Be Careful What You Wish For - 9. Chapter 9 'Fasten Your Seatbelts'

The public address echoed around the concourse of Manchester airport,

‘Passengers for PlebAir flight PLB6969 to Gran Enculo, please go to gate 6’

Kris was giddy with excitement,

‘We’ll have to rush, but everything’s going to be fine’

Roberto was less optimistic, believing, correctly, that PlebAir was, to flying what pigs are to ballet. The men approached the check-in desk, Kris verbally vomiting over the assistants,

‘Dr Kris Karton and his companion Roberto Subero, flying to Gran Enculo’

The girl checked the paperwork, then flashed a smile at Kris,

‘Congratulations! This is the tenth time you’ve travelled with PlebAir, so you qualify for a freebie. Basically, you can use the in-flight toilet for free’

Roberto was staggered,

‘You mean you usually charge passengers to take a leak?’

The girl looked indignant,

‘Of course, but it’s only £1, and we give you a token so that after six pisses, you get the seventh free’

‘Who takes seven pisses?’ asked Roberto, incredulously.

He turned, and surveyed the grubby ranks of the British travelling public, a sea of shell suits and Capri pants, all busily occupied drinking their own weight in larger.

‘Oh, I see!’

Kris wasn’t sure he did. Patting his friend’s bottom, he added,

‘Come on now, darling, we need to get through security quickly or we’ll miss the flight’

So saying, he hustled the Latino towards the throng that was snaking its tardy way through security. Soon, all eyes were on the couple. There was no doubt that Roberto stood out. Immaculate as ever, he appeared like a Roman senator in the midst of an orgy of Visigoths. The security officer eyed him suspiciously, then looked down at his feet,

‘Take those off, will you?’

Roberto raised his eyes in mock disbelief, leaned against the bench, then slowly and suggestively pulled off his hand-crafted, caiman skin cowboy boots, setting the wild, pointed things down on the bench. The security officer, who earned less in a month than this footwear cost, peered into the boots, running his fingers up and down the shafts, and examining the Cuban heels.

Meanwhile, Roberto sauntered through the gate, bemoaning the fact that the airport’s dirty floor had soiled his beige linen socks. A female security officer, with a face like a Moray eel was waiting for him. She’d reckoned that since he was wearing caiman skin on his feet he may well have something reptilian down his pants.

Roberto was travelling commando, having rationalised that Spain would be somewhat warmer than the UK. And his relaxed fit Calvin’s had measured up to the task of concealing his dick. The hatchet faced female dropped to her knees, and methodically groped up each leg, before discovering that his pole of plenty was hanging to the left.

‘Have you found what you’re looking for?’

Roberto asked wearily, as she fingered his organ. Sourly, she let go. Kris hadn’t missed a thing, and was tapping his watch in irritation,

‘Come on, come on, we haven’t much time’

But Roberto took his time as he pulled on his boots, adjusted his jeans and prepared to resume the journey. Languidly, he added,

‘What’s your problem, the seats are booked? We’ll make it’

Kris looked rather uncomfortable,

‘Well, we have seats, of course. But on PlebAir, you don’t have them assigned as such’

The Hispanic’s eyes flashed,

‘You mean we have to scramble to find a seat?’

‘I’m afraid so’

They joined an ill assorted crowd of travellers, all huddled around electrically operated glass doors, and awaited the signal to run for it.

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As Kris and Roberto were flying out, an individual, who’d spent a great deal of time researching the couple, was just arriving.

Fresh from a JFK flight, Brad Chaytor grabbed his luggage and looked about for the person scheduled to meet him. He’d never been to the UK before so all this was new to him, but he took it in his stride. Twenty four years of age, and classically handsome, the Stanford graduate had already made his mark in the FBI.

Repeatedly, he checked his watch, anxiously scanning the crowd to see if it would reveal the woman he’d been told to look out for, early fifties, tall, thin, grey hair, and attractive. Beth Coleridge had been with the bureau for years and was one of their most experienced operatives. He wanted to make a good first impression.

Brad adjusted his tie, and sauntered out into the concourse. Within seconds he felt a light tap on his shoulder; turning around he saw a tall, elegant woman, in a maroon Mack,

‘Hi. Welcome to the UK. Good flight?’

‘Well.... yeah, yes, thanks. I’m Brad’

‘Yes, I know’ she laughed,

‘I’m Sister Agnes’

They both laughed.

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Flight PLB 6969 was progressing smoothly. And as with all budget airlines no efforts were being spared, by so few, to hawk as much crap as possible, to so many in such a short time. Then the captain made an announcement,

‘Just had a communication from the flight ahead of us, and there’s some turbulence in the Bay of Biscay area. I’ll keep you posted, just expect a bit of rough air in the next thirty minutes’

But it took more than that to rain on Kris’s parade. Despite a tiresome scrum to gain access to the aircraft, he and Roberto had managed to get seats together, albeit seated alongside an eighty something, wearing headphones and listening to an endless loop of Thriller. Kris had a plan; moving close to Roberto he whispered,

‘You go to the loo. After thirty seconds or so, I’ll follow and knock twice on the door; let me in’

Roberto, normally nobody’s fool, was perplexed. In this bizarre part of the world, where they made you pay to piss on an aircraft, was this some twisted way of saving one paltry pound? He took the token and headed towards the vacant toilet. Moments later Kris followed, and, after discreetly checking that no flight crew or passengers were nearby, he tapped on the door. Roberto cautiously responded, opening the door an inch or two. But his diminutive travelling companion pushed hard, overbalancing the bewildered Hispanic. Kris entered and locked the door behind him, he whispered,

‘Why’s your dick not out?’

‘I don’t want a leak?’

‘That’s not why we’re here, lover’

The Latino hardly had time to martial his thoughts before he felt an urgent tug at his zipper. In less time that it takes to say ‘a blow job is the gay man’s handshake’ his jeans were down. And so was Kris, squatting like a temple dog, about to devour a bone. And what a bone!

‘I can’t do this’ wimped Roberto,

But his protests were half hearted, and Kris’s throat fully committed; within a matter of seconds twenty two centimetres of finest Latino fillet filled it. Occasionally, to aid progress, the fellated-one would scoop some water from the sink and trickle it down the shaft of his huge hard-on. But it was hardly needed.

Then it happened, they hit turbulence!

Roberto lurched forward, propelling his punishing pole into Kris’s greedy gorge. A gurgling ensued, but the little man stoutly indicated with his eyes that all was well. More lubricating water got splashed, then came another air pocket, this time much worse.

‘Aaaargggghhhh!’ came the strangulated sound.

‘We’d better stop this, really’ urged Roberto, but Kris persisted and, wrapping his arms around the Latino’s legs he locked himself into position. The rough air was relentless, and so was Kris’s throat. Roberto was cross eyed.

A knock came to the door,

‘Is everything OK in there?’

The Latino answered in the affirmative, but knew that his reply was competing against a wild gurgling, which ought to have told the trained mind something. Kris meanwhile had got in the groove and his head was bobbing like a demented oil derrick. Roberto focused on his own well of crude, and decided that the time to gush was imminent.

Sometime later the couple emerged from the toilet, all eyes on them, and regained their seats. Roberto was experiencing the unthinkable, being shamed in the presence of Brits, Kris, meanwhile was basking. He was the cat who got the cream.

...............................................

Gordon heard the back door open, the signal that Justin had returned. The young man breezed into the kitchen,

‘Hi Gord, guess what, I’ve just...

He stopped in his tracks and picked up a brochure from the kitchen table,

‘ ‘Caribbean Cruising’, wow, are you and Kris planning one of these?

Gordon stood at the sink, looking into the garden. Justin continued,

‘Lucky fuckers, wish I could go on something like that’

‘No-one’s going on any cruise’

The boy sensed at once that things weren’t right.

‘What’s up?’

Gordon remained silent. Justin spoke,

‘Where’s Kris?’

‘Probably in Spain by now’

‘Spain, what’s he doing there?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. This was the cruise I was planning for our anniversary’

Justin suddenly looked resourceful beyond his years,

‘You sit down, I’ll get the coffee, and you can tell me all about it’

And within a short time, that’s exactly what happened, Gordon telling Justin the pretty much unexpurgated version of the story of the last ten years of his life.

It’s at times like these that the friends we’d like to have around us are nowhere to be seen, and we find ourselves consoled, advised, and helped by the most unexpected of confidants. Gordon did wonder whether or not this unrestrained disclosure of his was serving any purpose. But Justin had been listening, he continued questioning,

‘He’s not alone out there, then?’

‘I shouldn’t think so’

‘But you don’t know who’s with him?’

‘Yes, I suppose I do, this guy Roberto’

‘What a CUNT!’

‘Justin, there’s no need for that’

The boy paused for a moment then acted,

‘Right, this is what we’ll do’

He threw the cruise brochure in the trash,

‘Right, we’re going to do all the things you never get to do ‘cos Kris doesn’t like them, go bowling, grab some fast food, and find you a real ale pub. And that’s just for starters’

Gordon looked sheepish,

‘Justin, I know you’re trying to help, but maybe I need to think this all through first, and call Kris’

The boy looked pensive,

‘Do you really think there’s any point? You might as well have been alone all these years. There are some relationships that are so bad, being alone couldn’t be any worse’

‘And how would you know that?’

Justin drew up his T-shirt and swung round, revealing the scar of a knife wound in the small of his back. Gordon got up and touched the spot softly.

‘Who did that to you?’

‘My mother’s boyfriend’

‘What a CUNT!’

Justin raised his forefinger in admonition, and added,

‘She doesn’t like being alone either’

Gordon gave the boy a hug. Nothing was said for a time, then he released him,

‘Come on, we’re going to have a day out on the town’

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Brad Chaytor relished the taxi ride with Beth Coleridge from the airport to her city centre apartment; the young Californian was fascinated by all he saw en route, Manchester’s former mills, canals, railway arches, and cobbled lanes all veiled in a fine grey mist. Beth could almost read his thoughts,

‘Remember, when you meet the locals, tell them you love their football teams, and the Trafford Centre, they don’t want to hear about all this old stuff, however captivated you might be with it’

Brad grinned, revealing delightfully natural un-Hollywood teeth,

‘Well I guess that’s easy, I have heard of Manchester United, who hasn’t? So how do they like your Sister Agnes?’

Beth laughed,

‘Sister Agnes? Well, I hope they bought it, I think they do. I can’t do the local Manchester accent, not a chance, so I opted for ‘d’auld Oirish’ ’

‘So what’ve we got on this case?’

‘Not much, and I’ve just found out that Jez Roth’s in town too, so we’ve to keep tabs on the media as well’

‘And we’ve no idea what Karton’s doing?’

‘No, other than his pathology department has continued to work for nearly two years on research that was kicked into the long grass. What they’re doing and, more to the point, producing, is a mystery’

‘But we have somebody in there?’

‘Sure we do, at the plant, but dealing with his private life was more of a challenge. Karton lives with his partner Gordon, as you’ll be aware’

Beth gave a knowing look, and Brad seemed slightly uncomfortable,

‘That’s where the Sister Agnes thing comes in?’ he enquired,

‘Mm. Wasn’t easy though. I found somebody perfect to go in. But the kid’s just seventeen, so we had to get indemnities to cover us. He’s smart and has settled in well’

‘The kid?’

‘Yeah, Justin. He lives with Kris and Gordon. He’s something else; nearly blew my cover when I called round Karton’s place. Got his dick out and waved it at me!’

‘But you kept it together?’

‘Of course, ever the professional!

Beth laughed. She stood up and walked over to the window,

‘Anyways, you’ll be meeting him before long. Let’s just hope he doesn’t show his dick to you!’

Brad held the coffee cup close to his face, partially hiding what he assumed was his colouring face. Why had he been chosen for this assignment? They couldn’t know, could they?

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Roberto Kris at airport ready for flight to spain

Jez meet Brad Chaytor, FBI off flight. Stanford

Greene gets jealous over Gordon and Justin

Roberto and Kris arrive in Spain