Highs and Lows
She checks the seat row, leans over. Sharp weasel muzzle a foot from my nose, bland smile. "Could you come with me, sir?"
My ears and whiskers twitch. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir. Just come with me, please."
The seatbelt light dinged off five minutes ago. I look to my right out of habit. The vixen in the middle seat reading "The Da Vixen Code," who is tired and doesn't really want to have a conversation, doesn't even look up. Jake is thirty thousand feet and an irrevocable fight away.
Some of the other passengers do look up at the five-foot rabbit trailing the four-foot weasel up the aisle to the cockpit. I remember being called to the front of the class in grade school. In high school, I just got sent to the principal's office.
Through first class, where nobody even stirs as we walk by, sleeping or drinking or focused on laptops. Beyond another curtain into what Jake calls the foyer of the airplane. Another weasel in the same bright red and gold uniform, holding a cup of coffee, stops in mid-sentence. He and the slender female gazelle in the sharp blue uniform stare at me. The stewardess--flight attendant--I'm following ducks into the bathroom to our right. My long ears catch a squeal and a giggle as the gazelle jerks a thumb to the cockpit door. "Go ahead."
Heart pounds. I slip through the cockpit door.
A large black paw closes it behind me, flicks a latch into place. Six-foot frame, yellow eyes, feral smile. The smell of crisply pressed uniform doesn't cover the strong feline arousal. Ropy tail curls around my rear, lifting my short cottontail.
Flashback: an hour before takeoff, the departure lounge, the same yellow eyes, pilot's uniform. The tip of the tongue. A question. My mind wrenched away from Jake, wide-eyed response to the predatory smile: a hesitant nod; then, thinking about it, a more sure one. Disappointment when he just walked away, I thought to another flight. What had I done wrong?
Now: understanding. The same question, repeated silently. I reiterate my response. Quicker breathing, quicker heartbeat, nicely dizzying prey response. I want to unzip but it's his move.
Large paws grab my shoulders, spin me around. One holds me securely while the other reaches down. Squeeze, pump, squeeze. I gasp.
I help him with the zipper.
Sure, economical actions; he's done this before. Saliva, liberally applied, gets him inside me. Huge, hard, and hot. His wet paw clamps over my mouth when I make a sound. Quick, deep thrusts. My breath sucked through his fingers.
Teeth on my ears. He growls, bucks, hisses, spears me to the hilt. Tenses. Shudders. Exhales.
Still inside me, he holds my mouth and reaches down again. Shivers of pleasure, building, twisting. Moaning; both paws clench tighter. I shudder. Both feet off the floor, I come into an airsick bag.
"Welcome to the club," he whispers. Paws release me. I stumble, released from the third point as well. I turn.
He's already got his pants up. Yellow eyes, distant smile. "Thanks," I say. I pull my pants up and walk out.
A blue-uniformed fox and the female weasel look up at me. Our noses all twitch, but they smirk and I just look away. The fox shoves past me into the cockpit. I stop at the bathroom to clean up, but it's occupied. Inside, the gazelle moans, the male weasel grunts. I look at the stewardess.
"You'll have to use the bathroom at the back of the plane, sir." She adjusts her uniform. The smell of fox didn't leave with the first officer.
Back down the aisle, alone. Eyes meet mine, noses twitch, even in first. I get back to coach, and another red-and-gold-clad weasel is pushing the drink cart down the aisle, between me and the bathroom. Of course.
Even on the soft seat cushion, my rear is sore when I sit down. Immersed in her book, the vixen in the middle seat doesn't even look up.
The flight attendant leans across me. I order a bourbon, twist of carrot. The vixen orders a diet soda. Her nose twitches when she reaches across for it. I avoid her eyes.
The cart moves on. I'm just reaching for my seatbelt when the plane lurches. Ding.
"Please take your seats, ladies and gentlemen. We're experiencing a little turbulence." The purr in his voice makes me shiver. He sounds too pleased, as if he'd planned this.
The vixen looks at me again, and back at her book, her nose and mind working. I hear her soft "tch!" and assume she's figured it out. She reminds me of my 11th-grade math teacher, who always said I could do better. Just like Jake. I down the bourbon.
The reek of sex on me gets stronger the longer I sit. The seatbelt light never goes off. My ears pop as we descend. Maybe the captain will take me home with him tonight. Maybe Jake will meet me at the airport with flowers and forgiveness. I bite my lip and try not to cry.