Page 165 of Better When Shared
Ditch the Rules
An MMF Erotic Story
Kristin Lance
Chapter 1
Hamish
This couldn’t be right.
The thing bobbing on the dark water of a lake at the edge of Seattle looked more like a child’s toy than an actual aircraft. It was bright yellow and well-kept, but… tiny. And it had pontoons. A young man was throwing luggage into a compartment in the tail, as a woman in a pilot’s cap checked something, then turned to the line of passengers.
Why had I rushed to stand in the front?
“First time on a seaplane?” The pilot’s voice was aggressively cheerful. She had the kind of sun-weathered, rugged look that suggested she’d been doing this for decades, but that did nothing to settle my nerves.
“Is this...” I cleared my throat, trying to inject some authority into my voice. “Is this the only way to get to Friday Harbor today?”
“There’s always the ferry if you’d prefer.” She took my ticket from my limp hand and checked my name off the manifest. “You’ll need to catch a bus to Anacortes and get a ticket for the ferry. It takes hours. Seems like a waste when you’ve already got a ticket and can be there in thirty minutes!”
Hours on a bus and ferry versus thirty minutes in this aerial death trap. Which was preferable?
“Hamish, where’s your sense of adventure?”
The memory of Imogen’s voice echoed in my mind, and I closed my eyes, picturing her face, lit up with excitement, as she’d told me about her job. My chest tightened with the fear that had been clawing at me since she’d left. Since I’d backed out of going with her.
What if her adventure proved too alluring? What if she finally realized she was too good for me? I was too anxious, too boring, too set in my ways, and Imogen was all sunlight and smiles, beautiful in every way.
“The flight will be fine,” I managed, rubbing at the ache in my chest that surfaced every time I thought of the possibility of being left behind.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? I was here to prove that I wasn’t a that guy anymore. I was here to show Imogen that I could embrace a more adventurous life, and that what we had was worth fighting for. Even if it meant climbing into a small yellow death trap.
I froze, my hand on the handle of the passenger door, as I rethought every life choice that had brought me to this moment. But when someone walked up behind me, I panicked and raced up the ladder, not wanting to be confronted about my fears.
Once I was inside, I wondered if a confrontation was truly the lesser of two evils. The cramped interior held only six seats, including the pilot’s. No first class. No business class. Just sticky vinyl seats and the overwhelming scent of cleaning solution.
I clambered over a folded seat and lowered myself into the seat behind the pilot, as the couple behind me settled together into the back row. The back of the pilot’s seat sat too close, crowding my knees. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I was certain the other passengers could hear it.
“Beautiful day for flying!” The man sliding into the seat next to me was middle-aged, with the kind of robust joviality that made it obvious that he was either American…or Santa Claus. Given his thick white beard, it could have gone either way. He settled into his seat with the casual ease of someone who considered small aircraft normal transportation. Another tick in the ‘Santa Claus’ column, I supposed, smiling to myself.
“You heading to the islands for fishing or relaxation? Or both?”
“Ummm. Neither.” Telling him that I was chasing my wife seemed like an overshare.
“Well, you’ll relax whether you like it or not,” he said. “Been coming up to San Juan Island for fifteen years now, and I still get excited every time.”
I managed a weak shrug, not trusting my voice because while the American had been chatting, the plane had started to move, taxiing across the water with alarming speed. Planes were supposed to roll on solid ground, not bob and weave like boats.
The engine noise increased, a steady drone that almost drowned out my seatmate.
Unfortunately, he was up to the challenge, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. “Of course, the weather can be tricky this time of year,” he yelled. “Had a crossing last month where the wind was so strong we had to circle Friday Harbor twice before we could land. The pilot earned her money that day, I’ll tell you what!”
What the fuck? Wasn’t it obvious that I was terrified? I might have told him so, if I hadn’t been too anxious to speak.
The plane was picking up speed now, the pontoons slapping against the water with increasing frequency. Through the small window, I watched the shoreline blur past, and my stomach lurched with each bounce.
This was it. This was how I was going to die. All because I’d been too much of a coward to join my wife when she’d first left for this trip.
