The Alternative Mile High Club

"This is where the holiday really starts!"

Scott Meyers looked at his friend with puzzled brown eyes. The two young men had been in the airport for three hours and were on their way to board - at last! "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 indult 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 slackened limbs. Scott had known William Doe for five years, and at twenty three the guy still looked like he would have to show I.D. to buy liquor. William's boyish good looks were only exaggerated by his slender five foot eight height. The only thing that suggested William was more than a high-school drop out were the athletic bulges curving the top half of his black jumper's sleeves and Bench jeans. He was built like a quarterback. Will wore his hair close shaven - less than five millimeters, Scott estimated - and it gave the young man a dangerous, ex-con look that Meyers felt was more for show than for any tangible threat he presented. Except to women, of course.

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 memory snaked out from the darkest recesses of his mind. But Mum always told me 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 conspiratorial whispers. "M. H. C."

Scott persisted with feigned ignorance, painting indifference onto his face with a yard brush until William lost all patience. "Aw, come on, Meyers. You're - what? - four years older than me? You musta heard of that."

"Oh, yeah. Right. M. H. C." The dawn of realization slowly brightened on the horizon of Scott's consciousness. "Oh, no. You're not seriously thinking of . . ?"

William interrupted Scott's pessimism with the blazing crystal blue eyes he claimed were the secret to his success, and his lips separated to show what seemed to be miles of ivory. He arms flashed out, palms up. "Hey, Meyers. Just because it's the middle of the night it don't mean there's no Rolling Stones."

That's a new one. "Rolling Stones? Like, the band?"

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 all this 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 passers-by. William was totally nonplussed by his behavior, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. In fact, if Scott were honest, Will seemed to be getting off on it. But he was always happy for Will to have the spotlight. Scott Meyers was rather more comfortable in the shadows.

A security guard was now scanning the disturbance. Scott's heart went up a pace and his feet had a sudden urge to increase speed in a different direction, but Will's instant return to what Scott considered normalcy caused the guard's attention to crawl away. Will was looking through the crowd, ogling the numerous girls making hip-swinging progress through the strip-lamp bright lounge. "Just take a look around you, Meyers." William Doe's voice had acquired a predatory tone. "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 he was browsing through the menu in an expensive restaurant with no limitations on his credit card.

This is exactly what you know would happen, Scotty-Boy. Just stay cool. Scott had anticipated these antics, relied on them even. He just didn't think it would have started so soon. "And I suppose you do, right?" Scott asked instead.

Will's face snapped back to regard Scott like a feral wolf. "Oh yes, Meyers. Straight up. It's obvious, really."

"Okay," Scott returned. "Prove it."

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

"There," William suddenly stated at last, eyes cemented on something behind them. "That one. Check it out, Man."

Scott stopped and followed his friend's gaze, and had to admit his debased colleague had good taste. Long strides sped her along the airport travelator, but she would have looked perfectly comfortable on a catwalk, too. She wore a grey and white pin-stripe trouser suit that had no straight lines on it anymore, the pale ochre blouse beneath filled with generous womanhood. Strawberry-blonde hair had been pulled up beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat that sat at an oblique angle across her scalp. Her height was accentuated by heels, which clicked in time to the squeaks of the small case following behind her like some love-sick entourage.

"Yeah, Meyers. She is hot." In Scott's opinion, Will was speaking a little louder than was necessary, and he actually revolved on the spot as the girl walked past them on the way to her terminal. He made no attempt to hide his interest, and Scott was certain he saw the girl's cheeks color slightly.

"Imagine it. Long blonde hair bunned up like a strict high-school mistress. Tight body, decent tits. Looonnngg legs wrapped around you and knotting at the back. Nice, smooth neck. Oh, yeah, real smooth." Scott had the distinct impression Will had forgotten he was there. "Face lets her down a bit, but you can't have everything." A well-placed elbow found Scott's ribs. "Don't look at the mantlepiece when you're stoking the fire, right? But she's up for it. I can smell it." Scott's face crinkled up as if he had sucked on something sour. Will was positively drooling.

"I can smell something, mate," Scott returned, drily, dragging his friend's attention away from the woman. "Plus, I think she'd sooner chew your dick off than suck it."

Will's face crumpled as if it had been hit with a hammer. "I'm true, Man. No bull. You know me, Meyers." He actually sounded hurt that Scott didn't believe him.

Scott's thin lips released a short snicker, and his head wagged from side to side. "Yeah, I know you." Better than you think, Willy-Boy! "Besides, what makes you think that girl will even be on our plane?"

William answered that by raising an eyebrow. A second later, his face lit up as if suddenly considering his friend's earlier comment. "She'd still get a mouthful."

The fantasy bride drifted into obscurity as countless bodies took hers from view. All they could see then was her hat, and that disappeared quickly enough too. Will gave a deep sigh, and Scott had the strangest feeling the other lad was going to run after her, but he was glad that he didn't. Will's knuckles suddenly flapped against Scott's chest. "Look there!"

The straw hat had re-emerged atop the sea of humanity, and floated toward gate 23. That was their gate. Scott closed his mouth when he felt his jaw hanging open, and ignored Will's wolfish smile. He winced suddenly when Will will let out a sharp, shrill whistle through his fingers, and was still watching the girl as she turned at the gate and looked back at them. At Will.

Scott looked at Will. Will looked back, smug and sure of himself all over again. "Yeah, baby." Will's feet performed something Michael Jackson would have been proud of. "I'm telling you, Meyers. when we get up there 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, ramps up the thrill-o-meter. You might wanna try it sometime."

Scott shook his head. "Nah, I don't . . . That kinda thing ain't for me."

Will gave Scott a knowing nod. "Okay, man. Whatever you say. But you are missing out on something special. Each one tastes as good as the last. I'm telling you, Meyers. That hot gush . . . it's beautiful. Oh, I can almost feel it already." 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-hard slap as the two young men made their way to gate 23 for Flight 235.

Their were airborne within half an hour. Scott was not really surprised to see that nearly everyone else on board seemed to be asleep; it was a late flight, after all. He was even less surprised that Will was showing no signs of fatigue; he was a man on a mission.

"So," Will began. "You staying up?"

"Yeah," Scott declared sullenly. "I never have been able to sleep on a plane. Besides, I love the glow of the cities. It's beautiful." He stared out the window by his side, spellbound by streetlights as the aircraft's steadily increasing height pushed them all into each other. "It looks like molten lava, or liquid gold, or something."

"Yeah, it's really something." Will's tone was flatter than the runway. Scott suspected he was looking for beauty closer to home. Or a hat, at least.

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. "Three words for you: blonde, straw hat."

Scott groaned inwardly, but frowned and shrugged before leaning back into the window. "What about her?"

Will's eyes glittered like balls of ice, his voice little more than a tantalizing whisper, a breath of suggested sound. "She's over there."

Scott's head snapped back to face his friend, and followed Will's indicating digit as it jutted over to the right side of the plane. Scott 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 a tightly-packed blonde bun. A pinstriped elbow angled into the aisle, moving as if she were reading a magazine.

"I'm going in, Man." William stood up hungrily.

"You're mad!" Scott said. "You'll get fined. You really doing this?"

Will's roguish smile was all the answer Scott would get, and he was reminded of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

Scott watched his friend move quietly down the aisle, and could barely see him with so many of the overhead lights turned off. Will stopped next to the girl in the pinstripe trouser suit and bent over to, what, tie a phantom shoelace? When the younger man stood up again he nudged the chair on the right hand side of the aisle and, clearly - deliberately - unbalanced, all but fell in the woman's lap. Apologies came after that, of course, and that was that. "Weren't you the girl . . ?" "Oh yes, I remember you . . ." Their words hushed after the initial exchange, their conversation secret and safe. Will gestured toward the cabin at the front of the plane. No, not the cabin.

The toilet.

They stood and looked around, trepidation's touch upon their faces. Will ushered her quickly away and they disappeared behind a narrow door. 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 any objection.

The digital clock at the front of the plane read: 02.13.

Scott closed his eyes and tried to forget everything, but no matter how hard he tried he could not prevent his mind conjuring images of the girl and his best friend, joining together inseparably and writhing until rich, warm 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 and wide awake. "Will?" The young man's head was thrown back as far as his chair would allow. "You okay?" Scott asked. "You look a little . . ." He would have said exhausted, but that didn't seem to fit. Satiated, was a better word. He noticed that Will wasn't wearing his black jumper anymore, and the dark blue of his jeans had a dark patch smeared across the top of his thigh. Could have cleaned yourself up a bit, mate.

"Yeah," Will replied, softly. "Yeah," he said again. "Never better."

"She gave you one helluva hickey," Scott remarked, unable to tear his eyes off the glowing crimson welt on the side of Will's throat.

Will turned and winked, his voice 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 good, Scott brooded. Never seen Will conk out so soon after one of his conquests. He looked to the display of time at the front of the plane. 02.34. 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. Her seat was still empty.

Thoughts rampaged through Scott's mind. She was still in the toilet, wasn't she? Getting herself together. Putting up her tousled hair, applying perfection to those luscious pink lips. Cleaning herself up. Putting her clothes back on.

Scotts eyelids fluttered, and his heart did its sick little dance.

Maybe he had a chance here, too. He could take her easily; the door was still ajar. Maybe she'd appreciate a more manly touch after Will's young smoothness. Yeah, she'd like something rougher. Harder. Something much more basic. A different kind of Mile High Club.

Scott eased up out of his chair for the first time since getting on the plane, and lifted himself gingerly over his sleeping companion, slick tongue working wet anticipation onto his lips. He glanced toward Mr Frowny at the back of the plane, 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 faultless magic.

Even so, Scott plied his silent step upon the carpeted floor, 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, that they'd 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 Levi's to rid sweaty palms of their increasing agitation. His hand scrunched the dark rings of hair atop his head tighter until he winced with the pull of it. He liked the pain.

Nobody would find out what he had done. He had done it plenty of times before and nobody had found out about then, either. Why should this time be different? Will thought he was a pretty cool guy, but he's 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 event before he could find himself someone suitable? Not this time.

The difference was how you went about it. Will was all mouth. Scott doubted the lad had had half the women he claimed - whilst Scott was all to aware of the many times he had satisfied himself - really, really satisfied himself. Mum wouldn't have liked him for it, but then Mum was dead, wasn't she. She would never know.

The door's handle was cold beneath his palm, but it twisted down easily in his firm grip. "Here, pretty, pretty, pretty," Scott oozed.

The latch slid back, and oiled hinges allowed the door to open easily, quietly. Why's it so dark?

Surely the light had to be on for her to sort herself out. Scott's mind encountered a naughtier thought. Perhaps she knew he was coming and was waiting for him. So juicy! Will hadn't been able to tame the girl and she wanted someone to match her bestiality. Scott could do that, but he wanted to see her flinch beneath his hands. The light needed to be on for that.

His left hand slid up the nearby wall, searching for the plastic nipple that would show him the way. A moment's confusion as his finger found something wet, slightly tacky. The light clicked and a nightmare sprang into Scott's brain.

He gagged, his hand shooting straight for his mouth to prevent the passage of bile rushing to decorate the floor. Scott stepped back suddenly, his Adidas trainer losing tracking on the slick floor to send him staggering away into something solid.

But the wall wasn't at that side. That's where the door was. The open door.

Short iron bars gripped Scott's shoulder, pushing him fully through the toilet door frame and into the ragged lumps of flesh strung 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 seal them both together in the too-small cubicle. Scott's body adopted a shiver that had nothing to do with the press of cold metal against it.

"Why did you have to try it this time, Man?" Will shrugged. "Sorry, mate." Will's finger flipped the light switch, and just like the girl before him he did not have time to scream.

* * * *

William Doe threw a scowl at what was left of Scott's body. "Y'know I kinda liked your style, Meyers. I mean, taking a girl the way you wanted to, just like me." Will's tongue flicked over the red stains left on his mouth, and he looked down at his blood-soaked T-shirt. "Awww, you got blood on my clothes, Man. What am I gonna wear now?"

There was a knock on the door, followed by an angry voice. "You gonna be all night in there, or what?"

Will sighed and said, "Looks like it."

* * * *

"The headlines again," stated the news reporter. "Flight 235 went down into the Atlantic around 3am this morning. Search and Rescue have found the wreckage, but are still looking for the black box. There were 47 passengers and five air crew, all believed to have died on impact."

"Old news, I'm afraid," Will said, and stabbed a button on the TV remote.