r_scribbles | Cabin Pressure Fic: And Never Been Kissed

Part 2

3 to 15 – Unknown.

The third time, God help him, he’d been the one to initiate it. He’d practically solicited it. He’d failed his ATPL exam, gone out to drown his sorrows and found that poisoning himself with cheap alcohol just hadn’t gone far enough. There had been a gaggle of older women at the bar, drinking heavily and shouting about somebody called Barry being a bastard. A divorce party. He’d hovered around the edges of the party and worked out which of the women was the one fresh from her divorce. There was something oddly comforting about her bitter, ground-down expression. She looked how he felt. He bought her a drink, and the other women cooed and catcalled and laughed, and congratulated the woman on pulling a 20 year old. They had hurried, perfunctory sex in one of the ladies’ loos. It felt like the thing to do.

It became his habit, whenever he failed his ATPL – whenever he was particularly disappointed with his self, in fact. He’d go out and find someone – man or woman, it made no difference, but always 15 years his senior at least – someone newly out of a relationship or looking to get back at a cheating partner. Somebody who looked like they hated themself as much as he hated himself that night. And then, they’d have quick, grubby, anonymous sex.

He got more used to vaginal and oral. Got to quite enjoy it, in fact – especially giving head to both men and women. Sometimes the men wanted anal. He’d oblige, but never learned to like it. One time, he was talked into giving anal rather than receiving, and he hated that even more. He felt like the smell was on him for days after that.

The smell the day after was a bother. Sometimes he’d wake up hung-over and smelling of sex and be transported back to his old bedroom in Wokingham, with Mrs Smithson, and he’d be horribly, violently sick.

Sometimes, his partners would cry afterwards. One man cried during – that had been very awkward. A few times, they were rough with him. One woman was very, very rough. Too rough. There had been biting. He didn’t like biting. He’d told her to stop, but she’d been too caught up in it to do so, so he’d just tried to ignore it. Sometimes, they were nervous. One guy was wonderful – assertive but tender. He’d been Martin’s favourite. He’d have asked for his name and number, but he was still wearing his wedding ring. None of them ever kissed as part of what little foreplay there was, though. Martin just wasn’t that sort of lay.

16 – Not Claire Welles

Martin suddenly, unexpectedly, fell in love when he was 31 years old, with Claire Welles, an ATC at Midlands Air Cargo’s hugely glamorous operations centre of Twycross Airfield. Just his luck, he told himself. Here he was – a practicing bisexual for the past decade and he had to fall for the sole young, single, attractive woman at a workplace teeming with very enthusiastically heterosexual men. Obviously that old line about doubling your chances was a myth, but come on. He knew of at least four rivals for Claire’s attention – what chance did he hope to stand?

He tried to put it out of his mind – tried to tell himself that it was just a silly little crush – he barely knew the woman. He didn’t get like this over people. He went out, got someone to fuck him and then didn’t think about it again for a while – he pined enough for flying without his brain deciding to do it for romantic affection as well. Besides which, she wasn’t even his type. She was only two years older than he was. But then, of course, Martin Crieff was the last person anybody should take romantic advice off – even himself. The more he tried to tell himself to snap out of it, the more quietly besotted he became.

He tried to form a friendly relationship with her, but he’d end up winding himself up and trying to second guess himself so much that just talking to the woman could be absolute torture. Luck was never on Martin’s side, so he found it no less than miraculous that, rather than sneering at him as he stammered and mumbled and Freudian-Slipped all over his half of their conversations, she seemed to find it amusing - endearing, even. After a few chats over their coffee breaks, even Martin didn’t mind the inevitable babble that was bound to start tumbling from his mouth whenever they crossed paths. Whenever he saw her – whenever he so much as thought of her – his heart would soar, his face would flush, his stomach would flutter and his tongue would tie itself into knots.

This was new. It was very, very different to any way he’d felt about anyone else. This wasn’t just about sex. He didn’t want to have a demeaning, impersonal shag with her in an alley somewhere. He wanted her in a clean, warm bed, or a comfortable sofa, somewhere quiet and private. He wanted to make love. Actual, slow, tender lovemaking. He wanted to just hold her, for hours on end. He wanted to kiss. And kiss. And kiss.

15 partners, and he’d never been kissed. Never wanted to. Well, now he did. And, honestly. How hard could it be?

Martin resolved to ask Claire out on a date. From there, he’d be able to try to win her over to being his girlfriend. But the objective straight after getting a date would be to get a kiss. The idea thrilled him. He hadn’t been so nervous and excited since he’d finally passed his ATPL Exam.

That day seemed to drag on forever. He couldn’t concentrate on work – made more mistakes than ever, and Cpt Malone gave him merry Hell for it, but then wasn’t giving merry Hell what Cpt Malone seemed to live for? He held his tongue and put up with it all, because this was his big day. This was the day he was going to ask Claire Welles out for a date.

When he finally finished work at 6, he decided to spend the half hour he had before Claire knocked off with a quick trip to the garage to pick her up some Maltesers. A little sweetener, he thought. Not too over the top, not too romantic, but still one of her favourite chocolates. Unassuming but attentive. Yes. This could actually work.

He misjudged how long it would take him to walk to the garage and back. He ran back the last 500 yards, cursing. In retrospect, he was glad, because had he not been late, he wouldn’t have seen Claire and Cpt Malone, parked up in the corner where they thought nobody was going to see them. Had he not been late, he’d have gone right ahead and made an idiot of himself. He’d have handed her the chocolates and asked for the date, and been soundly laughed at by Claire and Cpt Malone after being given the brush-off.

Maybe they already laughed at him. Probably. Stupid Martin. Stupid Martin with his stupid crush.

He ate the Maltesers on the way home – the only thing he’d eaten all day, which made it cheaper to get horribly drunk, that night. He went to the same pub where he’d picked up partners 14 and 15. 16 was a large, unhappy looking man in his late 50s. They had sex around the back of the glass recycling bins outside Morrison’s. Martin saw his Maltesters again on the wobbly walk home.

The next day, he started looking for another piloting job in earnest.

Part 4