This story is a continuation of I’m Dating Our Mailgirl. The 1st 8 chapters of that story should be read first for context. All characters are 18 or older and are completely fictitious as is Seahawk Industries. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.
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THE FLIGHT HOME
9 and I selected two seats on the next to the last row. There were only two seats on our side of the aisle. We took advantage of the semi-privacy to hold hands and to exchange kisses and caresses. There was actually a beverage service so late at night. The attractive stewardess, Jill, asked if we wanted anything. She mentioned orange and tomato juice and at the risk of being a typical airline passenger jerk, I asked if she had any cranberry juice.
“Funny you should mention that. In honor of Thanksgiving week, we did stock some of that.”
“Now, the big question. Do you have any Southern Comfort?”
She let out the biggest laugh. “Why Miss Scarlett, I don’t know nothing ‘bout no Southern Comfort.” Her mock Butterfly McQueen impression was appreciated by me, certainly, but also 9. “Bless you little southern hearts, we actually do stock some on all flights to Atlanta.”
I looked at Jill, at 9, and back to Jill. “We’ll have two Scarlett O’Haras!”
“I don’t think we have any limes. Will lemon juice do?”
I smiled, “Like Scarlett O’Hara, we must make sacrifices to survive.” Jill finished the drink service and brought back two Southern Comfort miniatures, a can of cranberry juice and, with a triumphal flair, two large lime wedges.
She held up the limes. “Look what I found!” She prepared the drinks and handed them to us. I started singing Tara’s Theme
“My own true love,
My own true love,
At last I’ve found you,
My own true love.”
I looked longingly into 9’s eyes and kissed her as I finished. Jill actually joined me for the last 2 lines.
We each took a sip and Jill asked, “Are you two ladies from Atlanta?”
“I am originally, but I moved away 6 years ago when I went off to college. I’m bringing my friend home for Thanksgiving.”
She observed, “So your family is accepting?” 9 and I glanced at each other and had quizzical looks on our faces.
“Accepting?”
“Yes, of your lesbianism.”
We exchanged glances again, “Is it that obvious?”
“Well, the hand holding gave me a clue, but the kisses were a dead giveaway. The DEEP kisses.”
I looked bashful, “Sorry, I hope we didn’t offend anyone.”
“Sweetie, it’s 1:00 AM on a red eye flight and you’re sitting on the back row like a couple of teenagers in a drive-in movie.” We introduced ourselves. When I introduced 9, I didn’t get any reaction from Jill. “You’re a mailgirl, aren’t you?” 9 swung her arm around to show the 9 in a mock exhibition display. “I fly this route a lot so I’m familiar with what’s going on at Seahawk. I’ll bet you’ve got a few tales to tell. So if you’ve been away awhile,” she addressed me, “are you familiar with the Atlanta lesbian bar scene?”
“Not really, but we would like to hit a couple.” I told her we would be staying in Roswell. “The Tongue & Groove is on the northside of town in Buckhead, but I think a trip into town for My Sister’s Room is well worth the trip. I’ll be flying into Atlanta Saturday and overnighting there. You two gals seem like it would be a hoot to hang out with you.”
I asked Jill, “So are you going to be comfortable there?”
“Why don’t you come right out and ask me. Am I gay? Yes, of course.”
We exchanged contact information and set it up for Saturday night.” Jill appeared a few years older than us. She was very attractive with a very outgoing personality. She wasn’t all grumpy about having to work a redeye flight. She wore her short blonde hair in a bob. 9 asked her, “Are you going to be bringing your girlfriend?”
“Why do you assume there’s only one?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. Everyone assumes gay stewardesses have a girl in every port. I just broke up with my partner of 2 years. So I’m, as they say, ‘out there’. It’ll just be me. I won’t be a 3rd wheel, will I? I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“We’ll all be fine. We’ll look forward to it.”
Since it was a red eye flight, things were slow. Jill circulated around the cabin once more and then came back to talk with us. She sat on the arm rest of an empty seat just across the aisle from us. “So, 9, you’re not from Atlanta?”
“No, I’m from Minnesota originally.” I looked at 9 again. I had learned this previously, but I had to question why she told Jill without any difficulty and I had to drag it out of her like extracting teeth.
Jill nearly squealed, “Get out of here! I’m from Minnesota. Bemidgi, God, what a God-forsaken place that is. The most exciting thing that ever happens there is the dog sled race in the middle of January.”
“Yea, I’m from Edina.”
Jill looked envious, “Now that a nice town. Buckhead on ice.” They laughed. I guess I kind of got it. Jill got back to work. 9 and I exchanged glances, kissed, and tried to get some sleep.
THE ARRIVAL IN ATLANTA
We landed in Atlanta at 5:46 AM Wednesday. It was about 4:00 AM for our bodies, due to the 2 hr time difference. I asked 9 if she was tired. She said no, the 2 hr nap on the plane helped and besides she was filled with both the adrenaline rush from the meal last night and anticipation in meeting my family. She said she might have been exhausted from the early rise yesterday, the shopping, preparation and serving the meal, but the exhilaration of having her body displayed, and used, as it was had her wide awake now. I was just glad to be back home.
When we emerged from the secured area at the terminal, my brother, Kyle greeted us. “Hey, Sissy, you look great. Welcome home.”
“Kyle, I’d like you to meet my friend, 9.”
“9?” He could see her name on her arm. “Like 7, 8, 9?”
“Yes, 9.” I decided to treat him like an annoying little brother. “And you better get over it. I’m not going to spend a week of explaining everything twice. I’ll give you an explanation, as if you really deserve one, when we see Mama.” It must have worked. He piped down and meekly addressed 9 as “9” the rest of the trip to the house. 9 smiled, I assume at the way I was bossing my kid brother around and the way he meekly shut up.
We got our luggage. Kyle questioned, “Just one piece?” I had a small carry on piece also.
“Yea, we’re traveling light. I have all of both of our belongings in this one bag. When we got into the car, I asked 9 if she wanted to stop for some breakfast.”
Kyle interrupted, “No, no, Sissy. Mama has been waiting for your arrival over a week. She’s fixing eggs, sausage, bacon, grits, toast. The whole 9 yards. That’s where we’ll be having breakfast. We got caught in the morning rush hour as we drove. We got off I-85 and onto state road 400. We passed through Buckhead and Sandy Springs. and then down the familiar streets to our driveway.
Mama rushed out of the house and threw her arms around me. “Sissy, you look great.”
“Mama, I want you to meet my friend, 9?”
“9?” she looked at me quizzically.
“Yes, 9. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you at breakfast.”
Mama was clearly flabbergasted, but extended her arms to welcome 9. “I’m so glad to meet you Miss 9.”
9 politely corrected her, “It’s just 9.” I wish she had just rolled with Miss 9 until I gave an explanation at breakfast. But it was already done.
“Bubba, will you take our bag up to my room?”
Mama corrected me. “You can take Miss 9’s, I mean 9’s suitcase to the guest bedroom.” I decided to finesse the sleeping situation until later.
“We only packed a few things, and we just put everything, both 9’s and my clothes, into this one suitcase. Just put them into my bedroom. We’ll sort everything out later.”
Mama seated us all at the breakfast table in the kitchen. No need for a fancy meal in the dining room. We were all just family. Maybe I need to tell you a little about Mama. Margaret Christopher Ross was the only daughter of Wayne and Deborah Christopher, a CPA. She went to Agnes Scott College and earned a degree in Elementary Education. She married my father 2 months after graduating. He had gone to Emery and received a law degree from the University of Georgia. Go Dawgs! She was so proud when I graduated from Agnes Scott, but Daddy used to joke about disowning me when I told him I was going to get my MBA from Tennessee. He did concede, “At least it’s not Florida or Tech.”
She is a genteel, but frankly, how shall I say, unsophisticated, or maybe more so naive woman. She was born in 1973, but she might have been more comfortable if it had been 1873, if you catch my drift. And no, I’m not referring to racial intolerance. Mama supported every politician who furthered civil rights. I just mean she was most comfortable with the slower pace and the social milieu of the late 19th century.
She had served everyone and we were starting to eat. She started the conversation, “So tell me, Miss. . . I mean 9, I understand you and Sissy work together.”
“Yes, Ma’am. We both work at Seahawk Industries, but we work in two different departments.”
Let’s dive into the deep end of the pool I thought as I interrupted. “Mama, 9 is a mailgirl.” I saw a look of recognition on Kyle’s face.