“Um hmmm.” Her eyes lit up. “Give me a bag of peanuts, girl. Stand back, and watch a pro. And uh, check your watch, girl, I’m going for the record.”

Like Christopher Columbus, Gail was an explorer, but unlike the New World, her male passengers had no problem being explored. Swiftly she began her patented move. She sashayed down the aisle toward her unassuming prey. She leaned in to offer 27B a bag of dry roasted peanuts and accidentally dropped them between his legs. Then just as quickly, Gail started to apologize and began her efforts to retrieve the mishandled bag of peanuts. Slowly she began sliding and gliding the loose bag of nuts side to side, caressing and pressing her elongated fingernails against his inner thighs, massaging his manhood, left to right, right to left, like pocket pool, bumping, grazing, bumping, grazing, tossing the bag of nuts to and fro as she charted her course through his mountainous terrain. I could almost see the blood rushing through every crevice of his body faster than Carl Lewis in the 40-meter dash.

After several moments she gazed into his eyes and mouthed, “Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.” Judging from the smile on the face of 27B, he had more than forgiven her blunder.

Switching back down the aisle, she returned to where I stood, looking as if she needed a cigarette. “Check the watch, girl.” Up until now, her record had been two minutes and twenty-five seconds.

I looked at my watch. “Two minutes and fifteen seconds.”

“Damn, I’m good,” she said.

“Hey, girls!” It was Sam, dressed in a hot pink satin top pulling a custom made overnight bag covered in pink chiffon. Sam Benson was my other best girlfriend. Well, sort of. When I first met Sam, I made the mistake of addressing him as Sam Benson, the flight attendant. I was quickly corrected and informed of his preferred moniker—Sky Goddess. His true calling is his special engagement performances where he transforms himself in full drag into the black Barbra Streisand.