.Well met at airport

Her name was Brandy Sontte and she was an honest to goodness scientist. Her specialty was research into human sexuality, specifically the male build-up into ejaculation.

"Sounds fascinating," I said. She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously! It's one of those things no one will admit to ignorance about. And as long as it works, no one feels a need to learn."

"Oh, yeah," she said happily. Like all too few people she had a job she actually enjoyed, an area that interested her and in which she felt that she could contribute.

Unfortunately, that area was seen by society as something to be scorned or mocked. Everyone assumed she was a perv or a slut to be in the field. Finding someone to talk to that listened without judging was rare.

After a while, I had to come clean. "Hey, when I said 'English Teacher?' That wasn't quite true." She nodded encouragingly. "I'm a writer. Science fiction."

Brandy smiled and held up her hand. "So, if I recall correctly, I'm supposed to ask you..." She counted off on her fingers, "Where do you get your ideas? What your 'real' job is? And..."

"And you're supposed to say that you always wanted to be a writer," I finished.

"Oh, yeah." We had a moment, there, two people whose jobs make such an impact on people's imagination.

"You know," I said thoughtfully, "I'd really love to read your grant proposals. In this administration, I'd guess that finding a way to say 'to measure how grunting is interpreted as feedback during oral sex,' and not get chased out of town on a rail... I bet you use up four thesauruses by the time you're done."

"You have no idea," she said and told me about her latest talk at a symposium.

As we started to land in Atlanta, I was adding to her database. She'd made a comment about the male ejaculation needing seven minutes.

"No, it doesn't," I corrected her.

"Sure it does," she insisted.

"Hey, you may be the highly paid expert," I said. She snorted. "But I've been on a submarine."

"What the hell does that have to do with it?"

"Just that it doesn't take that long."

"Oh, well, it may not seem like it, but if you actually time it..."

"Nine man bunk room," I said, "seven of them off watch at the same time. They decide to have a beat-off race-"

"A what?"

"You don't know what a beat-off race is?" She shook her head. "What do they teach you in sex school? Okay, a group of guys get together and masturbate. Whoever comes first, wins. Everyone else has to stop."

"That must be frustrating."

"Everyone says that. Of course, you are the very first person I've explained that to who didn't say 'Eugh!' before they said that." She smiled. I was really starting to like that smile.

"Anyway, they decide to have this race. They have a TV/tape deck set up in the room, so they put a porno in, jump in their racks and get comfortable.

"Then, while everyone else is pulling down their underwear, getting the lotion or whatever they do to get by, the credits roll.

"One name comes on the screen, one of the senior sailors says, 'Oh! Hey, I know her! I like her work.' Then," I gestured and grunted three times, "he beats off, successfully, before the credits finish rolling."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. He wipes off, gets up and goes out to see what movie's playing in the lounge."

"And the others had to stop?"

"Well, the naked women were on the screen by then, so they decided to see who came in second."

"And did you win?" she asked.

"I was on watch at the time," I said, crossing my heart again. "If I was involved, it'd be four more dates before I could even imagine telling this story."

We were at the terminal then and people were getting up and collecting their luggage. I'd thought the old lady in front of us was freaking deaf but she gave us a smile on the way out that nearly split her face in half.

I had a couple of hours until my connecting flight and suggested a drink. But Brandy had a close connection, so we said goodbye, looked the flight crew straight in the eye, and parted in the terminal.

Some sort of flap in the travel schedules had almost immobilized Atlanta that day. Hundreds of people were trying to shift their flight reservations.

When I got to my gate for Denver, there was a line of about 80 people waiting to check in as Standby. I shivered and sat down, opening my book and ignoring the rest of the world completely.

Some time later someone was standing right next to my feet, tapping their foot. I glanced under my book to see the foot. It was in a familiar looking sneaker. I looked up.

"Brandy!" I said. "Shouldn't you be airborne?"

"Flight got canceled," she moaned. She glanced at the kiosk where at least 90 people were currently in line. "They said Standby on this flight was my only chance to get to Denver before tomorrow evening."

"Oh, dear," I sighed. "That's rough."

"I know," she agreed. "But, hey! I didn't know you were going to Denver!"

"A convention," I said, standing and lifting my carry-on. "Hey," I said, "can you keep a secret?"

----

There are no real chances for privacy in an airport. Unless you steal them. I found a not-sufficiently-locked cleaning closet and snuck her inside.

"What are you doing, Darren?" she asked. I guess I was acting a little weird. I put a finger to my lips, then pulled out my iPod.

Well, it looked like my iPod. Until I unfolded it like a Transformer and it looked like a really flat gun.

"Put your bag on the floor," I said. She slowly complied. I shot it with my shrinker. It popped down to doll-size and rattled on the floor for a second.

"Cool thing about being in SciFi? You meet some really, really...not mainstream people. I got drunk with this guy at a Boston convention. When I woke up, I had this." She just stared with her mouth open. One finger poked at it until she believed it was real, then she stopped moving at all.

It was the work of a second to restore her bag to normal size. She inspected it, then looked at me.

"I don't do this often," I said, "but I like you, Brandy. I can get you to Denver tonight. Just ride in my pocket."