“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ve killed all one hundred and forty-two passengers, all four flight attendants, me, and yourself. You also managed to land your plane so deep in the Pacific that the NTSB won’t find all the wreckage for at least three years.”
“No.” He shook his head. “This is your fault, sir. I asked you for help.”
“You asked me if you could make an announcement about fake turbulence.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and looked at the controls, noticing he’d taken the plane out of autopilot and completely deviated from the flight plan. “What you should’ve asked, is if it was okay for you to switch the settings. I would’ve said no.”
He shook his head, looking as if he was about to cry over this. “I was in a stall. I didn’t know the system would allow me to fall so low, especially without intervening.”
“Intervening?”
“Doesn’t the real version of this plane have a fly-by-wire system that steadies everything if the plane descends to less than fifteen feet?”
“Yes.” I stood up. “There’s also a hidden parachute that will automatically appear and save every soul aboard for times just like this. I’m shocked you didn’t press that button.”
“Wait, wait,” he said as I twisted the exit handle. “I honestly wasn’t sure what to do, sir.”
“Did you consider contacting control? Asking if you could climb to a higher altitude?”
“I could’ve done that?”
“Rest in peace, Ryan.” I opened the hatch, immediately making my way down the simulator’s steps.
“Captain Weston?” A supervisor who looked ten years younger than me suddenly stepped in front of me. “Captain Weston, are you leaving?”
“As soon as you step out of my way, yes.”
“But why? Your trainee just crashed his plane into the Atlantic Ocean.”
“No, he crashed it into the Pacific Ocean. The water’s much deeper in that one.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Care to get to it?”
“Don’t you think you should be giving him a stern but encouraging lecture right now? Perhaps giving him pointers so this won’t happen next time?”
“I think the fear of dying will be enough.”
“You know...” He sighed, crossing his arms. “If it weren’t for a certain mark of honor on your profile, I would’ve had you fired weeks ago, when you allegedly told an entire group of passengers to ‘Get the fuck off my plane’ when you thought they were taking too long to disembark.
“That wasn’t allegedly. The clip is on YouTube.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re funneling a lot of money into the program under the new mergers, and I personally would love it if every pilot tried to make a positive impact. Isn’t that why you fly, Mr. Weston? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’m here for the paycheck.”
“I give up. I. Give. Up.” He groaned, throwing up his hands in a fake surrender. “Speaking of your paycheck, though. Before you go, I need you to finally sign off on this. The Signature payroll officially rolls over to us in two weeks, and I assume you’ll want to continue being paid.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed me a pen.
I unfolded the paper, quickly read the printed words, and handed it back to him. “This is not the salary I requested. This isn’t even a fraction of the salary I requested.”
“No shit.” He scoffed. “The salary range for a new captain is seventy to ninety thousand. The max is one hundred twenty to one hundred forty thousand after years at the captain level.”
“That sounds like an unfortunate problem for the rest of the pilots here. It also sounds like you never put in my request. You simply assumed what human resources would say.”
“There was no need to assume because I know exactly what they’re going to say.” He stepped back. “And I know they’ll laugh me out of the room while doing it. Four hundred fifty thousand dollars a year to fly commercial planes?”
“Make sure you tell them that’s my minimum.”
“You’re not at Signature anymore, Weston. You’re not flying sports teams, celebrities, or small world leaders. Surely you can understand that, and surely you can see that your demand is ridiculous.”
I didn’t back down. I hadn’t flown for less than that in six years, and merger or not, I wasn’t going to start now. I wasn’t even going to entertain the thought.
“I’ll also need to continue getting every third weekend of every month off. That was promised to me before I signed the paperwork.”
“Okay. How much crack have you been you eating, Weston? I’m seconds away from demanding that you take a piss test right now.”
“Four hundred fifty thousand. Every third weekend off. No crack, just pussy.”
“If I go to them with this,” he said, finally realizing that I wasn’t joking. “And they tell me, to tell you, to go fuck yourself, what do you want me to say?”
“It won’t come to that.” I started to walk away. “Trust me.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t count it.”
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~ Present Day...
I’m typing this post while I’m on a rainy layover in Dallas, while I wait to head to Paris.
My life is now a montage of cities and countries that blend into a never-ending day. I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up hours later in Hawaii. I order a cup of coffee in Madrid and buy crepes for lunch in Paris. I watch the rain fall over Seattle’s grey afternoons and catch a bright, bloody sunset in Phoenix.
And somewhere in between all of this traveling—in half-constructed bathrooms, parking garages, and last-minute hotel rooms, I break my airline’s number one rule: I have sex with fuck a pilot.
I give him every piece of me—letting his sex set my skin on fire, listening to him whisper words in my ear that continuously wet my pussy as he pounds into me from behind. And then I let him go.
Or at least I try to...
I think I’m starting to like him, and when I say “him,” I’m only saying that halfheartedly. I don’t really know who the hell he is because he’s so damn guarded, and for every two questions I ask, he only gives me one answer.
He also disappears every three weeks, never answers his phone in front of me, and for some strange reason, I can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from me.
(I’ve somewhat missed this writing on this abandoned blog. Somewhat.)
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
2 comments posted:
KayTROLL: Welcome back. Again.
KayTROLL: Now, please go away again and find some inspiration so you can post about something other than your sex life. No one cares about who you’re fucking (especially since you’re being dumb and breaking the rules) and as your only reader, I deserve something more than porn to read. #thankyou #dobetter
GATE B16
GILLIAN
Atlanta (ATL)—> Denver (DEN)—> New York (JFK)
“No.” He shook his head. “This is your fault, sir. I asked you for help.”
“You asked me if you could make an announcement about fake turbulence.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and looked at the controls, noticing he’d taken the plane out of autopilot and completely deviated from the flight plan. “What you should’ve asked, is if it was okay for you to switch the settings. I would’ve said no.”
He shook his head, looking as if he was about to cry over this. “I was in a stall. I didn’t know the system would allow me to fall so low, especially without intervening.”
“Intervening?”
“Doesn’t the real version of this plane have a fly-by-wire system that steadies everything if the plane descends to less than fifteen feet?”
“Yes.” I stood up. “There’s also a hidden parachute that will automatically appear and save every soul aboard for times just like this. I’m shocked you didn’t press that button.”
“Wait, wait,” he said as I twisted the exit handle. “I honestly wasn’t sure what to do, sir.”
“Did you consider contacting control? Asking if you could climb to a higher altitude?”
“I could’ve done that?”
“Rest in peace, Ryan.” I opened the hatch, immediately making my way down the simulator’s steps.
“Captain Weston?” A supervisor who looked ten years younger than me suddenly stepped in front of me. “Captain Weston, are you leaving?”
“As soon as you step out of my way, yes.”
“But why? Your trainee just crashed his plane into the Atlantic Ocean.”
“No, he crashed it into the Pacific Ocean. The water’s much deeper in that one.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Care to get to it?”
“Don’t you think you should be giving him a stern but encouraging lecture right now? Perhaps giving him pointers so this won’t happen next time?”
“I think the fear of dying will be enough.”
“You know...” He sighed, crossing his arms. “If it weren’t for a certain mark of honor on your profile, I would’ve had you fired weeks ago, when you allegedly told an entire group of passengers to ‘Get the fuck off my plane’ when you thought they were taking too long to disembark.
“That wasn’t allegedly. The clip is on YouTube.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re funneling a lot of money into the program under the new mergers, and I personally would love it if every pilot tried to make a positive impact. Isn’t that why you fly, Mr. Weston? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’m here for the paycheck.”
“I give up. I. Give. Up.” He groaned, throwing up his hands in a fake surrender. “Speaking of your paycheck, though. Before you go, I need you to finally sign off on this. The Signature payroll officially rolls over to us in two weeks, and I assume you’ll want to continue being paid.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed me a pen.
I unfolded the paper, quickly read the printed words, and handed it back to him. “This is not the salary I requested. This isn’t even a fraction of the salary I requested.”
“No shit.” He scoffed. “The salary range for a new captain is seventy to ninety thousand. The max is one hundred twenty to one hundred forty thousand after years at the captain level.”
“That sounds like an unfortunate problem for the rest of the pilots here. It also sounds like you never put in my request. You simply assumed what human resources would say.”
“There was no need to assume because I know exactly what they’re going to say.” He stepped back. “And I know they’ll laugh me out of the room while doing it. Four hundred fifty thousand dollars a year to fly commercial planes?”
“Make sure you tell them that’s my minimum.”
“You’re not at Signature anymore, Weston. You’re not flying sports teams, celebrities, or small world leaders. Surely you can understand that, and surely you can see that your demand is ridiculous.”
I didn’t back down. I hadn’t flown for less than that in six years, and merger or not, I wasn’t going to start now. I wasn’t even going to entertain the thought.
“I’ll also need to continue getting every third weekend of every month off. That was promised to me before I signed the paperwork.”
“Okay. How much crack have you been you eating, Weston? I’m seconds away from demanding that you take a piss test right now.”
“Four hundred fifty thousand. Every third weekend off. No crack, just pussy.”
“If I go to them with this,” he said, finally realizing that I wasn’t joking. “And they tell me, to tell you, to go fuck yourself, what do you want me to say?”
“It won’t come to that.” I started to walk away. “Trust me.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t count it.”
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~ Present Day...
I’m typing this post while I’m on a rainy layover in Dallas, while I wait to head to Paris.
My life is now a montage of cities and countries that blend into a never-ending day. I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up hours later in Hawaii. I order a cup of coffee in Madrid and buy crepes for lunch in Paris. I watch the rain fall over Seattle’s grey afternoons and catch a bright, bloody sunset in Phoenix.
And somewhere in between all of this traveling—in half-constructed bathrooms, parking garages, and last-minute hotel rooms, I break my airline’s number one rule: I have sex with fuck a pilot.
I give him every piece of me—letting his sex set my skin on fire, listening to him whisper words in my ear that continuously wet my pussy as he pounds into me from behind. And then I let him go.
Or at least I try to...
I think I’m starting to like him, and when I say “him,” I’m only saying that halfheartedly. I don’t really know who the hell he is because he’s so damn guarded, and for every two questions I ask, he only gives me one answer.
He also disappears every three weeks, never answers his phone in front of me, and for some strange reason, I can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from me.
(I’ve somewhat missed this writing on this abandoned blog. Somewhat.)
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
2 comments posted:
KayTROLL: Welcome back. Again.
KayTROLL: Now, please go away again and find some inspiration so you can post about something other than your sex life. No one cares about who you’re fucking (especially since you’re being dumb and breaking the rules) and as your only reader, I deserve something more than porn to read. #thankyou #dobetter
GATE B16
GILLIAN
Atlanta (ATL)—> Denver (DEN)—> New York (JFK)
