Read the scrap in your pocket

You suddenly remember the slip of paper the stewardess slipped you. You look through your pocket for a couple minutes, not able to find it. Then you discover it stuck in a small wad of bills. You pull it out and unfold it, reading, "Tonight: Dinner and ?, Megan, 617-555-3993." 'Dinner and ?' -- that sounds very promising; Megan the flight attendant wants to fuck tonight. You close your eyes and remember her.

She was about 5'8" in heels with medium-length brown hair pulled back in a bun. Those uniforms are not terribly revealing, but you guess her to be slim with a decent pair of breasts, judging from how the uniform curved in at her waist and bulged out on top. Her legs were gorgeous and smooth below her skirt, and she had great hips and butt, nicely proportional. Her face was heart-shaped with a cute little nose, full lips, and big hazel eyes. Memories of her sexy smile after your mile-high tryst with Lauren bring your cock back to uncomfortable stiffness.

Since it is six-thirty, you pull out your cell phone and dial the long-distance number. Hmm, Boston, you think. After four rings, a voice you recognize as the flight attendant’s answers.

“Hello, this is Megan.”

“Hi, Megan. This is John from the flight today? You handed me a slip of paper?” you say hopefully.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks for calling me back. Do you want to go to dinner tonight? I have a layover until tomorrow afternoon,” she replies, excitement in her voice.

“That sounds grand. Where are you now?”

“I’m at one of the airport hotels at Kalului, just getting out of the uniform. Where are you?”

“Lahaina. I wish I was there to help,” you say with a lusty chuckle.

“Me, too. I could be there in about forty-five minutes to an hour. Can you be ready by then? Maybe you could make reservations for, say, eight-thirty?” Eight-thirty. That is at least an hour after she gets here. You mind travels down that road for a few seconds.

“Eight-thirty sounds fabulous. I’m in the Hyatt, room 849. Did your cell ID my number?” you ask.

“Yup, I’ll see you then. Bye-bye, John,” she replies with the same bye-bye she gave when you left the plane. Then you hear her blow a kiss.

“Bye, Megan.” You hang up and start thinking. The Three S’s sound good: shit, shower and shave. Some clean clothes, you’ll be set. You lay out your attire and enter the bathroom.