Write
Drink, row 18, seat f. Coca Cola. Seat g. Orange juice. Wants vodka. That'll be $5. I can charge it to your credit card or take cash. Comes back, gets vodka, goes back, give vodka.
Jacob tells the co-pilot to take the controls. "I'll be right back."
Snack, row 23, seat b.
Jacob eyes her, and she eyes back, but is helpless to move. He makes for the lavatory, but she doesn't follow.
Orange joice, row 23, seat c. Call light, row 5, seat c.
He unzips his fly, pulls down his pants, and begins to play with himself, expecting, waiting, hoping. A knock on the door. The blood rushes to his penis, and he smiles. "Yes," he says, expectantly.
"Sorry," says a gruff male voice from outside. Damn. The beep of a flight attendant call button. God damn it!
He waits. Nothing happens. He hears the drink cart rumble past the lavatory. Still nothing. He gives up, unlocks the door, and exits. As he walks past, he looks at her, and she looks back, knowingly
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