Mile High Club 12

We had enjoyed a perfect holiday in America, spoiled only by problems with the flight home. An aircraft fault caused a serious delay during which many of the passengers found alternative ways back to the UK and even when a replacement plane was declared available more than three more hours passed before we were allowed to board, just before midnight. Most of that time we spent in the bar. The good side was that there were only about a third the number of passengers that there had been on the outward journey.

I was hoping that Cathie and I might have a whole seat to ourselves but just before the doors closed a tall individual dashed on. I thought he was going to stride straight past us but on spotting Cathie he halted and plonked himself down on the spare seat beside her. The guy bore a striking resemblance to my wife's favourite film star but I dismissed the possibility on the basis that someone who earns millions per picture was unlikely to be found travelling on a cut price no frills airline.

My wife and I are very compatible on most things but a notable exception is the films we like. She goes for plenty of action with guns, car chases, explosions and big men with biceps on display where I prefer dramatisation of ordinary life, with good dialogue and lots of psychology. I mention that fact because some may find it significant. Anyway, the guy sitting next to Cathie, (whoever he was), quickly put on a pair of ear phones and closed his eyes, she became engrossed in her book and, as I was suffering from both tiredness and a surfeit of cocktails, I reclined in my seat and drifted contentedly off to sleep, lulled by the drone of the engines and the belief that life couldn't possible get any better..

I was woken by raised voices and looked round in time to hear the film star look-alike saying, "Don't you know who I am? Can't you turn a blind eye just this once?" There was a blanket covering his lap and he was fiddling underneath with both hands, Cathie was looking shocked with a tissue clutched to her mouth and in the isle, confronting them, stood a po-faced looking purser.

"You are under arrest, you had both better come with me," the purser announced officiously.

The star immediately stood and although towering above this authoritative member of the cabin crew he held his hands out to show no hostile intent. My wife looked unhappily towards me and on seeing I was awake she said, "I'm so very, very sorry."

I was still struggling to make sense of the tableau. "Why? What's happened," I had to ask.

"The air steward just caught me sucking Jerry's cock and now he's going to report us to the police," Cathie told me simply.

The next moment she had followed the other two towards the front of the plane. I should probably have immediately followed but I still trying to get a mental grip on the situation and only a few minutes later I had been overcome by panic induced inertia. It was impossible to understand how my loving faithful wife could give oral sex to a man she had only just met, especially with me sitting in the next seat. The conundrum was made even more perplexing by the fact that, although sexually adventurous in almost every other way, sucking my cock had never been one of my wife's favourite activities.

Shortly before we landed my wife was allowed to briefly come back to inform me that she was being charged with 'committing an act of gross indecency in a public place'. She also had time to say that when we were on the ground I should try to wait somewhere in sight of the security office. After retrieving our luggage, I followed these instructions and was fortunately able to grab a coffee before beginning my vigil. This turned out to be more than an hour, towards the end of which time I noticed more and more people loitering, many with cameras in evidence, and surmised that word must have got out about the star travelling on the plane.

When my wife was on the point of being released I was called into security. She was sitting dejectedly in the middle of a row of plain metal chairs but of the guy who had caused the problem there was no sign. When we could speak she explained that he had been taken to the VIP lounge soon after landing but when I began to vent my feelings about him she said, "He's not that bad – he has very trustingly given me a signed blank check to cover solicitors costs and any fine I may have to pay." I was about to point out that, with his money he was just clearing his conscience for a trifling amount but before I could speak we were told we could leave.

I opened the door of the office and we stepped through to be confronted by popping photographer's bulbs and a solid phalanx of felt covered microphones thrust towards our faces. This was the last thing I wanted so, grasping Cathie's arm and dragging my wheeled suitcase behind me, I put my head down and barged our way towards the lifts. I hoped that if we could get to the underground long term car park to retrieve our vehicle we could possibly escape the press attention.

The reporters did give way in front of us but we were assailed on all sides by impertinent questions, 'Catherine, What do you think is flavour of the month?', 'Come on Catherine, you can tell us, is it as big as they say' and 'Catherine, do you agree that one swallow doesn't make a summer?' We ignored them all and eventually broke through to where there was a short area of clear ground between us and the lifts so I put on a spurt with the pack in full cry behind.

Now a youngish couple were in a lift where the doors were in the process of closing but they stayed the operation long enough for us both to slip inside but only by dint of abandoning our luggage to impede pursuit. Once the doors were closed our saviours started gazing studiously up at the ceiling. Although they obviously knew our story they were politely taking pains to avoid showing prurient interest in us but when the automated female voice announced 'Going down', even they were unable to keep the smirks from their faces.

We reached our car without being intercepted and had a safe journey home but in the mirror I saw that a small convoy of vehicles seemed to be following us. We were fortunate in being able to drive straight into the garage using the remote control but we were hardly inside the house before both the door bell and telephone started wringing. I took the handset off the hook and shouted 'Go away' at the door but a voice called back that he had my suitcase. Opening the door I grabbed the luggage and while thanking our benefactor promised that if we did decide to make a statement it would be to him.

While my wife made a cup of tea I started to disconnect the doorbell to silence the continuous ringing but in my tense state this took far longer than it should. Finally able to sit down, I looked at Cathie letting my face rather than voice ask the question. Appearing close to tears she appealed, "Darling, I'm so desperately tired that I can hardly think. Please can we talk about it tomorrow?"

"Alright, but just tell me one thing, did he cum in your mouth?" it was something I desperately needed to know.

My wife nodded. "He was just starting to ejaculate when the purser interfered.

We went up to bed and undressed as we had done hundreds of times before but, unduly conscious of what had recently been in her mouth, for the first time ever I rolled over without exchanging a kiss. Cathie gave a long sigh and fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow but it was a very different story for me. I would have said that I had a sleepless night except that I kept waking after a recurring dream or nightmare. In the dream we were back on the plane. I had my head under the blanket along with hers and I was watching her fellate him. Every time I woke in a state of distress but what upset me was not so much the act as the fact that my emotion had been one of intense excitement, replaced by disappointment when the purser interfered.

When we arose on Sunday morning, not wishing to pressure her I got on with my usual weekend tasks but eventually Cathie indicated that I should go and sit with her. "I don't really understand how it happened, but I can tell you what happened," she began. "I knew who he was and I'd heard that along with Matt Daemon and Daniel Craig, he was one of the best endowed actors in films. I was curious to know if it was true so while pretending to read my book, I kept sneaking glances at the front of his pants looking if I could see the outline of his penis."

"Could you?"

"Not at first but then he seemed to scratch his leg and when he took his hand away it looked at if he had a long thick tube down the inside of his thigh. I realised that he had spotted me so I glanced up at his face and he was grinning. Then he said that it was all real and that I could check to find out if I wanted. So I did. Somehow I had convinced myself that 'just finding out' was not rally a sexual act but when my fingers touched, even through the material, his penis was so hot, hard and kind of throbbing that I couldn't take my hand away. I kept on slowly stroking with just an occasional squeeze and that's when it began to go wrong."

"Go wrong how?"

"I began to lose touch with reality. I've had fantasies about him in the past, usually after watching one of his films, and the situation on the plane began to feel more like fantasy than real. We were high above the earth in just a small pool of light. You were asleep and kind of receded into the background, leaving just me and him, as if we were the last two people on earth. That's when he got his cock out of his trousers and I almost came to my senses at that point because I was scared someone might walk past but Jerry held up the blanket to hide me. His cock was so big and stiff and beautiful that I felt compelled to touch the skin and soon after that my mouth was watering so much that I just had to taste him."

"You mean you started sucking him off," I interrupted crudely.

My cheating wife nodded. "At first I was just licking and playing with his foreskin but then I wanted to really suck him. The head was so large that I had to almost dislocate my jaw like a boa-constrictor just to get it inside my mouth. That was when Jerry draped the blanket over me and about ten minutes later the purser turned up and spoiled everything."

"Do you regret it?"

"Of course I do. I hate seeing you hurt knowing it is my fault and we still don't know how it's going to affect our lives."

"Suppose the purser had never happened and we'd arrived back home without me knowing, would you still regret sucking his cock?"

Cathie thought about this for quite a long time before saying, "I would undoubtedly feel a bit guilty but not regretful. Thousands of women across the world would give their eye-teeth for the chance I had so I think I might have felt more regret if I hadn't taken the opportunity."

This was a very honest answer but it certainly did not help my peace of mind and effectively discouraged questions about her feelings during the incident. There were still three press vehicles parked in the street including a van with a television camera on the roof and two individuals had even taken the liberty of setting up camp at the bottom of my garden, trampling carelessly over the flower beds.

We moved round each other for the rest of the day, always trying to stay away from the windows. I was undoubtedly unhappy about my wife having performed that sex act but gradually I began to think that the actual degree of upset was far less than I would have predicted. This was a puzzle until I started to imagine myself in a similar situation to Cathie. The role of monogamous husband fitted me like a glove but I wondered if that would remain true if I were tempted by Kyle or one of the pair of actresses that I always watched out for on TV (i.e. two who regularly threw off their clothes on screen). The honest answer was that I didn't know and that admission was enough to grant my wife at least partial absolution.

We woke the next morning to find we were no longer besieged by journalists, some other event apparently having offered better copy. I heaved a sigh of relief that it was over but, calling at the newsagents on my way to work, I found that it was only just starting. Usually I exchanged a few words with the pretty girl behind the counter but this morning, on seeing me, she smirked and turned to start busily rearranging the shelves behind her. The reason was soon apparent because every single newspaper had a picture of either Cathie or me on the front page. The worst filled the whole front page with a picture of my fraught face staring through a gap in some lift doors and above, in block letters, the one word headline 'CUCKOLD'. I rushed out without making a purchase and carried on to work with a feeling of dread.

*

On entering the office, all that I could see were grinning faces and a mass of newspapers, some lying on desks and some held up and as I walked past I heard the refrain, 'Goble, Gobble, Gobble, Gobble' repeated endlessly. Almost running, I headed to my personal office as quickly as possible. I should point out that the main office was very large and open plan, broken into areas by a combination of right angled partitions and large evergreen plants in big stone pots. Down the length of one wall there were a series of individual offices with mine being the middle one of nine. Unfortunately it was hardly a private refuge because the walls were glass to allow light from outside to pass through into the main office, leaving me at the mercy of all those mocking eyes.

After a little over an hour at my desk I noticed a small crowd clustered in front of the notice board situated next to the coffee machine. As some moved away others joined the group and it was easy to see that whatever they were looking at was creating a great deal of amusement. It was half an hour before the area cleared and although my mouth was parched, I waited until then before heading down for a coffee.

Pinned in the centre of the notice board was a skilfully created cartoon of three figures sitting in a row. It was all hand drawn except that a photograph of my face had been pasted onto the leftmost character. This showed me with my eyes closed and must have been snapped on one of the firm's social occasions. The head and shoulders of figure in the centre was bent over the lap of the male on the right, covered with a blanket but with the fact that she was female indicated by the very sexy, impossibly long legs. The hair of the favoured male was spiked as if from an electric shock, he had round goggle eyes and his face was split in a wide cheese eating grin. Above the drawing, in big letters the words were 'Cuckie, Hot Lips and A.N. Other'. Underneath the caption read, 'At one point John woke and asked, '"Whatever are you doing with your head under that blanket darling?" but his refined wife had been taught never to speak with her mouth full'.

Clutching my polystyrene cup, I scurried back to my office but a surreptitious glance round showed that, knowing I had seen the humiliating drawing, there were renewed smirks in every direction. At that moment of discomfort the door opened and Geoff Fellowes stepped through, only to lean with his back against it. "How's it going old pal?" he asked.

Now Geoff was my best friend in the office, possible the only real friend. Cathie and I often spent evenings as a foursome with Geoff and his wife Carole. "It's a bit rough as you can imagine," I told him ruefully.

"I just hope you aren't being too hard on Cathie."

"She knows that I'm not at all pleased."

"But no talk of separation or divorce?"

"No, I still love her too much to lose her." I paused and added "But if reactions carry on like today I might change my mind. I just can't get my head round why she would do something like that; it's so completely out of character."

"Have you considered that she may not have had a choice? I suspect that Cath may have succumbed to a kind of genetic programming."

"I'm not with you," I said, truly mystified.

"Haven't you noticed that celebrities, particularly film and pop stars, seem to have a weird power over females that causes them to lose all moral constraint. Girls who at home play hard to get and are sometimes accused of being prick teasers suddenly switch to sneaking naked into pop stars beds or queuing up to attend all night sex orgies with band members. Literally hundreds of them and that's not to mention all the married women who throw their knickers on stage in blatant invitation."

"I hadn't thought," I muttered suddenly remembering all the stories of pop stars and their hordes of willing females.

Geoff pressed his point. "It's been going on for years. I think Frank Sinatra and his Bobbie-soxers was one of the earliest manifestations of the syndrome.

"I often wondered what happened to all the groupies."

"I can answer that – after their fifteen minutes of fame they all go back to normal life. I was recently talking to one. Even in her late fifties she is still a very striking woman so she must have been a real stunner when young. Well she was telling me that in the late sixties, within a couple of years she had sex with Mick Jagger, Ringo of the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix. The point is that she had a steady boyfriend at the time and he eventually found out."

"And?"

"They still got married and are just coming up to their fortieth wedding anniversary of a very happy marriage."

"My case is different," I objected, "Your friend's boyfriend was nowhere near when she cheated but I was sitting right next to Cathy for Christ's sake."

Geoff gave this a moments thought before saying, "I can remember one evening a few months ago when the four of us were sitting round discussing fantasy lovers. You couldn't shut up about Kyle Minogue and Cathie was saying that she really liked the guy from the plane and also a black actor. So it's easy to see that, finding herself sitting next to her fantasy she became overwhelmed by his personality and succumbed to an irresistible compulsion."

"And I just thought it was his enormous cock that attracted her."

Geoff grinned. "Well I admit that could easily also have been a factor."

I was unable to smile. "I just don't know where we go from here," I said sadly.

"Once you get your mind right your marriage will carry on as it always has," Geoff said firmly. "Cathy is exactly the same woman that she was last week. She hasn't been damaged, contaminated or even corrupted. If that damn air steward had turned up five minutes later you needn't ever have known what happened and yet your lovely wife would have had a special private memory for the rest of her life."

"I just don't understand how she could do something like that. I thought she loved me completely."

"Cathy does love you but your mind is confused because you are only thinking about yourself. Men ask 'How could she cheat on ME?' but in lots of one off infidelities the husband isn't even a factor. Given a combination of strong temptation and opportunity, a compulsive new logic takes over and for a short interlude the woman reverts to being just herself rather than a wife. Afterwards she bitterly regrets the hurt caused but the actual transgression is much harder to regret. See things that way and you'll realise that you haven't lost anything."

"What about my bloody reputation?" I snapped back angrily. "You must have seen the performance this morning. Nobody respects a cuckold and I cringe to think how much I must have sunk in everybody's opinion."

"I very much doubt if the regard for you has gone down one bit. The reason that all the guys out there behaved liked such turds this morning was down to envy, pure unadulterated envy."

"Now you are bullshitting me," I said, forced to laugh by the preposterousness of that statement.