Chapter 12
The Hadj and the Italian Job
The next flight I was crewed on was one of the weirdest experiences of my life. Apparently the company did them every year, and they were called the Hadj. At certain times of the year Moslems make a pilgrimage to Mecca. Our job was to pick up planeloads of them from all over the world and transport them to Jeddha, whence they made their way to Mecca. This whole operation was called the Hadj.
I had never come across such a strange collection of people in my life. The women were in purdah (heavily veiled) and the men in long, flowing robes. The majority of them had never seen an aircraft before. In fact, because of this and their habits, the aircraft was stripped of carpeting, and polyethylene covers were put over all the seats. They'd come scurrying onto the aircraft like bent black crows. Getting them ready for takeoff was an unbelievable scene. Most of them perched like vultures on the high backs of the seats with their feet on the part where their bottoms should have been. We would indicate the seats to them, and they would smile and nod and comprehend nothing. We had a super steward called Stan on this flight. He made me roar with laughter by smiling at these people and saying things like, "Sit down, you silly old bag" or even worse, and they would continue to smile and nod. Eventually we got them seated and strapped in. The whole process could take a couple of hours. Stan went to inform the captain that the cabin was secure for takeoff. The service on these flights was easy. All they had was what we called a Hadj box. It consisted of a white box sealed and containing their own specially prepared food.
I was giving out these boxes when I was quite sure I could smell the very strong odor of paraffin burning. I sniffed and followed my nose. Sure enough, I found the culprit. One of the hags was crouched over a lighted Primus stove cooking her lunch! I got hysterical as I thought of the danger of having a naked flame on the aircraft! I took myself in hand and calmly went up to her and turned the wretched contraption off and wagged my finger at her. She just kept nodding and smiling. I called Stan, and together we pried her away from her dangerous machine. She was quite hurt and couldn't understand at all why we had confiscated her cooking equipment!
These people were not disciplined in any way, and their sanitary habits were nonexistent. They'd do it wherever they happened to be, or just squat in the aisle. It was not unusual on a night sector to hear a horrid squelch under your foot and know without looking that you had just stepped into a great pile of human excreta. On rare occasions we did manage to persuade them to use the john, but then they couldn't manage extra niceties like locking the door. I was in the galley trying to shut myself off from the stench and clamor outside when Stan burst in through the galley door weeping with laughter.
"Whatever's the matter?" I asked.
It was ages before he was coherent enough to tell me. Being extra brave he'd decided to go into one of the toilets and clean it up. He'd opened the door, and there was a woman in her black shroud and yashnak standing feet astride the toilet peeing from a great height.
As soon as Stan entered the John she had, in traditional form, lifted everything she had on to cover her face, but in doing this, of course, she laid absolutely everything else bare! It took Stan at least twenty minutes to recover from the shock, but he was a brave wee lad and soldiered on.
Things were just dandy-or as dandy as they could be on this type of flight. All we could do was grin and bear it. The passengers were all busy digging into their Hadj boxes when a very large swarthy man started running up and down the length of the cabin. Before any of us could restrain him, he had grabbed the fire axe from its position on the main door of the aircraft, and he began swinging it in the air. People began to scream hysterically. The whole aircraft was in an uproar. There was no way that Stan, the two other girls, and I could tackle this beast. Stan told us to take cover and ran up to the flight deck. He returned in seconds with the engineer, who was a great hefty guy, and the nav, who was also on the large side. The engineer ducked as the maniac swiped at him with the fire axe. As he ducked he delivered a magnificient right to the unshaven chin of the brute. Stunned by the blow, he stumbled. The fire axe fell from his hand, and the sharp edge sank straight into his bare foot, almost severing the toes. I felt terribly sick at the sight of the bloody mashed mess that had once been a foot. Trying very hard not to puke in front of everybody, I ran for the first aid kit. When I returned he, was lying on the floor hollering his head off. There was blood dripping from the seats all around. The nav and the engineer restrained him as Stan and I did our best to clean up and bandage his foot. He was obviously still as mad as a hatter, but in extreme agony. He howled in pain. We decided to spread-eagle him in the aisle and tie his hands and legs to the metal supports of the seats. That way we, the cabin staff, would have to step over him, but at least he would be immobile.
Stan asked the captain's permission to break open the sealed packet in the first aid kit which contained the morphine so he could give the guy an injection to put him out of his pain. The captain granted his permission immediately, and Stan very bravely prepared the equipment.
I said to him, "Oh, God, this is a bit different from injecting a bread roll at training school!"
He gave me a weak smile as he stuck the needle into the guy's arm. I said a silent prayer. The guy's screams turned to whimpers, and he was soon out cold. Stan looked a delicate shade of green. We tore up to the galley leaving the two girls to watch over the madman. Strictly against all the company rules, we had a large brandy each. Stan could hardly hold the glass, his hand was shaking so much. I gulped mine down and collapsed-a total wreck-onto the jump seat. I had been prepared for all sorts of happenings on an aircraft, but never in my wildest dreams did I think anything like this would ever happen.
Worse was yet to come. Rita, the Number Four girl, came running up to Stan and said that the guy seemed to have stopped breathing! We ran down the aisle to find Jo, the Number Two girl, administering oxygen to the loony, but to no avail. He'd definitely stopped breathing. Stan then tried mouth-to-mouth. Still nothing happened. A final, but futile, attempt was made at external cardiac resuscitation, but he had definitely kicked the bucket. The rest of the passengers didn't seem to care, and after crowding round for a while returned to their seats. I don't think they were sure whether he was dead or alive, and he was traveling on his own. Stan just covered him up with a blanket and seated Jo beside him to make quite sure no one interfered with him.
I felt icy-cold inside. I hadn't seen many people die. Once as a young girl running through the green meadows of Dorset I came across an old man who had died tilling the land he loved. Although I was frightened by his' stiff form, it seemed more natural and certainly less macabre than this death I had just witnessed. The only fortunate fact about his death was that it happened when we were only half an hour out of Jeddha. The captain radioed ahead for an ambulance to meet the aircraft. We made all the passengers sit in their seats until we had unloaded the corpse. The authorities and a doctor came on board, and Stan had to explain what had happened. He was arrested, as he had been the one who had injected the morphine into the deceased person. He was put into jail to wait the results of the postmortem. There was nothing we could do. The aircraft was due back the following day, so we had to leave Stan in the clink. I was worried sick for him just in case he had given the guy an overdose of morphine. Goodness knows what would happen to him. Stan was, in fact, released the next day, after the postmortem had proved conclusively that death had been from natural causes. The guy was prone to fits and had had a tricky heart. I got back to London never wanting to fly to Jeddha again.
It was with great joy that I embarked upon my next trip, primarily because the crew and I did the first leg of our journey as passengers to Barbados and secondly because we were going island hopping. That meant that there were to be no very long flights, because the islands are situated relatively close together. For me that spelled out lots of basking in the sun and sipping rum punches. I prefer to drink wine above everything else, and I'm not into drinking spirits, but I could drink those rum punches till the barrels run dry, and I think I managed to on this trip! We arrived in Barbados and settled ourselves into the hotel. Our first flight was due out at eight the following evening. Although it was less than an hour's flying time to Trinidad, I decided to stick with the crew and have a tranquil evening. Then we started on the rum punches. We had two stewards on this crew. The Number One, Denis, wasn't interested in anything but boozing. The Number Three steward, Gregg, wore faded denim jeans cut off above the knee. He had long shapely legs and gray-blue eyes that lit up when he smiled. The other girl with me was the great little redhead called Erica with whom I had trained. The flight deck were all very sweet, but very married, and the first officer was one of those my-wife-doesn't-under-stand-me type of blokes. So the four cabin staff stuck together and decided to have a quiet drink and an early supper.
We sat and chatted for ages and couldn't agree among ourselves on what to do. I came up with a great idea to get ourselves a load of rum punches and some food and have a picnic on the beach. The hotel was situated slap-bang on this tremendous beach. Erica and Denis went off to fix up the drinks while Gregg and I went a couple of miles up the road by cab to get a party bucket of Kentucky fried chicken, some coleslaw, and fries. We all assembled together on the beach with our spoils. The silence of the hot night air was broken by the sound of the white surf and rolling and breaking against the reef. I knew Gregg was for me as soon as I clapped eyes on him. I was equally sure Erica didn't imagine Denis, who was leering at her, his face already showing signs of an alcoholic flush. Somehow I would never recognize him without a glass in his hand. We sat in a circle around the bucket of chicken and started to nosh away. I sifted the cold sand through my toes, marveling at the fact that in the daytime it gets so hot that you can hardly walk on it, but at night it becomes almost icy.
Gregg was sitting across from me, and I ran my bare foot up his leg and let my toes wriggle their way under the coarse material of his cut-off jeans. He looked quite startled by this action. He was obviously not used to any display of affection or downright lust in public. However, he was enjoying the wriggling of my mobile toes against his skin. All of a sudden I had had enough of everything and probably too many rum punches. I stood up and flung my lacy T-shirt into the air with gay abandon, unzipped my jeans, and let them drop to the sand. Denis's red cheeks, which were in very close proximity to my curly tuft, went a shade redder. Erica giggled, as always, and Gregg stared with open desire. I turned my back on them and ran at full pelt into the sea. Two seconds after the swirling sea had covered my naked body I heard a splash close to me. I looked around and saw nothing except a few bubbles rising to the surface. I put my hand under the water and immediately caught hold of what felt like a small slippery eel. I gave a yank, and up popped Gregg's head. I had him literally by the balls and cock!
He felt delightful and looked quite ridiculous floating in the water with his cock sticking up just like the deadly periscope of some enemy submarine. I jumped on top of him and pushed him under the water. Luckily I can swim under water with my eyes open, otherwise he might have slipped from my grasp. I opened my mouth and closed it under the water over the tip of his cock. Along with swallowing his cock I swallowed a few gallons of salt water. Gregg's head had surfaced when I eventually had to come up for air. Taking a big breath, I dove straight down at his cock again and sucked it until I thought my lungs would give out and I would come up with the bends! I have never really had great experience of having it off in the sea and therefore indicated to Gregg that we should head for shore and home. I led and he followed suit.
He ran after me up the sand to where he had left our clothes. His cock and balls bounced deliciously in the air. We got to where Erica and Denis should have been and found that they had disappeared. There's nothing unusual in that, I admit, but they had taken all our clothes with them, leaving our room keys stuck amongst the chicken bones in the bucket. I looked at Gregg, and he returned my glance. What could we do? I started to laugh. After all, his problem was greater, or rather longer, than mine. He had a nice erection that showed no signs of diminishing.
"Come on," I said. "I'll race you back to your room." He looked at me horrified and then down at his erection, which seemed to frighten him more than I did.
"But what am I going to do with that, and how can we possibly go back to the hotel like this?" he asked. Luckily we were not in the main building, but in the annex, which was spread along the beach.
"We'll just have to make a dash for it as we are," I said. "Come on. Hold hands and pretend you're fully clothed."
We ran up the beach past a startled beach attendant who trod on his rake and nearly knocked himself out. Gregg's room was nearest, so we made for that. We fled along the corridors so fast that we just looked like two people in skin-colored bathing suits. As Gregg fumbled with the key T heard the unmistakable sound of Erica's giggle. God knows where she was, but she was having a good time either watching us or with Denis's mitt up her panty leg. Knowing Erica, I should think it was the former! Once the door had slammed behind us, we could scarcely breathe. Our recent exercise had proved too much. I flopped, legs apart, on the bed. Gregg sat beside me.
"You're super, but a very funny lady," he said.
"Thanks," I replied. "Funny in what way?"
"You're just so open about things. If you want to make love to someone you let him know," he said.
"You can't beat a good fuck, Gregg," I rejoined. Despite himself he had to laugh.
"I do believe you could be right, Fiona," he replied, "but in that case why pick a mere steward? Why not one of our illustrious flight deck?" he asked.
"Because you're a young single stud, and that's what I like best after an old single stud!" I exclaimed.
"You're a regular nut case, but I love you for it," Gregg answered.
"Sweetheart, you've got to take life as it comes. I just don't think it's a sin or an outrage if two single people want to hit the sack together. I simply adore men and their cocks and having them want me and fuck me. I hope T never stop. I agree it's not the only thing in life of importance," I continued, "but as sure as hell it's a great part of life and living. Besides, I wouldn't want you to fuck me against your will, but judging by the state of your tool, it at least has inclinations my way."
Gregg stood up, and I calmly cradled his balls in the palm of my hand while his cock jerked and writhed above them. He was switching on. His young body crashed onto mine with such force that I thought we'd go straight through the bedsprings and all and hit the floor.
Talking of floors reminds me of a lovely story. One of our engineers, a guy called Ernie, once did a rare trip-at least, it was for our airline-to Moscow. (Since all these experiences I, too, have visited Moscow and understand his qualms.) Anyway, to get back to the plot, this engineer was sitting in his hotel bedroom, and he became quite convinced that the room was bugged, so he started doing the place over. He turned everything inside out. As a final resort he rolled back the carpets, and there-to his glee was a round metal plate with four screws fastening it to the floor. He got out his screwdriver and joyfully undid what he thought was the bug. As he removed the last screw he heard an almighty crash as the chandelier in the room below smashed into smithereens on the floor! How he explained himself out of that one I never knew.
But let's get back to the present and to Gregg, who was now screwing me with the same eagerness and delight that Ernie had used on the suspected bug. For an ostensibly shy fellow, he lost all his inhibitions once his cock was in my cunt. My goodness, he was even yelling obscenities about how he'd like to watch while I was screwed by twelve men good and true and then fuck me once all their spunk was awash in my pussy! He got carried away and so did I, by his tirade of obscenities. He balled me until I had come and come again, and finally he poured his jism into my honey-pot until we were afloat, and his cock sailed out of me. We drifted into sleep. I awoke at four a.m. and left the slumbering Gregg while I tiptoed stark naked, key in hand, back to my own bed. I don't know why I left him, but I had an idea that because of the amount of rum in his veins he might feel a bit sheepish in the morning when he was perfectly sober and saw me lying beside him and remembered all he had said and done.
I awoke late and alone in my own bed, showered, slipped into my ever-favorite white bikini, and went down to the pool for a swim. Gregg. Erica, and Denis were already sprawled out around the side of the pool.
"Hi, everybody," I said, bending down to Gregg and giving him a swift kiss as I whispered "You're one hell of a fuck" in his ear. He looked startled, but smug. I turned to Erica and Denis and said sarcastically, "I bet you two had great fun wearing our clothes." (I suppose Denis wore mine!) "It didn't really matter your taking them. We just strolled back to Gregg's room. The only kward thing was trying to cover Gregg's hard-on, but we managed. I put it inside me, and we pretended we were dancing!"
All three of them started laughing, and our camaraderie was regained, so much so that we sat drinking rum punches at the beach bar until it was fifteen minutes before transport was due to arrive to pick us up. I can honestly say this was the first and last flight I ever did completely soused. We tore back to our rooms at five forty-five, Gregg helped me throw my belongings into a suitcase. I threw on my uniform, completely neglecting any form of underwear. Together we tried to pay our bills and walk out to the transport without swaying. Thank God we were only going to Trinidad with half a load of passengers. I have no recollection of getting on or off the aircraft. According to Gregg, I did a divine job of bending over the passenger on one side and exposing my bare ass to the passengers on the other side! At least it kept them happy. They all filled in the comment forms we gave out to say it was one of the best flights they'd ever been on.
We arrived at Trinidad, and the four of us were sitting on the bench in the customs hall looking as if we had flown twice around the world nonstop. I'll never forget a very smart Pan-Am crew came in and stood near us.
"We've come from London, and we're bushed," one of the girls said. "But however long have you fellas been flying? You look utterly exhausted!" she added.
My legs were dangling apart over the counter, and my hat was on one side of my head. I turned to the rest of our crew. They looked even worse, if that were possible. I took a deep breath and said very slowly, "Oh, we've just flown in from Barbados!" They all got hysterical. "How could you get in such a state after such a short flight?" the stew asked.
We just looked at her in an alcoholic fuzz and shrugged our shoulders. The fun started when we got to Trinidad and were put up at the "Upside-Down Hilton." The front desk was on the top floor where the crew transport drew, up, and the rooms were built down the face of the hill. I spent half an hour in the elevator with Gregg insisting that as I was on the eighth floor, the elevator should be going upward. We finally worked it out and tumbled exhausted into bed.
"Why did you leave me last night?" he asked.
"Just to let you know that one fuck doesn't mean permanent possession on my part," I replied.
"You're unreal," he said, and we both drifted off to sleep. This time I stayed all night with Gregg, but woke up early. There were no signs of him ever getting up in any direction, so I slipped quietly from his room and straight down to the pool, to be greeted by the sensational sound of steel drums and the even more sensational sight of a sailor-an officer, to be exact-in his white tropical uniform.
I sidled up to him and said, "Hello, sailor," and lay down on a mat beside him, exposing as much of myself as was possible in Trinidad. He was resplendent in his uniform. I've always been a sucker for men in uniform. He was just too much. I quickly found out he was the chief engineer on an Italian cruiser that had come to Trinidad for two days. He didn't, as it happened, speak English, and I have about two words in Italian, but we were able to communicate in French. I ascertained he was going on to Panama later that day. I, unfortunately, was going to Georgetown, Guyana, but he was to spend three days in Panama, and I was to spend four in Georgetown, so I said I'd come and see him in Panama. He was very happy with the suggestion. I was getting terribly hung up on Luigi. He told me how and when to reach his ship. Sadly he had to go.
We left later for Georgetown. The flight was uneventful. Then it took us ages to reach the hotel, which was a million miles from the airport. The two cabs we took had to travel in convoy, as the locals had a habit of knocking off a car going on a solo jaunt. When we got to the ramshackle building that was supposed to be a hotel, I quickly started making inquiries, about the fastest way to Panama. Gregg was upset by my departure, but covered up for me in my absence like the true gentleman and permanent friend he turned out to be.
I arrived in Panama and got a cab straight to the docks. I sped along to Luigi's ship. He was standing in the hold door. He gave me a signal to start walking away. I obeyed, and he followed. I found out later that a lot of the officers had their wives on board, who would have gossiped like mad if they had seen him rush off and embrace some chick. We took a cab to the canal. I was completely enthralled by the marvelous modern mechanism that maneuvered those enormous vessels through the canal.
We returned to the town, had lunch, and sat drinking and talking about all manner of things, but Luigi kept returning to the same subject-my fantasies. I must admit the gentleman was persuasive. People have so many secret fantasies that it was difficult for me to name just one, and in this case one that could be carried out. I looked at Luigi's serious face as he waited for my reply. I knew his engine room would be massive, ferociously hot and noisy. Making love there would be like having a poke in hell.
I told Luigi how much I would love him to fuck me deep in the bowels of the ship. His brown face was suddenly all teeth as he smiled at me. He realized that I had, from my many fantasies fulfilled and unfulfilled, picked one which he would have no trouble carrying out. At least he could offer the perfect surroundings; whether or not he could offer anything else, I didn't know. He was certainly a dish to look at, but I had learned so well that all that glitters is not gold, and all that bulges is not bold.
As soon as dusk fell he prepared to smuggle me aboard his ship. It proved quite easy, as there was a door similar to a freight door on an aircraft below and to one side of the gangplank. We slipped quietly through this door and into the engineroom. I have been in enginerooms before, but never, never have I seen anything so vast and phallic. Huge pipes of different diameters curled and snaked everywhere. The noise was tremendous, and the heat was unbearable, as I had thought would be the case. There were a couple of junior engineers and a few stokers (at least, I think that's what they were) moving around slowly with perspiration streaming down their faces and bodies. The engineers were dressed in blue overalls. I could imagine how sexy Luigi would look in his. He took me by the hand and led me through the maze of pipes, pistons, and large pieces of machinery which were totally unrecognizable to me. My shirt was soaking wet, and the outline of my bare boobs was clearly visible. Luigi's white trousers were showing signs of acknowledgement. My pleated cream knee-length skirt was sticking to my ass. I looked around and thought, where were we going to do it? There were masses of dark corners well out of sight from the others, but everything looked so uncomfortable. It was beginning to look as if a knee-trembler (a stand-up job) would be the only answer.
Then we rounded another corner, and I saw a very wide pipe swathed in bandages. The pipe was horizontal to begin with and curved gently upwards. Luigi looked at the pipe and looked at me and nodded. Before he had finished his nodding I had stripped off my clothes and draped myself over the pipe. The contours of it fitted my back as though we had been made for each other. I lay back and watched while Luigi quickly got out of his uniform and underpants. His body was deeply tanned all over except for a pure white strip across his buttocks and groin. He really looked good. Everything about him was compact and in proportion. I lay there with a broad grin on my face. I liked the look of what I was about to receive. Even though I was absolutely naked the furnace heat was still causing my body to sweat profusely all over. I was very wet. I couldn't tell whether the moisture between my thighs was purely love juice or purely perspiration. Either way, I was ready to receive Luigi's penis. As he came toward me I spread my legs until my feet dangled on each side of the wide pipe. The heat and noise were terrifying. The proximity of his subordinates was mind-blowing. There was no time for long, lazy love play, which I adore. Luigi was upon me in an instant.
The engine pounded, and the noise assaulted my ears. Luigi pushed my knees apart and upward in a swift movement. I wondered briefly how many times he'd had a girl straddled over a pipe in his engine room. As quickly as the thought occurred to me, it vanished. Luigi was inside me in a flash. Our bodies gyrated together. There was so much moisture everywhere that it was a miracle he managed to keep his manhood in me. Once I'd got his length within me, I held on with all the tenacity of a limpet clinging to a rock. I sucked him into me. There was no escape. I was almost passing out from the fiery heat and the constant barrage of noise, but gradually these elements faded, and the only heat I was conscious of was the hot iron pressing between my legs. I cried out and screamed, but my cries were like the softest sighs against the thundering, beating heart of the great ship. The throbbing in my pussy began to get louder than any engine as Luigi reached his peak. He jerked and shuddered and then lay quite still. When he got up, I laughed at the sight of the two of us. We looked like a couple of coal-miners with smudges of soot (or in this case black oil) all over us. We dressed in haste, and Luigi took me up a thousand steps that led to his cabin, which was on the sun deck adjacent to the first class passengers.
"Now," I said, "Love me properly," and he did in a typically romantic Italian way. He whispered nonstop flatteries in my ears, kissed me all over, and only entered me when I was ready and told him so. I still had the thrill of the engine room fuck clinging to me. Luigi fulfilled my need and I his. He was a gentle, passionate, considerate' lover. I'll never forget his utter devotion to what mattered to me. He went out of his way to pleasure me and in return got much more than he had ever hoped for. He smuggled me off the ship the next day, and I made my way back to Georgetown. I wasn't too sad, because Gregg was waiting to greet me with a stiff cock, and that's the nicest greeting I know.