“Call Geno and tell ‘im. You’re gonna be flight crew. Ask him what to wear.”“As long as it’s not a miniskirt, I’m good,” I said.So Sun...ay morning we fly into the Birmingham airport in our old faithful Cessna 180. I’m ready for this. I have my, well, everybody calls it ‘Cindy’s combat backpack’ and I suppose in some ways it is. In it are my MacBook and a few other odds and ends I determine are necessities for little emergencies. I’m wearing a pantsuit. I know – the lady who sold it to me said,. I was going to find me some college stud, a jock, and take him home and fuck him till he couldn't move.At least that was the plan.But they were all so boring.Suddenly, I couldn't take this crummy joint and all the phony studs out to score, strutting their muscles and money for the girls on the meat rack. The hell with it -- i was going home and use my vibrator.She was leaving. Alone. None of the guys were good enough for the stuck-up cunt, it seemed. Huh. Someone ought to teach her a. We ran a lot, which I really loved. It’s a fun way to see the city, I think. He also showed me some of his favorite more obscure places to go. But… there was this one thing. We had our first fight.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Well, this woman showed up at his flat. A pretty blonde, named Sarah. Did I tell you he owns an apartment in London? Anyway, someone kept banging on the door and John answered and Sarah came barging in, yelling about unanswered phone calls and changed locks, and then she sees me. True, I had coaxed her into touching Rob. But sucking his dick? That was entirely her own decision. I looked down at her, my conservative, innocent partner, slurping and spitting all over this strange man's genitals. She didn't even bother to look up to see if I approved; she was too focused on pleasuring the painter to even care if I was okay with this. Fortunately, I was more than okay.I continued to fuck my wife, not once breaking away from the view of her passionate blowjob. She was really.