The Legend of the Ditto Twins (28 page)

"
Guten
Abend
.
Good evening.
Welcome aboard." He added, to Clay, "I hope you and your sons enjoy
the flight."

"Thanks,"
Clay said with a sly smile. He'd also noted the
blond's
busy blue eyes.

"Thanks."
Before I knew it, I found myself stealing a glance down at the steward's
package, too. I'd never paid much attention to such things ever before, I don't
think, and I hastily told myself that I was just trying to appear as cosmopolitan
as he was.

"Thanks,"
Clark said, taking his boarding pass back and also sneaking a look at the guy's
equipment. That made me feel a little less like the only pervert in the world.

The blond
German's fingers lingered a second too long against my brother's thumb as the
boarding pass changed hands, but I pretended not to notice. Following Clay, I
moved to the left, into the First Class
section
where a blonde stewardess welcomed us. Clark and I dropped into matching
leather seats directly behind our uncle.

As we
settled in, Clay turned around, smirking. "At the risk of sounding like
your mother," he said softly, "may I suggest you don't get any
fuckin' ideas about joining the Mile High Club with that steward."

"What's
the Mile High Club?" we asked ingenuously.

"I'll
tell you, but not till we're back on the ground," he chuckled and turned
to stare out the window.

Of
course, Lily had told us all about the Mile High Club. The very idea of having sex
on a plane in flight appealed to our sense of adventure, and though we'd
already given it a lot of thought, we'd decided we shouldn't discuss such a
dangerous game with anyone else, not even Clay.

I leaned
forward and said softly, "At the risk of sounding like our mother, can we
afford to go First Class?"

"I
can afford it. Mark, you should always go first class when you travel to Europe
for the first time. And by the way, let's make a deal right now that this will
be the last fuckin' time we mention your mother on this trip."

Nodding
agreeably, I sat back to look around at the elegant cabin which we found
ourselves in.

"Mom
would shit bricks," murmured Clark happily.

"Did
you notice the steward?" I whispered.

"Of
course." Clark whispered too. "Did you see the way he actually stared
right at..."

"...your
package? Sure. But he looked at mine, too."

"Y'know,
he looks enough like us to be...."

"...a
long-lost brother or cousin. Maybe he thought he recognized us. Or maybe... do
you suppose maybe he thought we were... you know, hot?"

"Duh.
C'mon, Mark, the way he was looking at us? It wasn't just a casual glance. He
was checking us out. It happens all the time at the club. A lot of guys look at
us that way. Haven't you ever noticed? It's called
cruising.
That's what
Lily calls it."

"'Cruising'?
Nice word, huh?" I repeated it and added, "Do you think he's...
uh..."

"Hot?
Yeah, he's hot, but..."

I
finished his thought. “...not as hot as you."

I was
about to elaborate when a shadow crossed my lap. I looked up into a pair of ice
blue eyes, so close that the lapel of the uniform jacket brushed against my
arm. The steward smiled and pointed to his nametag.

"I
am Helmut. And I will be serving you this evening. Can I get you something to
drink?" he asked as he leaned over to place a dish of mixed nuts on the
armrest that separated me from Clark. As he did so, his elbow brushed lightly
against my chest. "Are you old enough to drink?"

"You
can ask our father," said Clark, pointing to Clay.

"That
will not be necessary. I simply meant..."

"Champagne,
please," interrupted Clark.

"To
celebrate? Your first trip to Europe, perhaps?"

I
groaned. "Does it show?"

"A
trip to Europe is always an occasion. And champagne is the only way to
celebrate anything."

When he
returned with our drinks on a silver tray, I lifted the goblets from it and
passed one to my brother.

"Geez,
Helmut, it's too bad you..."

"...can't
join us."

"Another
time, perhaps.
Ja?"
A wink, and he was gone.

Before we
had finished our drinks, he was back, this time carrying two pillows and two
blankets.

"I
thought you might want these. After the meal and the movie, it sometimes gets a
small bit chilly in here. I will place them up here in the bin, and when you
want me to come and tuck you in for the night, only push that buzzer."

He leaned
over me again to point out the correct button on the armrest. This time his
elbow found my nipple. I tried not to shudder as he s
traightened up and brushed his ubiquitous elbow against
Clark's bare arm.

"The
life jackets are under the seats, but you'll hear all about that when I make my
little speech now."

We
watched him move up the aisle, and that's when it hit me: We were both trying
to memorize his ass.

Just as
Helmut had predicted, the lights were dimmed shortly after the meal, and the
in-flight movie began. Clay watched it intently, but for some reason we just
couldn't get into it. I looked at Clark; he nodded; I pushed the button. Almost
at once, Helmut was at our side.

"If
you don't mind..."

“...we'd
like the blankets and the pillows now."

"My
pleasure," he replied.

By then,
we were both sporting bulges that even a blind man could see, especially since
we were both wearing our disco jeans, and neither of us, of course, was wearing
underwear. Certainly, the twin mounds rising out of our laps did not escape
Helmut's ice-blue eyes. With practiced skill, he placed a pillow behind each of
our heads and, as we leaned back in our seats, began to tuck the blankets
around us. The process, as he performed it, involved a certain amount of
contact between his hands and our bodies, but he carefully avoided brushing
against our packages with that talented elbow of his.

"Is there
anything else I can do for you,
b
itte?"
he
inquired, apparently in no hurry to leave.

I almost
said, "What did you have in mind?" but instead shook my head
politely.

"Oh.
There may be a bit of turbulence later on. Do not concern yourselves." He
started to leave, but hesitated. "Oh, one more thing: The toilet is right
up there. You can reach it by following the lights in the aisle." He
smiled, a bit too innocently. "After the film, mostly, everyone
sleeps..."

Another
wink, and he vanished.

The
moment he moved away, I slipped my hand from under my blanket, across the
armrest, and under Clark's to find his crotch. He had the same idea, and in no
time we were contentedly kneading each other, blankets bobbing.

Clark
glanced around. "We're being pretty obvious. Can't we get rid of that
damned armrest?"

"Not
without a screwdriver." I pulled my hand back. "A handjob probably
doesn't count anyway. I mean, as far as the Mile High Club is concerned."

The movie
seemed interminable. By the time it was over, Clay had begun to doze and we
were really getting antsy.

"Should
we try the john now?" I whispered.

Clark
nodded. "Helmut practically told us to."

"I
think you should leave first."

"Okay."

"But
be sure to leave the door..."

“...unlocked.
I know. And then..."

“...I'll
count to two hundred, at which point I'll follow, right?"

He
grinned. "You'll recognize me. I'll be the one with the raging
hard-on."

"Shut
up!" I glanced around. Everyone seemed to be asleep by then, including
Clay. "On three."

Watching
my brother make his way up the aisle, pondering what we would be able to do
within the confines of the restroom, I began to count. Two hundred seconds
later, I unfastened my seat belt, slid the blanket away, and stepped into the
aisle. Ten paces later, I reached the restroom and squeezed inside. The cubicle
was even more cramped than I thought it would be, and I struggled to get the
door closed behind me, but you can bet I managed.

Clark was
sitting on the toilet, his jeans around his ankles, his smile tense, his erection
tall. I leaned over, as best I could, and kissed him. We made out for the
entire five minutes it took him to peel down my jeans, and soon each of us had
a handful of the others dick. Twisting back and forth to shift positions, we
did manage to give each other head, and I'll admit the possibility of being
caught only heightened our excitement.

"I
really don't think it will count unless we fuck, too."

"Right.
Only how in the hell are we gonna manage that?"

It took a
bit of doing, but we finally manipulated our bodies into a standing position
against the door of the cubicle and began to fuck. Watching ourselves in the
mirror over the sink, we bopped along happily till we hit a patch of
turbulence. That only seemed to augment the thrill, and we began to bounce
toward orgasm in tandem with the bumpy air currents—until, suddenly, the
engines seemed to stop, and there was absolute silence. Like the first dip of a
roller coaster, the plane seemed to fall out of the sky, and with a terrified
gasp, we both climaxed simultaneously.

The drop
lasted only a few seconds, I think, but by the time the plane had righted
itself, our hearts were beating so fast that we just leaned against the door
clinging desperately to each other for a long time.

"Welcome
to the Mile High Club," whispered Clark as we shifted into a long,
post-coital kiss.

"For
a minute there," I began, "I thought we were..."

“...gonna
crash and die?" Clark shook his head. "We're too young to die."

I nodded,
trying to pull up my jeans. "I'm counting on another eighty years or so
with you."

"More,"
he whispered and initiated another long kiss.

When we
broke, he murmured, "This time, you go first."

"Why?"

"Duh.
Because I can't get my jeans up till you do."

"Oh,
yeah. Okay."

First
checking to be sure my fly was zipped, I backed out of the room, closed the
door behind me, and turned around, only to come face to face with Helmut.

He
smiled.
"Alles gut.
I stood guard for you."

I may
have muttered a thank you.

He smiled
seductively. "I love Americans. You are all such animals. And you have
such super
penises."
He leaned closer. "But then, so do I." He found my
hand and pressed it against his erection, but only for a second, as if teasing
me with a brief sample of pleasures to come. Then he pulled back.
"Here," he said, handing me a card. "If any day you can escape
your father, I am very good in bed. You
do
d
o threeways, don't
you?"