An erotic story featuring Amy the airline stewardess. Not femdom, just a bit of flirty, ongoing fun. Originally posted at Lust Illustrated, but I am consolidating everything over here now.)
Hi, my name is Amy, and I am an airline stewardess. This is a picture of me a few years ago before I finally worked out what I wanted out of life.
That sour expression on my face was normal back then. I disliked work at that time, because it largely involved being trapped in a metal box while being hit on by sleazy businessmen who were fifteen years too old for me, and then when I‘d finished I’d spend my time hanging out in bars near the airport drinking and hoping I’d get lucky. I had no horizons at all.
And the other really big problem I had was with guys. I had always been hot at school and in my late teens and early twenties my sex life was a smorgasbord. But then somehow, all the guys who had the confidence to really talk to me properly ended up attached, and the remaining guys just talked to me like some kind of object to be lusted after and manipulated into the bedroom. I wanted a boyfriend but honestly I did not know where to meet guys that wouldn’t suck up to me to get laid. I got callous, and mean.
On this particular evening, the last of my old life, I was in Reno. I got off duty from a long AA domestic haul, and went straight to a singles place I knew where I had actually picked up before, and the guy had actually been pretty all right. I sat there for a while waiting for him or at least someone decent to come in.
I had no knickers on and a pair of duo balls in, because I had been conned by some guy into thinking that it was hot to have pieces of plastic clanking around in my vadge all night. I was also probably wearing some trollish, musky perfume which totally smothered my natural smell, and one of those ‘flowing‘ dresses that showed far too much cleavage and made me look like I was trying to hide a small child down below.
So I sit there for about half an hour and smoke a few cigarettes and feel terrible, and I start haing all the girls at my work because they are all either coupled up, or they pretend to like being single.
The second type of girl are the most annoying. Like, “Oh, Amy, don’t think of it is being single! Think of it as a permanent opportunity.” What a load. Seriously I bet any of them would drop it all for a decent guy if they could only find one.
Actually I take it back; the girls who are in happy couples were worse. One girl in particular annoys me out of my mind. She is engaged to a pilot and she is always bragging about how they are meeting up for a weekend in some absurdly obscure location like the Seychelles. Why don’t they just go to Florida or something? A bed is a bed. That’s where I’d want to be if I were marred to a hot gorgeous rich pilot. In fact you’d probably never get me out of one.
Anyway, I sit there getting all angry thinking about these dumb-lucky girls who somehow found the right guy, and then I realise no one is going to come in, so I make a call to Mike, the guy who picked me up last time I was here.
‘Hi? Is that Mike?’ (This is my best sexy husky voice, you understand?).
‘Yeah. Who’s this?’ There is music and taking in the background.
‘Amy. We met in August. At the Deuces’ Wild. Remember?’
‘Amy. Sorry, I don’t recall.’ He sounds anxious.
‘The airline hostess. Blonde? You.. said I was the best you ever had.’ This was true. He had said that.
‘Uh…yeah…look, I think I remember you now but I‘m kind of involved with someone right now and I probably shouldn’t meet up. Sorry. I had a real great time that night actually if this is who I think it is.’
I think I remember you? Asshole.
I hung up and had another drink and made another call, this time to an even less likely prospect: Brad, an ex-lover of years before who I dumped because he wasn’t up to the mark. Just as I hit dial, suddenly it dawns on me that this is a seriously low point for me because I swore I’d never have anything to do with Brad again but I am so lonely I make the call anyway and within ten minutes he shows up out of his hole.
He buys me a drink, now my fourth, which I inhale, and while I stare at him blearily it occurs to me that he must have actually gotten shorter because I do not remember him being this much of a hobbit previously. I also notice he is wearing large amount of that Lynx deodorant that apparently makes men irresistible to women, presumably by covering up the smell of sweat and beer.
Seriously, bring it on. I mean, if they have invented some chemical smell that can make the Middle Earth denizens who are prepared to sleep with me even vaguely attractive, I’m all for that. But this stuff just smells like alcohol – OK not a bad start, but I’d rather drink it than sleep with it to be honest – and also, something a bit like wee. On the whole it would be more erotic to put the deodorant container in my vagina but the duo balls are already in there.
‘Brad, take me home and fuck me,’ I beg.
‘You mean it? Coz, y’know, you said I was a maggot.’
‘Was I drunk?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. Probably no more than normal.’
He takes me outside to his incredibly sad car, which I would probably have thought was awesome when we were eighteen, but which had taken him ten years to afford. And then, just as I was getting in and the aroma of try-hard deodorant and stale sweat hit me, I think:
I seriously cannot keep doing this anymore. I have to get out of here.
‘Sorry, Brad,’ I said. ‘Change of plan.’
Whuh? You said you meant it!’
‘I know, but…it’s not you, it’s me. Really. I have to get out of here.’
I went home and threw my duo balls in the bin, got online, and spent two days solid filling out applications for international jobs away from AA.
A month later I started work at Egypt Air.
I am in charge. I do what I want. I say what I want. If guys like me for who I am, great. If they don’t, it’s their loss.
To be Continued…