“The human being is never who he is … but the self he seeks.”
CHAPTER 1. Stalk at first sight.
When I was younger I had a fetish for sissy maids, but when I realised that they didn’t actually exist I developed a fetish for a more realistic feminine role: air hostess. The day I followed a beautiful flight attendant out of Heathrow Airport, however, was the point where I crossed the line from fetish to obsession. I couldn’t help myself – she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen and was wearing the prettiest uniform, too, and I couldn’t do what you’re supposed to do when you see a beautiful girl: appreciate and forget.
I appreciated…and followed.
Of course, when you think of guys following girls you think of sexual predators, but I didn’t want to sleep with this beautiful airhostess…I wanted to be her. I’ll admit that probably sounds creepier than wanting to sleep with her, but girls look at other girls all the time and wanna be like them. It’s just…I’m a boy. Well, my birth certificate says I’m a boy…I think I’m some kind of a boy/girl (apart from when I start perving over uniforms and then I think I’m just a perv!)
Anyway, I first saw the airhostess as she walked through Terminal 1. She breezed through the crowd like a magnetic wave – every male head spinning on its axis towards her. She was speaking by phone and although she had an English accent, there were clearly some exotic ancestors swimming around the gene pool. She was olive skinned – her complexion a delicate coffee colour that contrasted with the starched white blouse of her uniform and the yellow scarf around her neck.
“Make sure you feed the dog,” she said, switching phone ears. I was sitting on a bench as she came to a halt outside a pharmacy called Boots – ten meters away. “And make sure you pick up my uniform from the dry cleaners…I have an Atlanta flight on Tuesday. Wait there.” She stopped and pressed a button to switch calls. “Where are you?” she asked, turning her head around and scouring the terminal. I, meanwhile, scoured her.
She looked like a doll, but rather than Mattel blonde hair and blue eyes, everything about her was dark. She was more of a Latina or Pocahontas Barbie. If you really pushed me to be more accurate with the doll analogy, however, the best description would probably be a… ‘fuck doll’…a classy one made by Chanel.
As a feminist, I apologise for my turn of phrase but I can find no other way of capturing the raw sexuality she exuded. You see, she wasn’t beautiful in that angular, super model way, she was ultra-feminine with the big eyes and button nose of a little girl, but the full, red lips of a pornstar. Her enormous breasts also contrasted sharply with her Lolita face, sticking out of the uniform with the pertness of a Made in Silicon Valley sticker. But of course it was precisely this play between daddy’s little girl and daddy’s slut that made her so sexually attractive.
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