The Alternative Mile High Club

“This is where the holiday really starts.”

Scott Meyers regarded his friend with puzzled brown eyes. The two young men had been in the airport for four hours and were finally starting to board. “What are you talking about?”

William Doe gave an impish grin that showed off every one of his perfect, white teeth and his right hand spent a moment of chaos atop a flapping arm. “Oh, you know, Meyers, up there where the air is clear.” He winked.

Scott sighed; Will always struggled to keep his misogynous lust adequately coded. However, rather than indulge in his partner’s excitement, Scott simply shook his head slightly. “No, Doey. I don’t know.”

The excitement shivering in the young man’s shoulders drained away through slackening limbs. Scott had known William Doe from college, going on five years ago now, and at twenty three the guy still got asked to show his I.D. for a beer. William’s boyish good looks were only accentuated by his six-two frame and the athletic bulges curving through the sleeves of his black jumper. Will wore his hair close shaven which gave the young man a dangerous, ex-con look that Meyers felt was more for show than for any tangible threat he presented.

But then again, Scott reminded himself, women tend to go for that sort of thing. The ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’ mindset. The kind of guy their mothers warned them about. He stopped himself from snickering as a darkly private thought entered his mind: Mum always told him it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. You were so right, Mum!

A single step brought Will closer to his friend and his voice plunged into the depths of conspiracy. “M. H. C.”

Scott persisted with feigned ignorance, painting it onto his face with a yard brush until William lost all patience. “C’mon, Meyers, you’re – what? – two years older than me? You must’a heard of that.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. M. H. C.” The dawn of realisation slowly brightened on the horizon of the Scott’s conscience. “Oh, no. You’re not thinking of . . .”

William's crystal blue eyes, the secret to his success, he claimed, blazed with mischief, and his lips seemed to be separated by a mile of ivory. His arms flashed out, palms up. “Hey, Meyers, just because it’s the middle of the night it don’t mean there’re no Rolling Stones.”

That’s a new one. “Rolling Stones?” Scott asked, reluctantly.

The staggered rhythm of the sentence gave it away instantly, but William did the lips and the voice anyway. “I – can’t – get – no,” Scott groaned, his mouth creased in undeniable awe at his friend’s confidence. Where does he get it all from?

“Sat – is – fac – tion.” The song went on to Will’s jiggling, dead-chicken strut, bringing uncertain looks from more than an embarrassing number of other boarders. William was totally nonplussed. In fact, if Scott were honest, he seemed to be getting off on it. But then he was quite happy for William to take the spotlight. Scott Meyers was perfectly happy to be left in the shadows.

A security guard at the end of the boarding chute near the plane's door craned his neck, scanning for disturbances. Scott’s heart went up a pace and his head ducked down to avoid the guard’s piercing gaze, but Will’s instant silence caused Scott’s attention to crawl back to his friend. Will was looking through the crowd ahead of them. With reluctant fascination, Scott’s eyes followed.

The jet bridge was full of passengers slowly going onto the plane, a mix of men and women, young and old.

“Just take a look, Meyers.” Scott detected a somewhat predatory tone to William Doe’s voice. “They’re everywhere. You just gotta know what to look for.”

Scott gave Will a sidelong look and was not surprised to see the customary tip of triangular pinkness. Scott wished his friend would stop that grotesque probing of his top lip with his tongue. It made Scott think the lad was browsing through the menu of an expensive restaurant with no limit on his credit card.

This is exactly what you knew would happen, Scotty. Just stay cool. Scott had indeed anticipated this very thing; he just didn’t think his friend would start so soon. “And I suppose you do?” he asked instead.

Will’s face snapped back to regard his friend, his face like a that of a stone statue with orbs of ice for eyes. “Oh, yeah, Meyers. Straight up.”

“Okay,” Scott returned. “Prove it.”

Will glanced up as if thanking the heavens for this test, and the corners of his mouth pushed into his cheeks. His head swivelled this way and that, bobbing up and down in search of . . .

“There,” William suddenly stated at last, eyes cemented on something in the distance. “That one. Check it out, man.”

Scott followed his friend’s gaze and had to admit his debased friend had good taste.

“Yeah. She’s hot,” Will continued, nodding so slightly Scott almost couldn’t see the lad’s head move at all. “Long blonde hair bunned-up like a strict schoolmistress. That grey trouser suit hides a tight body, nice legs. Skin like porcelain, smooth and warm.” Scott had the sour opinion that William would snap his lips together in a sickening, slurping motion as shown by Anthony Hopkins’ portrayal of that serial killer in Silence of the Lambs. “I can feel the heat of her from here. It pulses off her in waves. Like a heartbeat. Yeah. Can you feel that, Scotty?” The young man was nearly drooling.

Scott winced, feeling his friend’s voice sounded way too loud in the confines of the jet bridge. He looked around, but nobody seemed to have noticed.

“I can smell something,” Scott replied dryly, dragging his friend’s attention away from the woman. “Plus, I think she’d probably rather chew your dick off rather than suck it.”

Will’s face crumpled, as if he had been positively hurt by that remark. “I’m true, man. No bull. You know me, man.”

Scott’s thin lips released a short snicker and his head wagged from side to side once again. “Yeah. I know you.” Better than you think, Willy-Boy!

A second later William’s face lit up as he suddenly considered Scott’s earlier words, and the back of his hand connected sharply with the other man’s shoulder. “Either way, she’d get a mouthful.” The girl ahead of them slinked out of sight into the plane, and Scott noticed the guard’s face turn to follow her as she went past. When Will gave a deep sigh, Scott had the strangest feeling the other lad was going to run after her, but he was glad that he didn’t.

Instead, Will’s legs performed something Michael Jackson would have been proud of. “Well, I’m gonna get me some of that. When we get up there, ain’t nothing gonna stop me.”

“It’s a short flight.” Scott reminded his friend. “You won’t have time.”

Will returned the smile, the edges of his lips curling wickedly. “There’s nothing like a deadline to get me going. I love to work under pressure. Y’know, you wanna try it sometime.”

Scott shook his head lightly. “Nah, I don’t . . . That kinda thing ain’t for me.”

Will held on to Scott’s gaze as the two friends took steps toward the plane’s entry hatch. “Whatever turns you on, man,” Will replied at last, turning away. Scott felt like his brain had been scrubbed with a scouring pad. “But you are missing out on something special. Each one tastes just as good as the last. I’m telling you, man, that hot gush . . . it’s beautiful. Oooh, I can almost feel it!” Will licked his lips.

Scott tried not to listen to any more, easing out the sting in his shoulder brought about by Will’s too powerful slap, as the two young men boarded Flight 235.

They were airborne within half an hour. Scott was not really surprised to see that nearly everyone else on board seemed to be asleep. The flight had been delayed and it was now just gone two in the morning. He was even less surprised that Will was showing no signs of being tired; he was a man on a mission.

“So,” Will began. “You staying up?”

“Yeah,” Scott declared. “This is my first time on a plane, y’know, so it’s all pretty exciting. I mean, just look out of the window.”

“Yeah. It’s really beautiful.” Will’s tone was flatter than the runway. His eyes were elsewhere, scanning for a more physical beauty.

Scott didn’t notice, spellbound by the streetlights as the aircraft’s steadily increasing height pushed them all into each other. “It looks like molten lava, or liquid gold, or something.”

Will’s hand rapped on Scott’s left arm a dozen times before Scott’s gaze left the view through the glass. “What?” he asked, somewhat irritably.

Will’s voice was soft but confident. He slid his feet out of his shoes and took off his socks. “Grey trouser suit.” Will said.

Scott frowned and shrugged, leaning back to the window. “What about it?”

Will’s eyes glittered like balls of pure flame, his voice a tantalising whisper. “Look familiar, maybe?”

Scott’s head snapped back to face his friend, and he followed Will’s eyes as they rolled to the left. He sat up in his chair, the bottom of his nose brushing the headrest of the vacant chairs directly in front of him. There, three seats away on the left side of the plane, was the tightly packed bun Scott recognised as the one he had seen on the girl Will had so clearly advertised his intentions for.

“I’m going in, man,” William stood up hastily.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

His roguish smile was all the answer Scott needed, and he was reminded of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. “Wish me luck!”

Scott watched his friend move quietly down the aisle. Will stopped next to the girl and bent over, as if to tie a shoe-lace. When the younger man stood again he nudged the chair on the right had side of the aisle and, clearly unbalanced, all but fell into the woman’s lap. Apologies came after that, of course. Scott could imagine the conversation now, Will’s silky smooth voice and faultless-but-false Irish accent. Sorry to disturb you. You okay? They chatted for nearly ten minutes before Will gestured toward the flight cabin. No, not the flight cabin.

The toilet.

The girl stood and looked around, trepidation’s touch upon her face. Will ushered her quickly away before she could change her mind and they disappeared behind a small door labelled, “Men’s”. Scott thought he heard her giggle as his friend frantically bustled her in. The door closed behind them.

Scott Meyers surveyed the rest of the plane, looking for witnesses. A man perhaps twice Scott’s age held a frown behind his ruffled paper, but if anyone else had noticed that the toilet cubicle was now occupied by twice as many people than it was designed for they did not voice an objection.

The clock on the screen on the back of the headrest in front of Scott read: 02.23.

Scott closed his eyes and tried to forget everything, but no matter how hard he tried he could not prevent his mind conjuring up images of the girl and his best friend, joining together inseparably and writhing until warm rich fluids passed from one body into the other . . .

A hand wiped the slaver collecting upon his lips as a heavy body fell into the chair beside him.

Scott lurched upright. “Will?”

The young man’s head was thrown back as far as it would comfortably go.

“You okay, man?” Scott asked. “You look a little . . .” He would have said exhausted, but that didn’t seem right. He noticed that Will wasn’t wearing his black jumper anymore and the dark blue of his jeans had a darker patch across his groin, smeared as if rubbed in haste.

Could have cleaned yourself up a little better, mate.

“Yeah,” Will replied, softly, a satiated tiger. “Yeah,” he said again. “Never better.”

“She gave you one helluva hickey,” Scott remarked, unable to wrench his eyes of the glowing crimson welt on the side of the other’s neck.

Will turned and winked. His voice was perfectly reptilian. “Shoulda seen the one I gave her.” Will’s eyes closed as he yawned. They did not open again.

She must have been damned good, Scott told himself silently. He had never seen Will conk out so soon after a conquest. Scott looked again to the display of time again: 02.44. Just over twenty minutes cooped up in there!

Scott glanced over the top of the chair, wondering if the girl was in the same state, and froze.

She wasn’t there. He couldn't remember seeing her emerge, either. Was she too embarrassed to come out? Thoughts rampaged through Scott’s mind.

She was still in the toilet, wasn’t she. Getting herself together. Putting up her hair and applying perfection to those pink lips. Cleaning herself up . . . putting her clothes back on.

Scott’s eyelids fluttered. His heart did its sick little dance.

Maybe he had a chance here, too. He could take the girl easily; the door was still open a crack. Maybe she’d appreciate a more manly touch after Will’s young smoothness. Yeah, she’d like something rougher, harder. Something so much more basic . . .

Scott eased himself up out of his chair for the first time since getting on the plane and stepped gingerly over his sleeping companion, slick tongue working wet anticipation onto his lips. He glanced toward Mr Frowny but the man’s paper had collapsed in a heap on his lap and his head had keeled over into thoughts best left undisturbed, the lullaby hum of jet engines at 30,000 feet having worked their magic.

Even so, Scott moved silently across the carpeted floor without meaning to, understanding the ramifications of his intentions if discovered in the act. After all, Will had gone in first. He had been seen. He’s the one that would be blamed.

At least he could just pretend he was going to the toilet. It wasn’t his fault if someone was still in there and they had left the door open.

The cubicle at the end of the aisle drew nearer in proportion to Scott’s growing confidence. Nobody would know, he reassured himself, patting his cream top and black Levis to rid sweaty palms of their increasing agitation. Another hand scrunched the dark ringlets on his crown tighter until he winced with the pull of it.

Nobody would find out what he had done. He had done it plenty of times before and nobody had found out about them. Why should this time be any different? Will thought he was a pretty cool guy, Scott mused, but he is nothing compared to me. How many parties had they been to where Will had had his way with a woman, only to drag Scott away to the next before he could find himself someone suitable? Not this time. Sloppy seconds did not concern Scott Meyers.

The difference was in how you went about it. Will was all mouth – Scott doubted he’d had half the women he claimed – whilst Scott was all too aware of the times he’d satisfied himself. Really, really satisfied himself. Mum wouldn’t have liked him for it, but then Mum was dead, wasn’t she?

The door’s handle was cold underneath his palm, but it twisted easily in the young man’s firm grip.

“Here, pretty, pretty, pretty,” Scott oozed quietly. The latch slid back on oiled hinges, allowing the door to open easily.

A moment’s confusion stole Scott's enthusiasm. Why was it so dark? Surely the light had to be on for the girl to sort herself out. His mind encountered a naughtier thought. Perhaps she knew he was coming and was waiting for him. So juicy! But Scott wanted to see her flinch beneath his hands and his left hand slid up the nearby wall to find a switch coated in something wet and warm and slightly tacky . . .

It went click, and a nightmare leapt into Scott’s brain.

He froze, unable to comprehend the horror hanging from the ceiling before him. A hand shot up to prevent the passage of bile rushing to decorate the floor. Scott stepped back suddenly, his Adidas trainer losing traction on the slick floor and sending him staggering away into something solid.

But the wall wasn’t at that side.

Short iron bars gripped Scott’s shoulder, pushing him fully through the toilet doorframe and into the ragged lumps of flesh strung all about the interior. They slapped his face with warm redness.

Sound could not scale the wall of terror building up in Scott’s mouth, and only formless gibbering fell from his lips as he turned to see Will closing the door behind him. Scott’s body adopted a shiver that had nothing to do with the press of cold metal against it.

“I liked your style, man, I really did. Taking a girl exactly how you wanted to, just like me. But why did you have to try it this time, man?” Will shrugged, indifferent. His smile showed genuine disappointment, but Scott could see only incisors long and sharp.

Will’s finger pressed the light switch and, just like the girl before him, Scott Meyers didn’t have time to scream.