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*quot;I'm sorry, sir, there have been severe thunderstorms in Chicago, and O'Hare airport is closed for the day. All flights in and out are canceled*quot; The flight attendant was really tired of this. She'd been saying the same thing for an hour. It was hard to relate to the bad weather; here in Atlanta it was warm and sunny. Some people acted as if it were her fault, others were more sympathetic, but they all had the same questions. *quot;City of the Broad Shoulders! Hah! Why do they let a little rain stop them?*quot; *quot;Can I get on a different plane, direct to [insert Denver, Minneapolis, Toronto, etc.]*quot; *quot;I expect the airline to reimburse my hotel bill!*quot; And so on.

At least some of the passengers were cute. Like that boy she just talked to. Cute face, pretty good build, probably on the swim team, pleasant to talk to. Couple of inches taller, he might be really hot. He also looked broke, poor kid. He'd probably have to spend a miserable night here in the airport, then half the day tomorrow. At least he didn't have to change planes again. Chicago was his destination.

Like I said, he was cute, but not so cute that she wanted to grab him, hustle him off to the local digs for flight attendants, fuck him into a daze and then pass him around to any other stews who shared the same place. Even if it had occurred to her, she was due to fly out to Philadelphia in a couple of hours, where her husband would meet the plane. So, yes, this is a porno story, but it doesn't involve sexy flight attendants.

The boy, Carl Baldwin, really wasn't all that young; he'd turned eighteen just last week. And 5'8*quot; really isn't all that short. Otherwise, he would have agreed with her appraisal. The way he thought about it, he was good-looking enough that a girl wouldn't kick him out of bed, but she wouldn't knock herself out to get him into bed in the first place. That was the story of his life, anyway. He was a virgin, though not for lack of trying. He'd get shy and tongue-tied. His buddies even set him up once with a known pushover, but he botched it. (She was nice, though. She never told the guys what hadn't happened.) The funny thing was, he had a solid, forceful personality in everything else he did, and even funnier, his schlong was a good inch or more longer than average, which looked huge hanging from his sort-of-short frame. He knew these things could be sexy assets, but he just couldn't close the sale on a date. You've known guys like him. You might even be one. Mostly, he needed some self-confidence.

He was also broke. It was his fault; two days ago, the night before his buddy's wedding, he'd gotten drunk and gambled his cash away in an Indian casino that wasn't too diligent about examining his fake ID. He had no credit card, which was probably just as well. His parents were camping in Canada. They'd deliberately left their cell phones behind, but what could they have done anyway?

His only alternative to spending the night in the airport was to call his aunt -- his mother's oldest sister, who lived somewhere in the Atlanta metro area. The problem was that she was a large, domineering, bitch, and a borderline alcoholic as well; a thoroughly unpleasant woman. Her husband was worse. They had a daughter a couple months older than Carl, but he hadn't seen her, or any of them, in years. He assumed his cousin was the defeated, crushed soul typical of such families.

Still, it was only for one night. He'd call. The worst that could happen was that they'd turn him down. Heart in throat, he used his AT