Page 17 of Sol
What would it be like to see her again? Why did it have to be under thesecircumstances?
Faster and faster, I rammed my cock into my fist, thrusting my hips, needing the release, needing to get out all of the fuckingtension.
I was getting close. A groan escaped my lips. My cock grew harder, more pointed. I threw my head back, the muscles in my arms tensing, my orgasm headed to me like a heat-seeking missile, nothing stopping it now, and with a pause and a moan, I let go, spilling onto my cupped hand. My body pulsed, my cock stillhard.
Nothing had changed since the pizza parlor. I wanted her. I only hoped that after everything I had to tell her, she’d want me,too.
After a few moments, my breathing came under control. My brain felt clearer, my bodyrelaxed.
Jesus, I was headed to Spain to tell my best friend’s sister that he died, and I joined the mile high club with myfist.
Degan would beproud.
I cleaned up, then opened the door. A pretty, dark-haired flight attendant stood right outside, as if she’d been waiting for me to getout.
God.
Had I made any noise? How long had Itaken?
Red heat burned mycheeks.
Cool it, Milner. Pretend it’snothing.
I gave her a chin lift and headed back to myseat.
* * *
“Flight attendantsplease prepare the cabin forarrival.”
My gummy eyelids opened to the cabin lights on and a flight attendant holding out a plastic trash bag to pick up my water cup. Had I slept? I didn’t thinkso.
Those metal springs inside my belly started to vibrate wildly, from anticipation. Either that, or I’d besick.
A few minutes later, with the wheels of the plane extended, I peered out the window. The sun shone clear this morning, and the sky seemed a different color blue. A bluer blue than what I knew. The earth was a bright, rusty red like a brick.Foreign. I’d expected Spain to be different than home, but not this different. Afghanistan had looked more like California thanthis.
I held my breath. My stomach lurched up. Then gravity slammed the back of my head against the rough fabric of the airplane seat, communicating our reentry to earth to myskull.
Welanded.
No parachuteneeded.
The wheels chirped on the runway, then touched down for sure, friction removing rubber and leaving it on the hot, bouncy concrete. After a few more seconds, with a whoosh of air and roar of the engine reversing, the plane came to a halt in Madrid. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and stretched out my boot-clad feet, my bodycreaky.
“Bienvenidos a España,” the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker. Welcome toSpain.
My Taco Bell-level Spanish understood that, but going forward everything else would be acrapshoot.
Fuck. What was I getting myselfinto?
We taxied along the runway, as I double-checked that Degan’s letter was in my backpack. I sighed. It wassafe.
Once the plane doors opened, I exited onto the tarmac and got my luggage. In a tired mind-fog in sweltering June heat, I made my way through customs while people all around me smoked and jabbered in another language. One I barelyunderstood.
I pulled out money from an ATM, got a SIM card for my phone, and let my parents know I’d made it. Made my way to a taxi. To the train station. And I boarded the train to Granada, exhausted, but too wired tosleep.
I’m almost there, Degan. I’ll tell her foryou.
* * *
