Viki and Jane sat on a couple of the tatty seats at gate 37 in Stansted departure lounge, surrounded by a hundred and twenty fellow passengers waiting to board the Thomson flight to Malaga. They were dressed identically: low cut T-shirts with the slogan “Harlots in Transit” splashed across their tits and skirts so short, a slight shift of their arses displayed pink panties to anybody who cared to look. Fired up by a brace of early morning double Bacardi and Red Bulls, they were talent spotting.
Viki nudged her friend and winked. ‘Hey, look at the muscles on the guy with the SpongeBob T-shirt.’
‘The only muscle I’m interested in, is the one making that bulge in his jeans - you reckon it’s for real?’
Viki laughed. ‘If it is, there’s enough for both of us. Who goes on top first?’
‘I don’t care so long as I can ride it. Hope he’s in our hotel.’
‘If he is, we’ll wear him out. Poor bastard.’
‘Wear it out, more like.’ Both girls burst into a fit of childish giggles.
Jane stopped laughing, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as two young West Indians - both dressed in white - ambled into the lounge and leaned on the rail by the window overlooking the waiting aircraft. Their firm buttocks rippled inside their immaculate white trousers.
With a nod of her head, Jane pointed them out to Viki. ‘Jesus, if they don’t move I’ll have to change my panties before I get on the plane.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, they can come over here. It’d be worth sitting for two hours in wet knickers.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Viki noticed the woman sitting opposite watching her. Turning her attention to the woman, she smiled politely. ‘What are you staring at, you fucking ugly old bag? Me? Well, I suppose anything’s better than looking at your dickhead hubby and that fat brat he’s holding.’
Jane smiled sweetly at the child. ‘Looks like it should’ve been drowned a birth.’
Viki grinned at the child’s mother. The woman looked both of the under-dressed blondes up and down and made a show of ignoring them - the way only women can do to other women.
‘Fuck. Did you see that? The rude bitch, just gave me the look. Stuck up cow.’
Jane nodded towards the husband. ‘Don’t worry about it, she’s probably jealous. Who’d want to screw with a dopey looking prick like him?’
One of the West Indians glanced over his shoulder. Spotting the girls, he smirked at Jane.
She yanked Viki’s arm. ‘Oh my God! He just smiled at me. Shit, I nearly came.’
Viki looked over to the window. Her pupils dilated with lust. ‘Jesus, you’re horny bitch.’
Both girls returned beaming grins to the black and white apparition. He smiled again, then turned back to his sidekick and muttered something. The on-heat girls didn’t notice his expression change.
‘Wow. Looks like we’re in.’ Jane looked up at the grey, dust covered air-conditioning pipes bolted to the lounge ceiling. ‘Oh God, please let them be in our hotel.’
Viki joined Jane in prayer, ‘Yes. Please let us get well and truly fucked by those two big beautiful Jamaicans.’ Both girls looked at each other and burst into lust and alcohol powered sniggering.
Viki faced the woman sitting opposite and smiled as innocently as she could. ‘See that, you stupid fat bitch, we’re going to get screwed by those two stallions, which is more than I can say for you. . . . You old bag.’
The woman nodded and turned to her husband and said something to him. He shook his head slightly and patted her hand.
The uniformed check-in attendant stopped fiddling with her computer on the desk by the door and picked up her phone. Five seconds later she grabbed a microphone and made the announcement everybody was waiting for:
‘Good afternoon ladies and Gentlemen. Our Thomson flight to Malaga is now ready for boarding. We invite all passengers with small children to embark now. Would all other passengers remain seated until we call you forward.’
The husband stood up and strapped the baby into its pushchair while his wife gathered their bags and baby paraphernalia together. Viki and Jane looked around and noticed other passengers preparing to move.
The couple started to walk away, then the woman hesitated. She dumped her bags at her husband’s feet and glared at him. He shook his head - vigorously this time - and reached for her arm. She pulled away from his restraining hand and strode back to the girls. She stood in front of them and waved her hands frenetically in their direction for about half a minute. When she finished she stomped off leaving the nearby passengers, who’d been watching, staring in confusion at the shocked looks on the reddening faces of Viki and Jane.
‘You girls are lucky I don’t smack both of you in your dirty mouths. I don’t know what deaf-school you two attended, but it certainly wasn’t the one where I’m the Head Mistress …. I expel nasty little tarts like you.’
(c) Keith Gingell 2010