This story is in 4 parts. Comments at the end of Part 4. Airport Reverie Part 2 By Tokyo ‘Are you the Doctor?’ The voice was insistent. I opened my eyes. ‘Are you the Doctor for Amsterdam?’ The woman’s face close to mine looked deeply concerned. ‘No’ I muttered, wiping the drool from my chin, ‘I’m not going to Amsterdam.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you might be missing your flight.’ And as she spoke the terminal tannoy announced in a frustrated way, would Dr. Van der Maas for Amsterdam please go to Gate 45 for immediate boarding. ‘I’m sorry’ she said again. The departure lounge was much quieter now. Through the giant plate glass window I could see the KLM jumbo jet, brightly lit in the dark of the night, impatiently waiting for Doctor Van der Maas. The Heathrow flight had been put back another 2 hours, further disrupting the plan. I got out my laptop, plugged it in, then unwrapped the DVD I had purchased. I didn’t actually have any idea if it was any good. I put the earphones on, then slipped the disk into the slot. Before starting it up I looked around. Only the woman who had woken me up sat in this small group of chairs. I faced into the quiet lounge, so I could see that the next nearest people were several bays away. The woman, sitting opposite me, was deep in thought, watching through the window behind me the jet, as it prepared for departure. I pressed the ‘play’ icon. The first thing that surprised me was the music, like something from an old silent movie. At first the screen was entirely black, then as the camera moved a white pool appeared, and was centred on the screen. But is wasn’t a pool. No it was a small pile of material which, in time with the music suddenly jumped to life. It moved of its own accord, then gradually took shape – it was a glove, no two gloves, putting themselves on. That sounds absurd, but is what appeared to be happening. In fact is was the old theatrical trick of using ultraviolet light on a black background, only things coloured white showed. The gloves were being put on by a pair on hands, but the hands could not be seen, only the gloves themselves. And the gloves came to life. A pair of long shiny evening gloves, of leather, or silk, so finely made and closely fitting that you could see every muscle move beneath the surface, and you could even see the shape of the woman’s nails at the ends of the long delicate fingers. And then the gloves began to dance, to explore, in an exaggerated way, like a mime artist, feigning surprise when they found a shiny, short zip. And then I realised that despite the odd content of the movie, I was getting hard. But I had not prepared myself – my tight trousers were all wrong, I had no freedom to move. I paused the film. Got up, unplugged the earphone and started to head for the toilet. But I hesitated, then the woman sitting opposite me, seeing my concern, said ‘don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your computer’. When I came back, bladder emptied, penis carefully arranged inside my trousers so that it could inflate unrestricted if it should so desire, I noticed that the Jumbo was now being shunted back from the pier. Some people (presumably including Dr. Maas) were heading back for Europe. I sat down and started the movie again, but was alarmed when the musical soundtrack blurted from the computers speakers. I hastened to plug in the earphone, but again the woman opposite spoke. ‘Its ok. I like Gershwin’. I hesitated, then weakly smiled. ‘OK’. When the white gloved fingers delicately pulled down the zip the effect was quite shocking. It was not the penis itself, nor the shaved testicles that followed, but the bright redness of the head. Somehow I had thought that the movie was in black and white. Against the pitch black backdrop there had been only the elegantly dancing white gloves, but now there was a pair of balls in their wrinkled white sac, a long chalk-white shaft, and the shiny stretched pink skin of the penis head. And that was all – no legs, no body, no arms, no face. Only the male genitals glowing in the ultraviolet light. And so the movie progressed. The white gloves played with the genitals for a while, before another pair of gloves appeared. They too sprang to life, as they were pressed firmly onto a pair of unseen hands. They were also white, but much more coarsely made. The stitching down each finger forming a series of crude serrations. They could have been gardening gloves, but when they were held up the dimples on the inside of the fingers and the palm showed that they were driving gloves. They could have even been for a motor cycle as each was extended by a large flat gauntlet at the wrist. These gloves didn’t dance, but they did strut, and they did also find a zip, long and delicate, which when opened revealed at first a pair of perfectly round white breasts, also disembodied, floating eerily in the dark. The gloves roughly groped these, carelessly, before pulling the zip further down through the darkness until the ragged blood red wound of a woman’s genitalia was at last revealed. Without any preparation one of the coarse gloves forced an entry, first one finger, then another, then with some jerking the third, and finally with considerable effort all fingers disappeared and only the smooth cuff was visible. The thumb remained in sight, and lurched backward and forward roughly over the clitoris. The next sequence was hard to interpret. All that could be seen was a small circle of the female crotch, with a white gauntlet protruding, and the jerking thumb, but this group of items formed a single beast which lunged about the black screen. Was the woman in paroxysms of ecstasy, thrashing with pleasure as the internal hand excited her, or was she being pulled and pushed, forced into grotesque flight by the huge invading parasite? Suddenly self conscious I looked up from the screen. The woman opposite was still staring out of the window behind me. The lounge was quiet, only the frantic music of George Gershwin quietly emanating from my computer prevented the room being entirely silent. When I looked back to the screen I couldn’t at first make out what I was seeing. It had changed. It continued to be all black and white, but the shape was abstract. What was it? Three orbs were gyrating against each other, two large ones making a figure of eight pattern at the top, and a smaller circle danced between them below. Then those above and the one below seemed to pull apart, stretching between them a great thick rope of elastic? Ah! A prick, half emerging from between two white buttocks, and the orb beneath was in fact two balls squashed together in the shaved scrotal sack. Pulling apart, stretching the thick rope, and then thudding together, stretch and collide, stretch and collide … until at last the pink head emerged entirely and stood still, erect, throbbing, for several seconds, before the beautiful tight white gloves returned and gently, slowly, in time to Gershwin’s melody, worked the shaft. The film maker must have done some tricks with the speed of projection, for when the gouts of semen finally exploded, each spurt was in time with the closing beats of the music. And the bright white pool they made was centred in the black screen of the final shot. ‘Yes, I like Gershwin’ said the woman opposite. ‘And his Rhapsody in Blue was very appropriate’. But she wasn’t looking at me, she was still looking over my shoulder. I turned to see what was happening outside that so fascinated her. But there was nothing. Only pitch blackness. The jet had long since departed, leaving only reflections. Reflections of the entire departure lounge, and of her, and of me, and of my computer with the colourful screen saver swirling across it.