Economy–awwardness of Zero Inches

"Take advantage of the #1 rule of air travel: no matter what time it is, it's always acceptable to drink."

Hector moved the miniature Jack bottle, the amber fluid and black and white label, into the top left corner of the flimsy tray, carefully adjusting it a bottle's width from the left edge and back. The second bottle followed the precise arrangement in the top right corner. The third bottle was on its side. His thumb nail delicately and diligently wiggled under the thin label to pry it off, while preserving the smooth inside surface of the label. A cheap 50 cent, blue ballpoint pen was readily on the tray as well.

"Business or pleasure," he asked turning to the center seat.

A woman in her thirties was sitting there. The black hair was a plain cut without the shine or texture of product. She wore a blue business dress. It modestly covered her knees and décolleté, except for a little perfunctory round cutout to show a little skin beneath her collarbone without ever getting near sexy. Despite the demure appearance, she had a plain golden necklace that hinted at her carrying about looking nice. There was a light smell of ethyl alcohol from her perfume. Modest, yet giving her the illusion of being nice. He had already spotted the wedding band on her left hand.

"I am returning from giving a talk at a symposium of international genetic apiary biologists. I am looking forward to seeing my family again in Cincinnati. I have two daughters and a sweetheart of a husband." She paused for a moment and touched a big mole on her left hand to think. Her face displayed a decision being made, and she pulled out her iPhone. Her fingers swiped across the screen. "This is them." There was a family photo with a photographer's background of marbled blues. Two young boys stood next to a man with his shirt tucked in and a bowl haircut of thick hair. The man looked straight ahead with a plain face and without sparkle in his eyes. The lips were pressed together with a slight expression of a smile.

"Wonderful family," said Hector without any emotion or conviction. "I'm a sales person for Cisco. I sell Internet routers all over America. I'm seeing someone in a way. We might take things in a romantic direction."

He set the label-free bottle on its side. The tips of his three most dexterous fingers were corking up with tension to spin it. The bottle's scraping sound was muffled by the fan noise of the airplane engines. It stopped pointing at the left bottle. He marked a line on the white inside of the label. Then, he took a tiny sip from the left bottle.

The woman thoughtlessly caressed the mole on her left forearm, as she watched him. Her face displayed that she was appraising the situation. There was something oddly familiar about that very particular way that the woman touched her mole. He felt like he had seen that particular touch a million times, yet had completely forgotten about it. There was even a familiar emotion triggered in his mind. He felt like relaxing into an old t-shirt that had become a close buddy.

"Did you make any sales?" asked the woman.

"The sales cycle for multi-million dollar installations is a 12 to 18 months. So, any particular sales trip is trading a million mundane technical facts that make the deal creep closer to its conclusion. It's not very exciting. Actually, I studied biology in college. That was much more interesting. I simply couldn't find a well-paying job in the field. What did you say again? Apiary biology? We actually had one of the biggest apiary profs. You didn't happen to go to Northwestern, did you?" he replied carelessly babbling.

She gave him a stern and upraising look. He was startled by the unusual reaction to comparing colleges. His gaze was stuck on her eyes and nose. Those actually had a faint resemblance of Pam, his best friend in college. They had been study partners most days of the week. They had their study spot at the back of the Elder dining hall on the North side of campus. Stripping away the motherly look and the dusting of aging, it could totally be Pam. He got excited and let go of his drinking game.

"Yes, I did." She looked at him stern and displeased. "I barely remember and am glad to have left that time behind me."

"Oh, my god," exclaimed Hector, "do you remember Professor Jenkins in biology 101? He always wore suspenders. My class one day showed up everyone wearing suspenders. That day went down in history."

"No, I did biology 101 with Professor Mandarin. Few people know him. He left for Arizona State the next year." Her voice was cold. And she avoided looking at him. He was taking her social cue to drop the conversation. Yet, the excitement didn't let him.

"I'm Hector," he said with a sales man smile and a hand reached out for a firm handshake.

"I'm doctor Jenibelle," she said unhappily with a token handshake. Damn, he needed to know her first name. And the last name would have changed from the marriage. He looked at her again giving her the questioning look to make her burst out, it's me. She didn't react. Maybe, he was wrong. The traces of Pam were faint in that woman's face.

Pam and he had both been introverts. They had stuck together for the last two years in college. They had walked together with their heavy textbooks. She had asked him to teach her chess. He had enjoyed being able to show her. The delight on her face about the rules and tactics of the game had been a delight to him. Aside from a good conversation partner, he had enjoyed staring at her boobs for hours. When her head was down pensively over the chess board, his eyes had relished the skin, roundness, and line in between her boobs with impunity. She had quickly caught up to his level. He had had to keep studying at night in chess books to stay ahead of her one step to keep his winning streak. She had loved a good challenge as inspiration more than the nurturing of being allowed to win every once in a while.

He had completely forgotten about that chapter in his life. His therapist had asked him many times about friends and influential people in his life. This whole big chapter had been closed, as if repressed. He mentally walked the hallways again with her. A smirk drew on his face when he remembered the day that they had been making fun off the wild cat statue in Ryan's field. She had struggled the cold metal neck of the cat. He had fake licked it. It had been a giddy day.

"You look familiar," started Hector again.

"Northwestern is a big place with over 6,000 freshman. There is a good chance we never met," said doctor Jenibelle coldly.

Hector couldn't understand her coldness. People from Northwestern always at least shared some jokes and commemorated the good times of college life. "Did you hear about the Northwestern student who transferred to Michigan? He raised the average IQ of both schools." He sullied himself with his drinking game. The score of the right side was three sips ahead of the left side. He had carefully kept score on the inside of the label.

Had there been a falling out, some bitter disagreement, between the two. He walked the annals of his memory as if they were a dust-covered book that he had found in an attic. He hadn't thought about Pam ever since leaving college. He was fond of the memories he discovered. And there was definitely something at the graduation party. He could feel an emotional gravity, something that made the inside of his mouth moist and got the blood rushing to his brain.

The house party had been unlike how college parties are portrayed in movies. There hadn't been a crowded space with hot humans going crazy. There had been a couch with average to ugly looking guys slouched down so far that they were practically lying. Every once in a while, someone had said something: "Allison dining hall is going to have a special ice cream selection before summer break." "Fucking, strawberry, I can't stand it," had replied someone in disgust. There had been trash accumulated around them, empty chips bags, beer bottles, a broken lamp shade, someone's forgotten sweatshirt.

A group of girls had been chatting in the kitchen, while drinking boxed wine from plastic cups. "Professor Jameson is such a creep, and he gives mean grades," had yapped a high pitched girl. "Totally," had replied a redhead. "I think he made some interesting points about wolf pack dynamics being family based rather than dominance based." The blond girl with the red cup had given him a look and then turned away. "You know how else gives mean grades? Professor Turnkey!" she told her friends ignoring Hector. "O M G," had spelled out another girl emphatically. The girl circle had moved a little tighter to shut him out. He had wandered on to the next room.

The next room, someone had offered him a joint. "We've got enough munchies to survive a zombie outbreak, dude." Someone had been munching Cheetos with a trail of orange that thinned as it had moved from his chin across the t-shirt towards the pants. "Yo, fuck, the killer monkeys are coming," had hollered someone behind him in an effort to get Hector to stay.

Feeling out of place, he had heard noise coming from one of the bedrooms. He had politely knocked and then opened the door. The door had been reluctant to open. He had been pushing something across the floor, which was pretty common for crap to pile up behind a door or just anywhere. The room had been dimly lit with the windows blocked and the lights out. Two guys had been squatting in front of the wall with an eager stare, like a boxing match, on the bed in the center. Mike had been standing tall at the foot of the bed, like a referee.

Hector had been pushing a mess of a book bag and empty Coors bottles with his foot to get an empty spot on the floor to step into the room. He had hated entering bedrooms. The belongings of the dweller had always been spilled on the floor. You never knew if you'd step on a prized possession or step on discarded food that would spill into a disgusting mess on the carpet. He had felt testy shoving the door shut behind him.

There had been a guy fucking on the bed. The white ass was bulbous. The thrusts had been fast. The back had had muscles bulged tense from a partial pushup. Sweat had been running in the valley that the muscles had created down the spine. He had stumbled into one of those semi-public closed door fucks.

It had been Pam's face underneath. He recognized the face of his near daily study partner. The black eyebrows had made her eyes appear dark. Her cheeks had been a little chubby, not fat, not skinny, simply round, warm, friendly, like a normal girl next door. Her face had looked plastered. Her eyes had been non-reactive. She had been a passive starfish. On the side, her pasty, white skin that had never been exposed to sun was showing. He got a look at a little of her side boob. He settled in to watch the show of his friend, a complete flipside of what he had known about her.

The guy on top of her had gotten hold of a half empty beer bottle on the crumpled bed. He had tried to pour the peer into her mouth from two inches away. All the simultaneous thrusting had made him miss. The amber had run over her nose and down her face. Pam had tried to raise her arms to protect herself. They had only raised a foot high off the bed and had stirred the air two feet away. The spectators cheered with devious gusto. The fucking student had kept pouring the beer over her face making circles. She had been too intoxicated to fight back or display real displeasure. Nobody had cared about the beer soaking the mattress. It had been that kind of messed up bedroom and that kind of fucked up crowd.

He had stood there gaping at his friend being abused in the worst possible way. His brain had been grappling with the fact that his good friend, who had never been drinking or partying, had drunk herself smashing drunk that night, how she had gotten in with this crowd that she had always admonished. How could his friend of endless hours of nice talk on the lawn in front of Price Hall go from never even talking about kissing to throwing her body at a crowd of disparaging guys? He had never dared taking her into his masturbation fantasies out of respect. And there she had been, the most vulgar slut on the mattress.

How did a girl form the decision to drink her consciousness out of the way for being taken? How could a guy be so uncaring to pour beer over her face? A strong pounding of his heart and burning redness in his face had spiked the moment.

The fucking guy had grunted roughly and had gotten up. He had flung the wet and bright red condom into the darkness of the floor. A huge smile of success had been on his face. He had been clear cut and in trim shape.

Pam had lain unmoved on her back. Her body had been deliciously youthful with tight, smooth skin. Her belly, thighs, calves, cheeks, and everything had a curviness that had exactly awoken feelings of desire in Hector's mind. Laying on her back, her boobs had fallen somewhat flat as mammary tissue had dispersed over her chest. The nipples were rosy, pink, XL sized nobs. Her face was sweet and totally smashed at the same time. Her eyes couldn't even peer down to see who was coming next. She stared at the ceiling, still somewhere awake to take in what happened, yet totally unable to control anything, not even her eyes. Her body had been completely surrendered to the guys in the room. She had been soft and pliable to anything they would do to her.

Mike, at the foot of the bed, called out, "$20 for anyone who wants to go next!" He had had a bundle of flat bills that had been crumbled in his right fist, a tally that suggested that she had been fucked for at least an hour.

If everyone did it, he hadn't wanted to miss out. He had gotten a twenty in his hand and gave it to Mike. Then, he had pulled down his Levis jeans. He had yanked on his socks, which had stretched a foot before snapping of his foot. He had hopped on one foot in the meantime, no longer caring about the trash, clothes and magazines that he had stepped on. He had pulled down his boxers in haste and abandon of being watched by guys, that he had dropped the boxers into the mist of garbage on the floor, or feeling awkward of the pointy boner that was hungry from Pam pussy.

He had thrust himself on top of her. The sensation of naked skin against naked skin had been amazing. His penis had been throbbing inside of her instantly. The soft sensation had sent him to heaven. Why hadn't he done this earlier? They had been wasting their lives talking about dining hall menus and what a well-manicured lawn looked like. His face had hovered over hers two inches away. He took in her homely, girl next door beauty, every inch of which he had crawled over and over during their hours-long conversation. And finally, he had opened up the feeling of lust and love.

Her lips had tried to move. She had only blown bubbles of the beer between her full, soft, pink lips. He had wiped her lips clean and had moved closer, so close that he could smell the beer soaking in the mattress. Yet, he had also been able to smell her, that cozy, personal, familiar scent of her. He loved it.

"All this is because of you." Her words had been so mumbled that he had to piece together the vowels and guess the missing sounds in between. He was pretty sure that those had been her wispy words.

"You never made a move." In a bout of another effort, she had breathed more words at him, the lips barely moving, barely a breath passing out of her incapacitated lungs. Blush and guilt had shot into Hector's chest. Not only had her human words taken him out of the make-belief of objectifying her, also her words had suggested him being involved in this episode of throwing herself away.

"And now you are hear." She had finished before drifting into a deeper state of responsiveness.

His face had been devastated like seeing a ghost. Had she waited all this time for him to make a move? And had her desperation driven her to belief herself as not good enough, to be flung out into the worst gutter. While his face had rapidly stumbled down the rabbit hole of the chain of those thoughts, his loin had kept drumming her, had kept creating good delicious feeling that had kept driving him on to fuck her unable to control himself and take his thoughts to conclusion.

Still stunned, a naked guy had entered the bed from the side. He had pushed the pillows a way. He had positioned his loin next to their faces. He had turned Pam's face toward his thick dick and had stuck her mouth with it. Pliable, her head had been moved around by his hands. Hector had had the first row seat view to the new guys cock, ball, and pubic hair. Like a dog clutching to his bone, Hector had kept fucking Pam's vagina. Unable to raise an objection, like the nice guy he had been, he had let all this happen.

The new guy had tried thrusting Pam's skull. He had quickly realized that Pam had been too far gone to close her lips around his dick, let alone suck nicely. So, he had resolved to jacking himself off into her mouth. His hand had been rubbing quickly back and force in the constraint space between her lips and his groin. Hector had discovered Pam's breasts and nipples and had been playing with them. The thoughts of guilt and relationship had left his mind that was now filled with sex without restraints. The two players were taking all they could out of the body offered to them. And she was the passive participant that had all done to her.

"I'd treat the newspaper in my front yard with more respect than that slut," had hissed one of the sitting guys. It was the peanut gallery that had made the going on even more debasing.

A guy's hand being expert, the second guy had quickly come and shot white jelly into her mouth, on her lips, and a little dash on her nose. "I'm gonna come back for seconds in ten minutes," had the second buy promised when he hopped his way to the edge of the bed.

Pam's head naturally had fallen back into anatomic position. Hector saw the wet mess of her face right in front of him. Her straight ahead gaze had fallen back onto him. Re-discovering that Hector had been there, she struggled to push her through her tranquilized lips.

"Kiss me!"

She begged him, like a whimpering, like I'm in the deepest bottom well of my life, yet all I had dreamt of my whole life was for you to kiss me romantically. He had been able to tell the faint expression of emotion in her otherwise sedated face. It had been the expression of "I am flung into the dirt of the alley, naked, dishonored, reviled, humiliated, without honor, do me this one kindness." The emotion had been barely there, which had made it ever the more heart wrenching. And his penis had kept thrusting her relentlessly driven by that good feeling of more, more, more, this is amazing!

Utterly disgusted, he had moved his lips closer to her sweet, feminine, yet cum drenched lips. With a churning stomach, he had thrust his lips onto her. And there it had been, soft, hot, lips half the size of hers. There had been moisture. There had been a limbic stimulation of his brain that had opened up his sense of pleasure. There had also been a bitter salty taste that made his bones shudder and his skin crawl.

"Oooh, gnarly, what the fuck, dude," had squealed the peanut gallery in physical pain.

Her hot little tongue had darted out just gentle between her lips, the most movement that she had done the whole night. His tongue had met hers. The hardwired limbic pleasure had been overwhelming and had taken him to another realm entirely. The bitter salty taste had been constantly there. It had been reviling him. In a way, it had stimulated him to higher acute sensory awareness to enjoy her mouth more. Instinctively, he had sucked on her lips and tongue, taking up more and more of the semen, until it was a weakly flickering aftertaste. He tried not to think about the other guy's semen in his stomach. He had been fucking her all the while, which had been flooding his focus anyway.