You stir to the sound of voices. Loud, clear, too close.
Every laugh, every boarding announcement, every thump of a rolling suitcase pounds inside your skull like someone cranked the volume on the world.
God. That headache’s brutal. At least you made it to your seat… right?
That thought doesn’t sit long.
Why are you lying down? Since when do economy seats have room to stretch out? And did you… actually manage to find your seat?
You force your eyes open, wincing for light that never burns your eyes. Instead, the world feels distant, larger somehow. Everything is too tall, too far. The fabric of the seat beneath your hands feels coarse, the kind of texture you only notice when it’s the size of a wrestling mat.
And then a shadow falls across your row.
A mountain walks past. Or at least, that’s what your scrambled brain tries to call it. But no it’s not a mountain. It’s a woman. A giant woman.
Her neat low bun, warm golden-brown skin, and fitted uniform hit you all at once. It’s the flight attendant you saw earlier. The one whose laugh stuck in your head for no good reason. She scans the row, frowns… then smiles.
For a split second, your pulse spikes. She’s seen you. She has to have seen you.
“Ma’am, it looks like we do have two seats together for the both of you.”
Your stomach plummets.
She didn’t even see you.
She’s talking to someone else.
You shout, wave your arms, but your voice vanishes under the thunder of boarding chatter. She leans slightly over the row to double-check the overhead bin, and your view is filled with soft fabric and warm curves of her breasts that threaten to spill out.
Not the time. You tell yourself as manage to peel your eyes away to focus on the mission at hand.
“You do? That’s amazing!”
That Bronx accent. Sabrina.
Your face goes cold.
The seat beneath you stretches out like a field. And that’s when it hits you. You’re standing right on her seat.
Of course. Cosmic punishment. Karma for the way you ogled her in line earlier.
The drop to the floor below might as well be ten stories. Even if you jumped, odds are you wouldn’t survive the impact or you’d just end up getting flattened by a rolling suitcase or even stepped on before anyone noticed.
Sabrina’s steps rumble closer, each one sending a tremor through the fabric beneath your feet. She’s not alone either. Walking beside her is another woman older but just as if not more gorgeous, with elegant dark hair swept back and a soft cream sweater hugging her figure like it’s tailored for her and of course black leggings that could had been painted onto her body the way the hid almost nothing. Her smile is easy, warm, and confident in a way that makes her beauty hit differently.
They stop just short of the row. Sabrina laughs at something the attendant says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The same effortless motion that wrecked your concentration in line. Her companion’s hand rests lightly on her arm, their banter rolling together like they’ve done this a thousand times. Her accent was thicker than Sabrina, if it wasn’t clear that Sabrina was Italian American you definitely knew this lady was.
You wave harder, and shout at the three beautiful woman until your voice strains. No one even flinches.
Your heart hammers as Sabrina steps closer to your seat, now her seat. As she lifts as she lifts a luggage the size a 10 story building. Her chest on nearly full display for you.
No you needed to focus. You didn’t have time to enjoy the views of the rolling hills she called her breasts…right?
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