In an Airplane

You know The Emperor's New Clothes. The titular emperor gets a custom-tailored garment that doesn't exist. Being told no one undeserving could see it. Everyone going along until a child erupts in the simplest of observations. That he was wearing nothing, nothing at all. Then they all point and echo, yes, in fact, the child was right; there were no clothes. There was no such mystical metric in the first place!

Like a parade of anvils falling all at once. It's kinda cartoonish, really. Which works. It's why everyone knows it. It's a breeze to read.

Me, I didn't know of this story somehow. Somehow it never occurred to me to look it up. When I was little, the stories my mom read me, like The Little Red-Riding Hood and the Three Little Pigs -- I found those much easier to understand. Don't talk to strangers. Don't be cocky. You know.

The Emperor's New Clothes, meanwhile.

When I finished reading it at 18 years of age or so, I put it down, put it away, then picked up a swimsuit magazine and started jacking off. Like sunlight on a curtained flower. Even if, in a way, I knew what it meant -- I was old enough to, now, besides -- and maybe somewhere in the back of my mind even felt prickled by the moral it presented, I also didn't care. What the emperor symbolized. What the plot symbolized. What it was saying. I had no beef with it. You could pass a protester and let each word slip in one ear, out the other. It may be ignorance, may be because no one has room for everything. Because it's true, no one does. Not even nature.

But then you evolve, you adapt; maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. But one factor, always introduced without fail? Change.

And for me, things changed permanently after I put on the watch. Everything, in fact.

The Emperor's New Clothes becoming one of my personal favorite bite-sized stories... that was only one of them.

Ding!

Shaking myself out of sleep, I rose my eye covers from each lid. My upright back straightened against a creaky chair. That's right. I wasn't in bed anymore, dwiddling under the covers. My hand pushed the window sheet all the way up, light shining against my plain orange t-shirt. One eye winced at the bright prisms.

I was in a big metal bird.

Like a gateway, the flood of sound -- and sight -- busted through, and sense overload followed suit.

"Hello, and thank you for boarding Insta Airlines. As a reminder, we have a few programs available that provide in-flight goods and delectables exclusively tailored by Insta Corp. By asking any of our flight staff for more information, you may sign up for our new..."

"Hello, sir, do you need help with that?"

After rubbing my eyes, I looked to my left. An attendant was pushing a bag into the overhead bin only a row away from me. The man getting help had sunglasses cradling his head, and a slip of paper tucked into his breast pocket. Safari shorts hid his valuables and low-cut socks reached halfway up his shin. Seemed like a capable guy. He'd probably take care of his luggage himself if he wasn't already pre-occupied with what looked like three nightmarish activities at once, with his apparent fly-mate having spilled his dirty laundry all on the floor. Grumbles of every tongue poured from behind him as his friend attempted to console the stiffening queue.

I moved two seats over to get a better angle, when a voice caught my ear.

"That guy's holding everyone up." Across from me, a blonde girl in a pink top was adjusting her headphones over her head. The woman next to her, in the middle seat, was settling back into her chair as if returning from a quick over-the-shoulder peek. She was also blonde, her hair dirty-hued. She looked like a maturer encore of who I assumed was her daughter, only with shorter hair cut above her shoulders and a fully covered body.

Who, by the way, seemed barely my age. Probably high school or something.

"Is Dad sleeping?" the probably high school girl suddenly asked, shifting forward in her seat.

Her mother didn't even look up from the clothing catalogue she half-attentively leafed through as her daughter tucked her ears under her headphones. "Brady 'Sleep-Addict' Jensen? Take a lucky guess."

With the girl's attention sideways, my eyes gravitated down to her chest for a stealthy ogle. The young lady's two mammaries strained freshly against her top, forming a lovely, full curvature of fabric. Thankfully one angel didn't slack off in pottery class.

As she turned back in her seat I smoothly adjusted my position.

Marked for later, I thought after a final bonus glance. There were numerous people on board, of all shapes, sizes, and bust sizes. I'll get to know a select few in time.

When I felt like it.

Re-focusing on the scene before me, the female stewardess was packing the final bag into the cabin. My eyes wandered southward. Her butt, like the majority of the lovely on-board service-women, was shapely and inviting behind that traditional two-piece dress. She wriggled a little, pushing on the floor with her toe-exposing wedge sandals as the two men helped shove the bag into the tight space above.

And like every flight stewardess, her body was a treat I just couldn't tear away from that easily.

Insta Airlines, the airline kind enough to lend me a newly relieved economy class seat in their bulky plane, was native to Southeast Asia. A lot of their female flight attendants were quite pleasing to the eye, which was laudable, since I had less luck on other flights before (though, admittedly, this was only my second time actually going in the air -- the reported third was cut short when I abruptly developed a bad case of salmonella from what they called airport food). The traditional garb they had on made them stand out -- and, if you asked me, twice as visually appealing. Like walking into a spicy, simmering land of ladies on teasingly obscured, creamy legs, both unfamiliar yet markedly hospitable and ready to help upon the push of a single button.

It was better than a late night at Hooters with a 50 dollar tip you left in the car. And it all smelled so very nice.

But, of course, in reality I shouldn't have been there, on that plane.

Correction.

I shouldn't have even been legally allowed out in public, taking into account the things I'd done up to that point.

And yet here I was.

Smiling in spite of myself, my brain purred like a cat.

All thanks to a certain magical, crazy as hell, couldn't-believe-my-luck watch that I picked up like a fresh-bottomed infant at some ghetto, rundown auction two months ago. I called it a watch when, actually, it was something far more versatile, beyond your wildest, wettest dreams.

No, this was no watch. This was a king-maker. A high-tech invention gone wrong. A divine contraption. Some kind of alien artifact from an alternate, rainbow-colored dimension. Who knew? Seriously, who the hell did? I didn't.

What I did know was that this so-called watch had the power to warp reality itself, mostly by way of altering what was considered and innately needed to be "normal." And it transformed my lousy, unspectacular life into a ride not even my perverted imagination could have conjured up.

Yes. It was able to twist the perceptions of anybody (and in some cases, even non-humans) that walked the earth by either re-shaping their mores or adjusting their perception of the wearer and their actions. And all people, every one, was susceptible to its power. All except for moi.

Oh, it was just as much of a surreal, gobsmacking, ego-feeding fantasy as it sounded.

And rigorously, inextricably real.

gleam!

But, of course, for the skeptics out there, this would sound like one big steaming pile of bullshit. And for that, I had only one thing to say.

If it was so undeniably fake, how, then, would they explain the following course of events?

Pressing a button on the rim of the watch, the screen glowed once. Big hand where 12 o'clock was supposed to be; the small one in 3's spot. Contrary to an ordinary watch, no numbers adorned it, substituted instead with 'N's.

Looked good to me.

"Excuse me," I leaned out towards the stewardess. Arms still raised, she looked down to me patiently. Under her gaze, I drank in her dress. The garment went all the way down to her feet, but its snug accentuation of her body only made her look even more titillating -- particularly for a guy with a supernatural advantage on my side.

"Yes, sir?" A distinct Asian accent colored her voice. Now that I had a good look at her, framed with smooth Southeast Asian features and a sleek nose and done hair, I could see her face was just as cute.

Looking her straight in the eye, I blurted, "Ah, yes. I was only wondering." Then, as if posing a rational question of how-this or where's-what, asked, "May I put my hand up your dress?"

The stewardess paused briefly, head turning backward. For a disconnected instant I felt my heart jump, thinking I might have broken the watch somehow, or forgot to turn it on properly. But then I heard her apologize as a lanky man moved past with narrow eyes. Then she turned back to face me, a polite smile on her face as she said, "Yes, sir, of course you may, sir. Just one second." Her fingers went down to the bottom of her skirt, forcing her to bend down a little. With a fraction of her bottom half pulled up to her knees, she sidled towards me with an accommodating smile, as always, giving me a glimpse of firm, white thigh, and gestured for me to make my move. "Please." She seemed to bow a little while simultaneously raising her dress higher. "Put your hand inside of it."

Not one to foolishly reject such an offer, I inserted my watch-hand under her dress. Smiling, the stewardess let go and stood patiently as I felt her soft, smooth thigh and squeezed it. It felt thick yet hardy, and I'd felt plenty of thighs over the past few weeks. Traveling inward, I brushed my fingers against her cotton panties. My eyes darted upward. The attendant had her hands behind her, providing another cordial greeting to passenger one-hundred-sixty-one as I casually pressed against it. Her reaction was almost invisible. Shoulders went up, and her chest jutted forward a little, but her smile remained steadfast.

"Hey." I grabbed the arm of the latest passerby. She was a brunette in tanned capris and an informal top. She stopped her hurried march and turned her attention to me with little fuss, only to address her apparent mate as a quick aside.

"Go ahead and get our seats, honey."

"No problem babe."

After a quick peck on the lips, the 30-something returned her eyes my way, neither here, neither there, and comically devoid of any irritation or anger. "Yes?"

With my other hand, I grabbed the dress of the attendant and pulled it upward, revealing her ass to everyone with an eye to look. Some men passing by and in the surrounding seats took notice, and I watched their eyebrows raise in appreciation. The woman looked at the newly exposed flesh with casual disinterest.

"What do you think of this ass?" I asked. Meanwhile, the stewardess looked back with another automatic smile at the woman I was talking to before looking down to see what the fuss was about. After seeing her exposed buttocks, she returned to another rehearsed greeting routine. Even as I slapped one soft buttcheek and rubbed it gingerly, all the while waiting for my impromptu playmate's reply.

"It's fine, I guess," was what she finally came up with.

"'Fine, I guess'?" I repeated mirthfully. She nodded, looking around the plane aimlessly when I grabbed her head and gently, but authoritatively, pulled her down. With little resistance, she eventually made it knees on the carpet. She probably didn't expect the next thing I planned to do as I pushed her face into the crack of the stewardess's bulbous buttocks. "Smell it."

But of course, she didn't seem to be bothered enough to stop it either. Hey, her kink was her right; I didn't judge.

I heard an audible sniff. In the meantime, my other hand was carressing the attendant's tight stomach now while teetering playfully along the hem of her panties. All so soft and welcoming. Good enough to melt in and dissipate in a feminine wonderland.

"Lick it," I said a moment later. I pushed the woman's face a little deeper into the attendant's butt to let her know I was being relatively serious about it. After a few seconds, I spotted saliva trickling down one creamy buttock and nodded contently.

"Remember, dear?" It took me a breath to realize the mother from earlier, sitting in the row adjacent to mine, had spoken up. She was eyeing the scene I was making, but with a distant look in her eye. As if remembering something treasured and far away. Like, "When you accidentally fell asleep on your brother's rear and got a case of pink eye so horrible that the next day you said you looked like an allergic chihuahua and when -- "

"Mom!" Slapping the older woman playfully, the daughter was not amused. She glanced at the ass-stuffing woman and the smiling stewardess, then noticed me looking at them. She flashed a quick, knowing smile of her own before pivoting her neck quickly away, "You know you shouldn't be talking about other people like that right in front of them."

"Others?" She chortled, though it was still of a matronly kind of class. "It's you I was talking about, Patricia Jensen."

The girl flushed. "Well, then, me! Stop talking about me. It's... embarrassing sometimes, mom."

"Sorry, dear," the mother laughed again, but did offer a genuine-looking apologetic face before going back to her clothing catalogue.

Patricia just rolled her eyes and resumed her music playing. How formulaic.

With some effort, I detached my gaze from Patricia's breasts, while she, of course, sat oblivious. I let go of the woman whose face I was still shoving into the lovely stewardess's ass. She was releasing deep breaths as she wiped her face with her hands and smoothed out her hair. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a napkin, handing it to her.

"Thank you," she smiled. She cleaned off her mouth and face, beginning to stand. "That was all, right?" Her face was slightly red, but otherwise as dandy as before.

"Yes, thanks." I nodded, and brought my hand back to the stewardess's ass, savoring it with my palm. "It's a fine ass, after all."

"I suppose it is." The woman walked away, squeezing behind a big guy with what looked like a trombone strapped across his back.

Ding!

"Hello everyone, and thank you for choosing Insta Airlines. The plane will be taking off in about 10 more minutes. I repeat, the plane will be taking off in about 10 minutes. Thank you."

"That's nice of you guys," I looked up at the stewardess, pulling her down onto me. I rubbed her butt against my crotch. "Keeping us informed and all."

"It's our job, sir," her professional, kind tone as steady as ever.

"Is it your job to be wanton sluts, too?"

"No, sir, that's a very different kind of job, I'm afraid."

I pushed her harder against my dick. "Oh really?" You could hear my grin from a mile away. Always had to love that unfazed professionalism. No little thanks, of course, to a certain item around my wrist.

Speaking of which...

"But isn't it normal," I schmoozed dubiously as the final few passengers passed, "for, I dunno..." My gaze once again journeyed across the stewardess from behind, though this time with a specific notion popping quickly into my mind. "for all Insta Airlines stewardesses' uniforms' tops to be pretty much backless?"

Before my eyes, the top half of my very accommodating attendant's outfit gave way to a new eyeful of skin. Whereas before, the colorfully patterned fabric continued all around her torso like a standard dress code would probably require, now it was almost all her back. A single pair of strings held the sides of the top together as the rest of her back remained as smooth and visible as ever, all the way to the top of her ground-length skirt which displayed a nice spinal curve leading down to the split of her buttocks.

Setting a hand on her back, I caressed it up and down, nodding in satisfaction.

"Of course it is, sir." The stewardess turned to face me as I felt her body. "After all, it is simply what our traditional outfits are designed to look like. Would you like me to tell you more about them and their cultural origins?"

"No thanks," I grunted, and lifted her ass from my lap. "Just... thought it was worth an observation." With no additional solicitation also came a helpful wipe, as I dusted off any remaining lint from her bottom. After flicking off a probably imagined hair I gave her butt one final smack. "Go on now, and... attend to people."

She nodded and began to walk away.

"Oh," I suddenly remembered before she left, "and just a quick reminder, since you folks can sometimes forget, and it's so easy to miss. Just wanted to reiterate how it's also normal for all Insta Airlines stewardesses to brush their breasts, butt, and body in general against me, or bump, whatever, whenever the opportunity shows itself." I patted her on the stomach and pinched her navel. "You don't need to thank me for the memory jog, but I'll take it."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to remember that whenever you call for my services or pass by me in the aisles." The pretty Asian woman smiled with a light laugh. After getting her name, which I learned was Ena, I let her stride off towards the nose of the plane. Satisfied, I folded my arms, enjoying the new display of skin around me, as stewardesses at every corner of the plane walked past and about with the whole of their back inviting all eyes. It was tame, you could say. But for me, seeing something minor yet significant as this gave me just as much, if not more of, a thrill as seeing a topless waitress or a new nude policy. This was just the right blend of the wrong and the right, the proper with the indecent, the casual with the tantalizing. And it was all because of me -- no one any the wiser, or capable of figuring it out, or even able to perceive it as anything abnormal. And that's what I loved about it.

Until now, I had made no drastic changes to society, let alone an entire country, race, or the world. When it came to normalities, I'd kept them strictly local at most, individual almost 90% of the time. Maybe I'd been holding back out of some still lurking fear that something would break, or a natural hesitation. I thought that it may be due time that changed, too. After all, I also learned that reversals were possible if necessary. Though that discovery was a tall tale of its own.

I pulled out the airline-provided pillow as the plane began take off and disposed of the plastic as a video appeared in the screen in front of us, installed into the correlating seat. It explained the typical safety hazards and locations of safety vests and oxygen masks, and what to do during a crash, and etcetera. Through my yawn, I shook my wrist and wondered if I should get some sleep. Or maybe have some more fun first. Either way, it was still a long flight ahead of me. But it would be worth it.

The main reason I was on this plane was to meet some... family friends (*cough* possibly relatives *cough*) of mine that lived overseas. I hadn't seen them since the time they'd visited years ago, when I was but a kid rolling hot wheels down stair rails. But if there was one thing that remained fixed in my memory, it was the fact that they were quite a good-looking bunch.

And like me, they would now be all grown-up... and grown out.

I shifted in my seat, sticking the pillow behind my head as I toyed with the eye cover. A stewardess passed by, and I appreciated her naked back. Now that's what I called new clothes.