Theories of Flight
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Disclaimer: This story contains transgender themes, and
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The Flight
By The Druid
I just can't believe it. How can a British Airways flight
from Belfast to London be overbooked? I could understand if
it were July or August but mid October!
"I'm sorry sir, the plane is over booked, but we have
another one leaving in three hours."
"But that's no good to me, I'll miss my interview!"
"Sir, I am sorry, but it's overbooked. I have reserved a
seat for you on the 1330 flight, and I've upgraded your
seat to the first-class section.
"Can you transfer me to one of the other airline
companies... this interview is important."
My pleading did not work. "Sir, I am not able to transfer
you. If you checked in one hour before your flight, as
required, then it may have been possible."
No one ever arrives one hour before their flight. I have
always made it to the airport about 30 minutes before my
flight, and even then I've more than plenty of time to
check in and board on the plane. Traveling to London is old
hat, but never before was the flight overbooked. I've seen
the plane full, but never do I recall anyone being turned
away. So I wonder why this is different. As they call the
1030 flight, I noticed a normal size group leave for the
plane, but the crowd did not strike me as being oversized,
in fact, it looked quite moderate in size.
My name is Carl Morgan, and I'm 24 years old. A year ago, I
graduated from Art and Design school, and secured a job
from the SAY designing company, Belfast, Northern Ireland,
with the parent company in London. The Belfast branch was
established over a year and a half ago, so the company is
fairly new. Two months ago the London manager, Mr. Smyth,
visited our company and spoke of the expansion of the
parent company to London. He explained that there would be
new openings and the company would be looking for people
with experience. This is a company's way of saying to its
employees that we will consider you if you apply. So I
applied for one of the new positions in London. I have a
married sister and a brother living in London as well as
two former college friends. I therefore travel to London
about once every 2 to 3 months.
My interview was at 2 p.m. with Mr. Newman, personnel
management. With the next flight to London at 1:30 p.m.,
the earliest I would arrive at Heathrow Airport, London,
would be 2:30 p.m. plus the trip from the airport to London
would take at least another hour. So I would be lucky if I
arrived by 3:30.
I phoned Mr. Newman's office to explain what happened, but
he was not available. His secretary assured me that Mr.
Newman was a very warm and easy person, and that I had
nothing to worry about. She told me that once I arrived in
London I was to make my way to the office. She told me she
would pass my message onto Mr. Newman.
I must say that I did feel very relieved after speaking
with her. She also told me that she had compiled my folder
with my qualifications and references and that it looked
impressive. I knew for certain she was being graceful, and
I had this picture of a woman like my mother assuring all
the interviewees. I knew I had received good marks at
college, and the boss said he would give me a good
reference. To say my folder was impressive, all I could do
was smile at such a sweet charming lady.
Belfast International Airport has more in its title than
its airport. It is still relatively small in comparison to
other major city airports, but there is a friendly
atmosphere to it. I am often reminded of children
pretending they are adults, so I think it is with Belfast
International. I sat at the open bay windows looking out on
to the distant runway, and watching a plane land. The sky
was overcast, and I was afraid it would rain. According to
the weather forecast, London had sunshine with no
threatening rain. The gray overcast sky with the gentle
airport music in the background mixed with the low talk of
the passengers has having a hypnotic effect. My mind began
to drift, and for some unknown reason I had a sense of
peace and well-being. Now where this came from I don't
know, and why it should have came, I likewise don't know.
Not that I'm into drugs, but I sure was feeling very
relaxed.
It was then that I noticed him. He was tall, about 6' 2". I
would guess his weight at 180 lbs., and I could tell by his
proportions he worked-out. His sandy brown hair had a crew
cut, which gave him a business appearance yet youthful. I
would have placed his age at 26 or 27 years old. While he
was clean shaven, there was a ruggedness to his facial
features. I suppose many women would say that he was manly,
sexy and definitely handsome.
One moment, what am I thinking about? I have never thought
of another man as being handsome or sexy? Come to think of
it, I've never thought of any man as being handsome or sexy
for that matter. I may consider myself to be handsome, sexy
and good looking, but then that's another story.
He wore a white cream shirt with a darker matching color
cream tie. He had a suit of light brown pants with a
matching jacket. His shoes were a darker shade of brown but
not a dark brown. He had the jacket over his arm with a
suitcase in the other. I could see he wore a gold watch
that looked expensive.
He stood at my table pointing to an empty chair. "Is there
someone setting here?"
"No," looking into his dark brown eyes.
"Then may I join you?"
"Yes, of course."
There was something about the eyes. I'm not too sure what,
but there was something. There are people you meet, and
they seem to have the ability to see through you. If you
lie to them, they can see it written on your face. His eyes
had that power, the power to see through into the soul.
There was something very attractive about them.
He sat, smiling as he did so. Then raising his hand across
the table, "Dave Stone is my name."
As we shook hands, there was warm sensation within my body.
"Carl Morgan, pleased to meet you," I managed to say.
Dave had an aura to him. I sensed the confidence of a
person who knew what he was about. For some reason, I was
feeling like a 16 year-old girl on her first big date. This
is stupid, Carl, get a grip on your self. First, you are
not sixteen and second, you are not a girl.
Dave looked at me and smiled, as if he knew what I was
thinking. "Is your trip to London for business or
pleasure?"
"Business, I've an interview for a new position."
"The best of luck then," he added. "My mother always said
'faint heart never won fair lady' so don't be faint."
"You must have had a good mother," smiling at him. Why the
hell am I smiling at this guy? Shit he probably thinks I'm
queer.
"Yes, I do have a kind mother. Anyway Carl, what sort of an
interview are you going for?"
I explained I worked for SAY designing company in Belfast,
and the company had new positions in London. "So, I am
hoping to get a new position."
My work at SAY is designing women's clothes. Women do have
a greater selection when it comes to clothes. I have
enjoyed attending the modeling of our designs, but I've
especially enjoyed meeting the women after the show. Some
of the beauty of the women is breathtaking. It's impossible
to believe that so much beauty could be contained in such a
small group.
"That's odd," remarked Dave. "We design women's apparel for
Eve's Desires." Now Eve's Desires is the British answer to
Victoria's Secret but with more to it, and the more to it I
will say no more.
I realized that Dave had similar work to my own, only he
designed what went under the dresses and blouses. With
this, we both began to take about all sorts of issues about
the world of fashion to models to customers. I found myself
relaxed as we got ready to board our flight.
When we boarded the plane, I learned that Dave was in
first-class, but he was also next to me. He smiled about
the fact that we were together, adding, "At least the
conversation will shorten the flight."
I could only think how strange this coincidence was. While
I had the window seat, Dave was sitting in the aisle seat.
I watched Dave place his briefcase in the overhead locker.
His stretching accentuated his masculine and lean figure.
What in the hell is coming over me, I thought. This has got
to be sick! I'm changing into a homo! I blushed at my
thoughts.
Dave looked down at me, "Are you feeling well? You look a
little flush."
"No, I'm fine. I have a thing about flying." I lied, but
what could I say. 'Oh Dave I think you have a wonderful
body, and you look so masculine.'
Looking at Dave, I sensed he could detect my thoughts and
feelings, but if he could, he said nothing. From here on, I
just wanted to curl up in my seat and sleep. Not that I was
tired, but I really felt embarrassed and ashamed at my
thoughts. I just hoped that Dave did not want to talk, but
I was wrong!
"Carl, did you know that boyfriends buy more intimate
apparel for their girlfriends than the girlfriends do for
themselves?"
"No, I never realized that."
"Yes," he went on to say. "Girlfriends will ask their
boyfriends to buy them intimate apparel. This is a real
turn-on for a woman. They believe their boyfriends see them
as sexy in the underwear they bought. After all Carl, if
you think a piece of underwear is sexy, and your girlfriend
believes you think it's sexy then why is she not going to
wear it."
I could see the reasoning in his argument, and it did make
good sense. I suppose that explains why my girlfriend wore
the things I bought her all the time. Of course, I think
she tossed them all after we broke up.
"I've often asked men what do they consider as sexy on a
woman. I look upon this as a customer satisfaction
question," he said with a smile. "Once I explain the nature
of my work, and the man gets over the initial
embarrassment, you'd be surprised with the styles, colors
and textures men dream of seeing their wives or girlfriends
in."
"I'd consider you, Carl, to be an open guy. Perhaps you can
help me, and I will try to help you."
I was not quite sure what he was talking about, but I
didn't want to look or appear stupid, "Sure," I replied.
Dave stood up and removed a sketchbook and pen from his
briefcase in the overhead locker. Sitting down, he began to
open the sketchbook. From what I could see, the pages had
drawings of beautiful women with various styles of
lingerie. Some of the drawings were of the whole model
while others had just the upper portions. Some of the
drawings were in black and white but most were in color.
Looking at me with his head turned sideways, "Carl, I want
you to picture a very beautiful woman. A woman that you
would love to date and be seen with. A woman that you would
consider sexy."
I thought for a moment, somewhat embarrassed about
describing a woman that I would consider beautiful. "Well,"
I began. "Her height is 5' 7" and her weight is 140 lbs.
Her hair is a rich harvest gold blonde, and her eyes are a
seawater blue. Her hair would fall to her shoulders in
curls and waves. Her breasts are a size D, but they are
firm, and her skin is as white as the snow."
I watch as Dave began to draw the picture of my ideal
woman. He drew with what looked like a 5" twig sharpen to a
point, but there was no charcoal or lead point; there was
no ballpoint or nib for ink. Yet this twig made not just
black lines and curves, but as Dave spoke the black lines
and dark shades change to the color Dave spoke. I felt an
uneasiness. How could this happen? Watching black lines
change into other colors.
Dave must have sensed my uneasiness. He looked at me with
his head slightly sideways, and he wore a soft smile as if
to say do not be afraid. "The pen is one of those
promotional gimmicks. I forget where I got it. It's good,
isn't it?"
I was unable to speak. I was unable to move. All I could do
was to watch Dave as he drew the image of a very beautiful
woman. Watching the image, it seemed to change and become
real, as if it were a picture from a fashion magazine. An
empty seat separated Dave from me. He lifted the armrest
from his seat and moved into the seat next to mine.
"Look Carl," holding the picture for me to see. "I want you
to place your hand on the picture. You have nothing to be
afraid of."
I had no control over my body. My body was numb. It seemed
belong to another's control. My hand raised itself and
touched the image of the beautiful girl. I could hear my
own voice speak, "I want you."
Very thing was wrong. I felt as if a thousand ants were
crawling over my body, my face and my hair. Something was
happening to me. Something was changing me. Something over
which I had no power or control was molding me. I didn't
feel frightened or afraid: there was just a numbness in my
mind.
I felt the harvest gold hair tumble unto my shoulders.
There was a heaviness on my chest, and looking I saw
breasts rising and falling with my breathing. My fingers
were slim and small with a diamond ring on my right hand.
My inner body bolded and moved as it reshaped its inner
self. Squeezing my legs together, I could no longer feel my
manhood. My cloths changed color. My black trousers became
a dark royal blue changing to a skirt that moved up my legs
stopping 3" above the knees. My white shirt and dark green
tie changed to a lavender color blouse.
Dave leaned and whispered in my ear, "Do not be afraid, my
Carol." Resting his right hand on my leg, he slow moved it
in a circle. Then looking into my face, he kissed me. I
felt his tongue enter my mouth. He raised his hand to touch
my breast sending a sensation throughout my body.
My mind fought and struggled; yet the struggle was not a
heartfelt one. I did not want a man kissing me, and yet it
didn't seem strange to me. I did not want to be a woman,
and yet I felt as if I had always been one. I did not want
to be a beautiful woman, but I enjoyed the attention it
brought me. Kissing while massaging my breast was causing
my head to spin. Like rushing water, old memories were
being washed away. My old life was slow being replaced by
another life.
My body was responding to his kisses and touches. I was
aroused, and I wanted Dave. I wanted him badly, yet I could
not understand what was happening to me. I felt the
conflict of thoughts and emotions: I am a man and not a
woman. I should not feel like this towards another man. It
is wrong. It is immoral, it not right.
"Don't fight it my baby," whispered Dave into my ear as he
continued to massage my breasts. "Your body is beautiful,
my Love, and tonight, I'm going to enjoy making passionate
love to you. Your body is already craving for love. We will
make love on this night of the full moon as we did many
centuries ago."
I felt as if I were floating, drifting upon the wings of
the wind. Feelings and emotions, which I never experienced
before, were washing and soothing my mind and body. Who I
was seemed to be of little importance. I just knew that an
inner peace was at work in my life. Slowly, my mind began
to descend, and I felt the swirling of feelings cover me
like water. My thoughts became disjointed and
uncoordinated, and I lost hold of my consciousness.
Dave moved back to his aisle seat still looking at his
beautiful wife. He couldn't help but smile as he knew her
mind and thoughts were changing as she slept. All the
memories of Carl Morgan would be gone and replaced with new
ones, and Carl Morgan would simply cease to exist in this
reality. He found it strange to discover the long lost soul
of his beloved hiding in the body of a man. For over two
hundred years he had searched for her, and now she was
back, they were reunited.
THE END
Sherry
- 11.01.2021
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