."

And then, her gaze boring into Vicky's startled face, she said more slowly. "We're only up to row ten, so we'll be up the back for at least another fifteen minutes before we clean forwards. You'll be on your own. Can you handle it?"

Still holding the paper towels, Vicky came to the sudden and belated realisation that the hardness beneath her fingers was an erection. She looked at Bob's face for the first time; it looked vacant and stunned.

Celeste had them crammed into the bathroom before Vicky could reply. "Sure. Fine." And then the bathroom door snapped closed leaving them in a moment of darkness before she heard the bolt shoot into place and the light came on.

How the hell did she do that so quickly from the outside? Woman's a magician!

Her hand was still on Bob's erection and she was starting to form an idea of his size, but she wasn't about to remove it until she figured out where this was going. The bathroom was so cramped; her breasts were touching his chest, and the only reason their groins weren't pressed together is because her bottom was propped up over the basin. They were about the same height – at least in her heels – and their noses were just a few inches apart.

She could feel Bob's hot breath on her face, sweet and fresh and tinged with the scent of airline peanuts. She looked at his eyes, shut behind his glasses, with several locks of hair dangling over and around them. His face was pinched and he was struggling to control his breathing.

This is no nervous flier.

He's terrified! Of me!

His erection was hard and hot under her fingers; somehow her hand had conspired to tuck the paper towel up into her palm so that her fingers could more thoroughly enjoy what was obviously a generous handful of hard flesh.

How long had they been standing here like this?

It felt like ages but it could only have been a few seconds.

She had to say something. Or do something.

But what?

She was watching his open lips just a few inches in front of her, breathing raggedly, and realised with surprise that her own mouth was open and she too was panting. Her heart was racing. Without thinking about what she was doing, instinct took over; Vicky shut her eyes, leaned forward and kissed him. Softly, she closed over his lower lip, drew back and then did it again. Bob didn't respond; she opened her mouth again and poised her lower lip between his, her breath on his lips so he would know where she was even with eyes closed, waiting for him to respond.