Thursday, September 15, 2011

Over time I’ve collected bits of possible posts, mostly erotic, but for various reasons they’ve never made it into the blog. Usually I found something else to write about or was never in the mood to finish them. I’ve decided to complete some of them and post them as an off and on series. They’ll be divorced of context, time and place, and may be from past professional engagements or my sexual wanderings.

A benefit of dating someone in the ninety-ninth percentile for either love or money is air prive. Sometimes it is G-V or a the company plane and you bumped some unlucky middle manager who will pick up his/her bag and trudge over to the main terminal. Less frequently, he’ll pilot his own, a Piper Malibu, Cessna 402 or maybe a Citation; in any case you avoid the herd and the lines.

A taxi dropped me at the company’s terminal at Le Bourget. The taxi was less conspicuous than a car service and more private than using Waldo. A young woman holding a clip board was the contact person whose name I’d been given. She checked my name off, explained the security procedure that I needed to undergo told me that I was to board first and that the cabin attendant would seat me. She then called over a guard who took my bag and credentials behind a partition. As I waited I noticed the woman call over a middle aged guy who looked over at me grimaced as she spoke with him, after he picked up his bag and left.

Sun glasses are wonderful things and I kept mine on, which allowed me to scan the room but appear to be removed. The guard, through with my things returned them with a smile and a thank you. Taking them I walked over to a window with a view of the tarmac. A good looking young guy came by and struck up a conversation as we chatted I saw that he became distracted by something and saw in the window’s reflection that someone was signaling to him. He excused himself and went to his cohort who put his back to me. It was a one-sided conversation with the fellow glancing at me as he listened. I could imagine it went something like, “what are you doing hitting on her, she’s _______’s mistress.”

After that I was left alone, when the flight was called I walked out to plane and gave my bag to ground worker and then boarded. The cabin attendant directed me to a solo seat in the front row behind the bulkhead; I perused a magazine as the others boarded. The second stop was my destination and I and three others disembarked. An aid greeted me and asked that I wait while my bag was retrieved, when it arrived I was directed to a waiting car.



Blogger J said...

I always love these "bits" from the past.


8:09 PM  

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