Free The Mile High Club by Rachel Kramer Bussel Page A

fingers in and out. My strokes were reaching a fevered pitch. “Just do it,” I said.
    At that, Justin pushed into him. He did this ever so slowly, and Eric froze in place. Eric was held. He was shocked. I was sure he was wondering how he could let this man do such a thing to him. Gently, I tilted his head back and gave him a long lingering kiss. I moved my tongue against his. I kissed his lips, his cheeks.
    Because Eric did not protest after the first slow thrust, Justin firmly grabbed him by the hips and began to push harder. He closed his eyes as he did this, satisfying himself completely, plunging in over and over again, using him. Eric reached for his cock, jerking off as Justin fucked him. I glanced quickly at the horizon as I pushed into my pussy, curling my fingers forward. I thought of the rough perfect bodies beside me. I came hard and fast, surprising myself a little. I rocked with the force of the pulses I felt, feeling feverish and lightheaded.
    The musty scent of sex filled the small cabin. I sat for a while, breathing quietly and listening to the noises the two of them made together. They sounded rough and primal, free of whatever niceties they reserved for me. They were free to lose themselves here. As I turned sleepily to watch them, I was complete. Eric’s head was near my seat. I reached out to stroke his hair as he braced himself on all fours.

    I imagined Eric’s beautiful eyes shut tight behind his blindfold as he knelt there, enduring and savoring this experience at the same time. I knew just what it was like. Justin had done this to me before. I heard him grunting loudly as he forced his way in. His muscles worked relentlessly as he gripped Eric’s hips.
    I could tell that they were close to coming. Their breathing changed, their movements became more desperate and demanding. Suddenly, Justin pushed in hard, spearing him. The gesture was final and rough. As he shook, he pushed in twice more, then slumped over Eric’s back, his breathing still fast. With that final deep push, Eric came as well. The sight of his come pumping over his fingers excited me even more.
    Afterward, Justin pulled out, resting in the back. Eric removed his blindfold in a motion of pure exhaustion, resting his head against the pilot’s seat. I slumped down in my chair, lazily piloting the plane. The three of us stayed like that for what seemed like ages, motionless and spent. We had no words.
    I felt hypnotized as I watched the shapes of the waves passing below, light winking off of them. I thought again of those ancient maps, of ships lost in far-off uncharted seas, never to return. As I turned the plane a few more degrees, sunlight filled the cabin. I tossed the map to Justin in the backseat. “Let’s find out if you can plot us a course home,” I said, but I only half meant it. Part of me wanted to continue out over the warm ocean, trapped in our own lusty triangle.

TOP BANANA
    Craig J. Sorensen
     
     
     
     
     
    B ig, bright yellow planes. Stewardesses dressed like shapely lemons.
    What was it about Hughes Airwest that kept me coming back in those early days? I’d always hated the color yellow. Frequent-flyer miles weren’t on the menu. Complimentary drinks and bad airline food were as far as it went.
    Maybe it was that catchy jingle in their ad campaigns. Remember it? Yes, Hughes Airwest flies more places in the west!
    Yes, yes, YES!
     
    The cliché of the traveling salesman was in mid-morph: days on the road living in crummy motels out of the back of a nine-year-old 1962 Chevy, looking for that next sale. My cigarchomping, bourbon-chugging mentor had just retired to a split-level ranch in The Dalles when I realized that life from the back of a car was not the life for me. Don’t get me wrong. I
loved the traveling part, loved the salesman part.
    But this was the age of the jet-setter. Why schlep from town to town, selling commercial kitchen appliances, when the appliance of the new generation was just