Hosties today (of course you couldn't call them that; you couldn't even call the stewardesses — they were 'Flight Attendants' or 'Cabin Staff') seemed to want to get you strapped in, throw you a pack of peanuts and maybe later a meal, and then have done with you. Shut up and watch the in-flight entertainment and leave them alone to gossip at the front of the cabin. Woes betide if you push the call button. "You want what!!!!"Mike knew that the flight attendants referred to the passengers as 'sheep'.The aisle began to crowd with economy-class passengers waiting to get further down the aisle to their seats. There were the usual suspects who made the experience of flying today so much fun:Fat, loud, Americans: men and women dressed in Bermuda shorts, T-shirts, and sports shoes, with their gaggle of undisciplined spoiled brats who seemed to think that everyone on the plane needed to know they were going to visit Aunt Sally on Long Island.A gang of British 'Lager Louts' wearing European. "Can you imagine what it tastes like?" Yes, I have been imagining it," said Amy. "Let me make a suggestion. Why don't you get out for a second, and I'll put the back seat down?" We agreed to do that, and we stood on the road, naked or near-naked, while Amy created a more comfortable space in the back. I took the opportunity to strip off my T-shirt. Amy spread out a sleeping bag over the flat surface in the back of the Grand Cherokee, and all three of us climbed back there. "Now, why don't we just smoke another jay?" said Amy."You're full of suggestions, aren't you?" said Josie with a grin, and produced another joint from her purse. We sat cross-legged in a little circle on the sleeping bag and passed around the herb, Josie and I buck naked, Amy demurely dressed in a cotton blouse and cut-off jeans. Sometimes weed has a dank, spicy taste that reminds me of pussy, and this was one of those occasions. As the joint made the rounds, I lazily stroked my cock. I could see that Josie and Amy.
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