Friday, May 1, 2009

Firing Up On All Cylinders

A challenge was issued to compose a piece about Love. This is one of my entries. This is the love tag for all (my) entries.

It was not from merely the door of the hotel room that they had been thrown into the throes of passion. No. In fact, they had caused so much of a ruckus on that damn plane above it that the pilot himself authorized the opening of a cabin hatch for dispersal.

Strapped together, sharing a single parachute, the crew positioned the couple near the hatch. Everyone was told to leave the area, except the co-pilot, whose duty it would be to man the operation.

"Saw you lookin' at her, trying to get your little airtime," leered Baz at the co-captain.

"Oh wasn't he, Baz?" exclaimed Deb. "I sawr him as I got up, tryin' to look up me skirt, pretendin' to check the bloody landin' gear."

The co-captain merely, diligently, stepped aside, and entered the hatch code. He held onto the safety grip as the door flung open.

"Whoo hooooo hooooooooooooooooo ...." was the last heard from them, as far as the entire airplane was concerned. A motorized device drew the flung door back in as promptly as possible, and there was a sharp shock felt throughout the plane as the lock settled into place.

It was, naturally, only chaos left in there in that plane. A man decided this was the best time to divorce his cheating wife, and actually notify her of his intentions. A gay man came out, in the middle of Christmas, in front of the whole in-flight family. And people think nobody noticed, but there was even, in the back seats, a middle aged Jewish mother, and a similarly aged Muslim mother, who had coalesced initially in order to condemn the sinners that had erupted, but now had found a profound common love of crossword and sudoku. There was no doubt in their minds that emails would be shared, and that, eventually, (sure, given a very long, drawn out process) the two would end up lesbians in Amsterdam.


But for them, they were together, and that was what was important! Strapped carelessly together by a terrified crew like two He-Man toys in the hands of a toddler's makeshift plastic bag parachute. But they were close. So close. Tied to each other so, so close.

"This is the best bloody coupon we ever cut out!" yelled Baz as they hurtled through the lower atmosphere at immense speed. "You alright?"

"I'm terrified," said Deb, wrapping her legs around him. "I never fought it could be done, luv!" Deb began smooching him all over. He responded, and they began kissing each other like fucking hail.


Eventually, they accurately and opportunely hurtled through the windows into the most expensive suite at a resort in Biscayne, Florida. The original occupants of the bed, a hardworking couple on honeymoon from Bayonne, New Jersey, would never be heard from again, because the sheer force of Baz and Deb's luvly impact had pulverized said couple into the queen mattress springs.

Several moments passed.

Baz got up, sniffing. "Luv?"

"Oi! Down 'ere!"

Baz let out his gleeful laugh. "Right right." Then he looked into her eyes. The sun leaked in from the smashed windows, catching an inflection in her eye, and, oh-ho-ho-ho.

"You bloody bastard," she said playfully as he unstrapped her from the parachute, patiently, hard as he was against her. "You rotten' dirty old bloody wanker ..."

"Mmm," moaned Baz as Deb began licking his face. "Best bloody coupon we ever cut, luv."

Orgasms aplenty in that suite.

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