I'll never see Hosties in the same way..
The time - mid '90's, the place - a seaside resort not more than a mile from Brighton, the street I lived in was known as Hostie heaven due to the unfeasibly large number of air hostesses living in it (due to Gatwick being a hop skip and a jump away).Anyway, I had the 'good fortune' to um, 'mix' with several of them over a period of several years, and I hooked up with one particular sweetie whose name I dare not mention, through a friend of a friend. (she wasn't one of the usual crowd, as they all worked for Caledonian and she flewed the flag for BA).
All is going swimmingly, she lives 100 yards up the road from me, has a nice flat, is good fun and even better loved to do rudies with her uniform on (and for all those red blooded pervert frequent flyers out there, yes, they do wear all the tackle on a regular basis under their uniforms).
One night we are sitting there in post shenanigans bliss, sharing a pizza, and the conversation turns to relationships, and inevitably exes....I casually asked how she'd broken up with her previous boyfriend, and she equally casually told me that when he dumped her, she stabbed him with a kitchen knife, resulting in many stitches. Sooo, imagine the scene - there I am trying to maintain my cool, whilst frantically thinking a)I have to dump her, she's a mentalist, and b)if I dump her there's pain involved and possibly coffins and maggots for yours truly.
She then told me how, when he was released from t'hospital, she took all of his clothes down to where he worked, dumped them on top of his car and set light to them.
At this point, I decided that cowardice was the best policy, and for at least a month I lived in the back two rooms of my flat (so that she would think I wasn't in as there were no lights on), parked my car 6 or 7 streets away for the same reason, and bravely ignored all phonecalls and knocks at the door. I found out sometime later that she was the precious child of some locally notorious pikey family, so i think I got off very lightly.
Oh, and while I think of it, her very favourite thing was to get all dressed up for work, pleasure me blow jobically, and to milk my romance juice over her exposed breasts before rubbing it in and then doing her blouse up and going to work. She did long haul flights, so I would imagine she smelt pretty ripe by the end of the flights....so next time you lust at a hostie as she pours you a drink..think on...does her chest really have dandruff..?

Apologies for rubbishness, my length shrank in the wash
(Hero to Zero freeing the tadpoles on a regular basis, Wed 22 Nov 2006, 1:47, Reply)