Best On Board 02: First Class

Meanwhile Spike was enthusiastically coaching Bob about how he should handle the whole Amy situation and had assumed that Bob's lack of eye contact meant that he was eagerly watching for Amy's return so that he could instantly swing into action. In actual fact, Bob wasn't listening to a word; he was waiting for Vicky to look around, desperate not to miss a chance at catching her gaze.

"So, Plan A is see if she's with a friend, or if she can call one," Spike recapped, ticking off points on his fingers. "If that doesn't fly then ...," he paused, expecting some kind of affirmation from Bob. "Bob! Bobby! Earth to Bob; are you reading me?"

"Huh?" Bob flicked his eyes to Spike and then back over Spike's shoulder to Vicky across the room.

"What are you looking at?" he asked. "C'mon man, don't make me turn around like a dickhead. She's over there isn't she? Is she talking to a guy? Oh fuck, she's standing right behind me, isn't she?"

Two guys had just approached Vicky and Celeste's booth. They had improbably styled hair and open neck shirts unbuttoned about half way down their hairy chests. From his years of schoolyard geekdom, Bob identified them immediately as belonging to the genus Sleazebag. Species: Asshole. One guy was a head taller than the other and wore a thick, gaudy gold chain around his neck. He seemed to be the leader; the shorter guy was just smiling and nodding and leering at Vicky.

Bob saw Celeste smile half-heartedly - nothing like the sunbeam she turned on the barman – she shook her head at Gold Chain and said something that Bob couldn't hear.

"Oh, shit!" Bob muttered under his breath.

Curiosity got the better of Spike's cool vibe and he reluctantly turned around, smiling when he saw who Bob was watching. "Bob," he laughed. "I love your ambition, man. You are bloody bro-tastic, mate. You pass on the third hottest girl in Coffs so you can take run at one and two with your wingman."

Still watching Vicky and Celeste trying to deal with the sleazebags, Spike continued: "That redhead is smoking hot, mate, but shit, there're no loser with those two so you take your pick, my friend. I'll take the other and be bloody grateful for it."

Taking a long last look he added "Those guys are getting shot down though, so we'd better get a Plan B sorted ...." As Spike began to turn back around, Bob brushed past him walking purposefully towards the girls.

"Bob! No, man! Not cool!" he hissed. "At least wait for those guys to drag away their bloodied corpses."

Bob either didn't hear him or didn't care. "Cluster fuck!" Spike muttered. He jumped up and dumped a fifty dollar note on the bar. "Bottle of champers and four empties, my man," he blurted urgently to the barman. Pointing towards where Bob was walking, he added "Keep the change if you can meet me at that end of the bar in fifteen seconds."

With a practiced dexterity borne of half a lifetime in a pub, the bartender whipped a full bottle from the fridge, handed four champagne flutes to Spike and then shadowed him up the bar as he ripped off the foil and cage, popping the cork and handing it over without breaking stride just as they reached the far corner of the bar.

At the booth, Bob was behind the assholes and trying to move into a gap where Vicky could spot him.

"Actually we're just waiting for our boyfriends," Celeste said, losing her serenity and sounding tired and more than a little annoyed. "So you'd really be doing us a favour if you didn't let them see us chatting to a couple of hot guys."

"Oh well, we'll just keep you company until they get here and then we'll sneak away," Gold Chain crooned. "They won't even see us." He made to sit beside Celeste but she slid down the bench to block him. The gap opened up and Vicky spied Bob standing back and looking nervous.

"Oh, here they are now," she smiled at Bob. "See ya later, guys. Thanks for keeping the creeps away from us."

Still standing, Gold Chain looked around at Bob, four inches shorter, considerably narrower and looking decidedly uncertain. The even shorter sleazebag laughed and took his cue from his taller partner: "No way is that guy your boyfriend."

Vicky stepped quickly out of the booth and between the assholes. She put her arms around Bob's neck and pulled herself up onto the toes of her flat sandals to kiss him deeply on the lips. Understanding that this was part real and partly staged, Bob slipped his own arms around her narrow waist, feeling the cotton move sensuously over her soft, bare skin, and kissed her back; meeting her tongue with his and matching its intensity; tasting the sharp tang of champagne in her mouth.

She slowly broke the kiss with a soft "Mmmmm" and dropped back down to her heels without moving away; her body still moulded into Bob's and her small, firm breasts pressing into his chest. She blinked a few times and looked into his blue eyes, brushing away the stray lock of black hair.

"Hello, Bob," she husked. "We've been waiting for you." Moving her arms down and around his waist, she gave him a welcoming squeeze, as if to suggest that the kiss was by no means just a prop to get rid of Gold Chain and his creepy sidekick.

At that moment, Spike arrived with his bottle and cluster of glasses. Pretending not to be surprised by the beauty in the white dress who was still wrapped around Bob, he stepped up to Gold Chain and touched him on the chest with the fistful of glasses. "Problem?" he asked.

Gold Chain looked down at Spike, who was a bit shorter than Bob but a hand's width broader than the tall guy through the shoulders and easily the same again deeper in the chest. Gold Chain took a moment to observe the thick, bunched muscles of Spike's surf-toned body and then blinked and stepped back.

"No problem," he said, coughing a croak from his voice. "We were just doing a bar run and checking whether the girls wanted anything."

"Need any more drinks, ladies?" Spike asked without taking his eyes off Gold Chain.

"No thanks," they trilled in unison with obvious amusement, wanting to laugh but understanding that it wouldn't help.

"Righty-o, then. Hasta mañana," he said as they stepped away in unison and turned.

"But don't get any onya," Celeste finished the old flip off with a song in her voice as they retreated.

"Sorry about that," Spike smiled at her. "I was just covering my mate," he gestured at Bob with the bottle. And then maybe a bit reluctantly: "We'll leave you alone; just give us a hoy at the bar if those dicks come back."

"Bob, grab your friend's bottle and pour us a drink," Celeste giggled at his reluctant chivalry, sliding back across the bench to make room. I don't think he wants to sit with us."

Spike did a double-take at Bob, seeming to notice for the first time that Vicky was still locked onto him even though the sleazebags had gone. She tipped back up onto her toes and stole another kiss, laughing at the clueless look on Spike's face.

"Spike, this is Vicky," Bob said, smiling as he watched Spike's confusion melt into realisation. "And that's Celeste. You'll like her; she's a schemer, too."

"Bob!" Celeste cried in mock outrage, patting the seat beside her for Spike. "I'm an enabler, not a schemer!" She watched Spike's thighs bunch as he lowered into the booth and studied his tanned and rugged features while he was occupied setting out the glasses and pouring the champagne.

"Consider your favour repaid, Bob," she said, still eyeing Spike hungrily. "In full!" referencing her role in bringing Bob and Vicky together on the plane earlier that day.

"Huh?" Spike said, looking up as he waited for the bubbles to settle from the first pour in each glass.

"Never mind," smiled Celeste, touching his thigh and shivering at the latent power in his thick muscles. "We're just glad you two came along."

"Bob's the man," Spike said, looking across as Bob and Vicky sat down. "I was going to sit there and let you two cut those guys down on your own."

Vicky was holding Bob's hand under the table and gave it a long squeeze.

"To Bob, then," Celeste said, taking a glass and toasting.

They all clinked glasses and drank, Bob blushing deeply to the roots of his dark hair.

~~~

Sometime after 9pm, the lights went down and the TVs switched from sport to pre-mixed music videos. The music was pumped through the bar's sound system and some coloured lights outlined an area of uncarpeted floor that could be charitably described as a dance-floor. It would probably work a lot better with the live music on Saturday night, but the selection was mostly nice, safe retro numbers; although Bob noticed that Vicky was unconsciously tapping along and moving to the music in her seat.

They had all swapped stories of how they came to be here, leaving out the lurid details of what happened on the airplane. Spike balanced up what he was hearing against what he saw when Vicky and Bob found each other again and correctly reasoned that he wasn't getting the whole story.

Bob re-told the tale of how Celeste lured him back onto the plane and as good as asked him out right in front of the captain and co-pilot. Celeste gave a very uncustomary "Aw, shucks" look – she may even have been blushing – and everybody laughed at her gall.

"Should Vicky and I give you two some private time?" Spike laughed, gently squeezing Celeste's bare thigh under the table as if to suggest that he had no intention whatsoever of leaving her alone with Bob.

"No!" Bob and Vicky exclaimed in perfect wide-eyed unison, and they all collapsed in gales of laughter again.

The threads of conversation deepened as the alcohol did its work. Spike and Celeste did most of the talking; but Vicky paced her contributions matching Bob's level of involvement and made sure that they interacted as a quartet and not two separate couples. She surprised herself by dropping some of her preconceived ideas of Celeste as being a bit of a diva; Celeste was what she was: beautiful, confident, and fiercely loyal to the people she liked. Vicky hoped she would stay with Celeste for the rest of her traineeship; she could see a rewarding friendship blooming with the older woman ... just so long as she was careful to never get caught describing the beautiful thirty-year-old as "the older woman."

"So Celeste," Spike steered the conversation back to what was clearly most interesting to him. "What's the dream?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, sipping her drink and watching him with amused eyes over the rim of her glass.

"Where to from here?" he explained. "Stay in the skies? Go into training full-time? Management? ... You know; the dream?"

"Paris to New York route, First Class cabin," she replied without hesitation.

"Really?" Spike asked, clearly surprised.

"Hell yes! It's the number one job in the industry. The perks are incredible; you can live like royalty!"

"I thought First Class was just Business Class with blow-jobs," he said smirking, clearly trying to get a rise out of her and feeling comfortable enough to introduce the topic of sex.

"Oh, that's just a myth," she dismissed him with a wave of one perfectly manicured hand. "We do blow jobs in business class too; they're just not included in the ticket price."

Spike had his own drink to his mouth at that moment and ended up spraying it out his nose in laughter, which rapidly morphed into a coughing fit as he tried to expel the champagne from his lungs. The others all laughed too; at Celeste's lightning comeback and at Spike's bruised karma.

"I think I must have missed that day at the academy," Vicky giggled, feeling emboldened after a few glasses of alcohol. "Do they run make-up courses?"

"Well you laugh," Celeste said, smiling and waggling a finger at Vicky. "But as we speak there is a mock Boeing 777 training cabin set up next door in the conference suites of our hotel. It's part of the '100 Years in Civil Aviation' celebration.

"I was in there this afternoon donating my old rookie uniform to the cause. Tourists come in, dress up like captains or cabin crew and try out the ... wait for it ... First Class suites!"

Vicky's eyes widened with alarm as she mentally translated what Celeste was saying in the context of her own joke about missed training. At the same time a thrill of excitement coursed through her core, making her vagina tingle and her nipples harden. She discretely leaned forwards against the table so that she could cover her breasts with a forearm, embarrassed that the others would see her arousal.

"So ...," Spike leaned back, smiling as he turned half towards Celeste.

"Yes?" She mirrored his movements with a mischievous smirk.

"So there's a first class cabin ...," he continued.

"Uh huh."

"With those big, lay-back seats?"

"Huge ones! With TVs and privacy partitions."

"Here in Coffs?"

"Right next door."

"And they let you in there?"

"They scanned my keycard so I wouldn't have to pay the entry fee," Celeste was clearly enjoying herself. "I can go back whenever I want."

"Interesting," Spike said, sitting up straight again and facing Bob across the table. "I need another drink. Bob? It's your shout my fine new friend."

Bob went to the bar as directed and returned with a new bottle of champagne. As he was about to sit down, the music changed: Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers. The video clip on the TV was of course the sexually charged scene from Ghost with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. There was a chorus of groans from around the room and one wit yelled "Hey, do you want some crackers with all that cheese?"

Cheesy music or not: "Oh, I love this song," cried Vicky, jumping up from the booth and grabbing Bob. I think you mean 'This song makes me horny', she silently chided herself. In point of fact she was already horny, and The Righteous Brothers weren't doing anything to improve the situation. What she really needed was to get naked and alone with Bob, but failing that she would see if she could douse the fire inside whilst clothed and in public.

"I want to dance!" she commanded, taking Bob's hand and striding to the empty dance floor.

"But I can't dance!" cried Bob, surprised into such a candid admission; yet still he followed Vicky, such was her force of will.

As she reached the middle of the floor with Bob still an arm's length behind her, Vicky pulled back hard and pirouetted twice, sundress flaring out and flashing her plain cotton panties to the polite applause of a few guys fortunate enough to be watching. She stopped herself against Bob, pressing into his body from her breasts down to her knees. Bob took her in his arms and with hips swinging slowly in time with the music, they moved together as one; Vicky's hands sliding up Bob's sides, over his shoulders and through his hair; mirroring Demi's sensuous crafting of the turning clay on the TV screen.

She could feel him hardening against her pubic bone and silently wished herself taller so that she could press him against the aching lips of her pussy. Figuring that a nice chaste kiss would look pretty normal, she replayed her greeting from earlier in the evening and stood up on tip-toes to kiss him briefly with soft, gentle lips before slowly lowering herself back down, taking care to position herself above the hard bulge in his shorts, slowly lowering her weight onto it and using the pressure to open herself up beneath the thin cotton sheath of her underwear. Her continued descent forced her to slide inevitably down and over his cock and a lightning bolt of sensation crashed through her groin as her panties scraped mercilessly across her unprepared clitoris. It was raw and unexpected but - unlike when a guy pinged her down there before she had gotten warmed up – it was warm and welcome and exciting as it fizzed through her nerve endings.

Vicky gasped with the intensity of it and before she could think about what she was doing she was back up on her toes and kissing Bob harder, biting at his lower lip and moaning encouragement when his tongue met hers. She ground her pussy into his cock to open herself back up and then pressed deeply into him, touching and teasing more of those lightning bolts from her clitoris with his straining cock while she kissed and whimpered into his soft lips.

Bob broke the kiss with a gasp and "Vicky, no! I'm going to ...." She realised she was dry humping him (actually sweetie, not that dry, and it almost got a lot wetter) with what was now about a hundred eyes watching. Unable to control the grinding of her hips, in desperation she turned around so that it was her bottom touching Bob's hardness. Already embarrassed, still she desperately hoped that her wetness hadn't had time to soak though her panties and leave a stain on the front of her dress.

Tipping her head backwards to rest it on Bob's shoulder, Vicky reached up and buried her hands in his hair, feeling the thick locks running between her fingers like Demi's wet clay in the music video, which was now reaching its crescendo. Bob folded his arms around her and laced his fingers over her flat belly just above the pubic bone and Vicky longed to sink down so that his long fingers would close over her breasts. While she leaned back against his shoulder, Bob lowered his head and closed his lips around the sensitive tip of her ear, touching it with the tip of his tongue and making her shiver with passion.

As the music faded incongruously into Lipps Inc.'s Funky Town, a crowd of cheering onlookers burst in spontaneous applause which then – led by Spike, who was whistling loudly through his fingers – progressed to a standing ovation. By unspoken mutual agreement, Bob and Vicky abandoned the lights of the dance floor and made for a couple of stools in the darkest corner of the bar. Vicky discretely checked the front of her dress and although badly creased it was otherwise dry and unmarked. She looked up to find Bob watching her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and trying not to smile.

"Sorry about that," she said, wide eyed and more than a little abashed, then they both burst into laughter, holding each other to stop from falling off their stools.

When Bob was a little less uncomfortable they made their way back to their booth, the guys they passed clapping Bob on the shoulder with smiles and Atta Boys, while the girls looked jealously at Vicky. Celeste and Spike good-naturedly showered them with laughter and cat calls and pieces of paper torn up into confetti.

"Twenty-three 'likes' already!," Celeste exclaimed gleefully, holding up her phone with a picture of them kissing, Vicky on her toes with hands plunged deeply into Bob's hair, looking almost incandescent with the lights reflecting radiantly off her dress.

"You guys are going to be celebrities," she continued. "Perhaps we should get out here before your fans start calling for an encore."

"Fine by me," said Spike, and by unspoken agreement they all got up to leave. "The night's still young, though. Where are you taking us next?"

"Somewhere close," smiled Celeste as she discretely tucked the half-full bottle of champagne into her bag.

"Ummm, Celeste?" Vicky said.

"What?"

"These uniforms ...."

"Retro chic, I know, right?" Celeste said, her voice ringing with excitement.

The girls were standing together in front of the full length mirror in the dressing room at the 100 Years of Civil Aviation attraction. They were both dressed in 1960's stewardess uniforms: navy blue long sleeved mini-dresses with deep v-necks and lapels, gold braiding around the cuffs and large gold buttons all the way down the front. Vicky was staring at herself with uncertainty and mounting concern, but Celeste was smiling and turning left and right, admiring the narrow cut at her waist and the way the dress buttoned tightly over her breasts, pushing them together and showing a deep cleavage. Sliding her hands beneath the lapels, she lifted them a bit higher, revealing a sliver of nipple on each side.