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From: max_wojtylak@yahoo.com (theGreatxIam)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 15 Jan 2002 01:21:51 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Silver Surfer #2: Crying Out Loud
Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 14:10:06 -0500
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NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of
this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether
existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of
this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is
made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam

Star Search #2:
Crying Out Loud
By theGreatxIam

NOTE: They used to talk about Stagedoor Johnnies, the men who hung
around theaters with flowers and candy for the showgirls. Then women
and girls got liberated and got horny, and they called the starstruck
ones groupies.

But there are some of us who call ourselves by another name. We are
drawn to a special class of classy ladies, to those mature beauties
who appreciate a man who appreciates a vintage affair. We call
ourselves the silver surfers. And this is one of our stories.

Jonathan R., Atlanta

Let's get the stereotypes out of the way first, shall we? I am a male
flight attendant. I like to cook. I like show tunes. But I am not gay,
OK?

I like show tunes because I love the brassy, sassy women who sing
them. I'm a flight attendant because how many other ways is a guy with
no special talent going to get to see the world and all those
beautiful stars who live in it? And I like to cook because -- well, I
just like to cook. Get over it.

Being a flight attendant is perfect for me. I even volunteer for the
long flights -- oh, the mischief you can get into at 3 in the morning
somewhere over Nebraska. Even the married stars get a little wild
after a few martinis at altitude.

Some of them don't even need the martinis. Take a flight last August.

I was assigned to economy class and I was back there herding the
cattle into their seats when Jolene tapped me on the shoulder and
asked me to switch with her and take the first-class cabin. She looked
frazzled; when I asked her about the swap, she said a VIP up there had
something against female flight attendants and insisted that only a
man would do.

Of course, first class is a treat any time, but this sounded
absolutely scrumptious. VIP plus female plus unreasonable demands
added up to a diva, and they're my favorite kind.

As I worked my way through the stream of passengers like a salmon
going up river to spawn (an apt metaphor, considering later events), I
heard someone complaining loudly.

"I said I wanted a man. Are you a man? I don't think so. What
difference does it make why? I have a bad history with you female
attendants, OK? Now get somebody with a crotch rocket up here! Now!"

I recognized the voice as I was stepping up behind her, and a frisson
of joy raced through my bones, not to mention other parts. I composed
my face into a less lecherous smile and stepped forward.

"Good evening, Mrs. Gifford. May I be of assistance?"

"Call me Kathie Lee," she said, and we were best pals immediately.

She was shorter than I'd expected, and once she'd gotten me and a
glass of white wine, her belligerence faded and she seemed to shrink
into the leather seat. Even so, you couldn't miss her. She was in her
full post-Regis saint-turned-sinner regalia. Her bright red pullover
sweater fit like a coating of shellac and its V-neck plunged lower
than the Dow, leaving no doubt that the superstructure was all Kathie
Lee with no artificial ingredients. A black leather skirt ended
halfway down her thighs, but lest anyone be disappointed a slit on the
side revealed that her sheer black nylons were not practical pantyhose
but stockings held in place by black lace garters. It was such an
awe-inspiring panoply of trampiness that you might almost miss the
four-inch red fuck-me Pradas.

I had always assumed the abrupt change from America's pious sweetheart
to the country's slutty little sexpot was a calculated career move,
but after that night I'm not so sure. Kathie Lee was by herself in the
front row and as the few other passengers in first class fell asleep,
she remained wide awake and eager, even desperate, to talk.

Most of the time, when I talk with passengers, they want to know what
my job is like, where I've flown, where I live. None of that came up
during my chat with Kathie Lee. Oh, she asked me questions, all right:
Did I see her latest made-for-TV movie? Her guest shot on "Drew
Carey?" Had I ever heard her new album? Did I want a copy? (She had
two dozen in her carry-on.)

But don't think she was being self-centered. She's Kathie Lee, after
all. What more interesting topic of conversation could there be?

As the flight wore on, though, our chat drifted to the sadder parts of
her life. I carefully avoided mention of Mr. Gifford; from her little
temper tantrum at the start of the flight, it was obvious that wound
was still fresh, no matter what she told the press. But just a mention
of dear Cody and darling Cassidy made her sad. Her career was so
hectic, she said, that she hardly had time for them anymore. Even
bringing up Regis's name brought tears to her eyes. She really seemed
to miss the show. And, she said, it was a shame that they'd had such
trouble finding a new co-host and had to settle for that Kelly person.

But she positively broke down in sobs when I simply glanced at my
watch and noted that it was past midnight. Not since Cinderella had to
run from her fella had I heard of anyone taking 12:01 so hard.

Kathie Lee eventually explained, in a quavering voice, that it wasn't
the time. It was the date.

"It's August 16," she choked out. "Today is my b-birthday." She paused
dramatically. "And I'm ... I'm ... f... f... forty-nine!" Giant tears
rolled down her cheeks, and her black mascara came off in streaks.

It was like my very own Lifetime movie. As she sobbed, her head fell
onto my shoulders. I held her lightly and murmured vaguely comforting
phrases.

Kathie Lee kept it up for several minutes, bawling her way through a
litany of her life's woes, from being cheated out of beauty contests
to problems with her first husband all the way to being unjustly
criticized for that unfortunate sweatshop incident and Frank's
infidelity. It was an impressive list.

But her mascara was beginning to stain my uniform, so I gently levered
her upright again and maneuvered her out of her seat and toward the
lavatory to clean up. .Halfway there, she stopped and turned back
toward me. The rest of the crew was in the coach section and the other
first-class passengers were sound asleep, so I was an audience of one
as she whispered in a classic sotto voce:

"Forty-nine! And I've never done so many things I wanted. Never had my
own TV show -- I could have been bigger than Oprah! Never had my own
Broadway show -- just a part-time fill-in for a washed-up hag like
Carol Burnett. Never made the top of the charts -- all those critics
are so mean! And now I'll never have one. It's a young girl's world
and I'm over the hill!"

I knew a cue when I heard one. "No, no, don't say that," I told her.
"You're still in your prime! Look at you. You've got the body of a
20-year-old!" I turned her toward the lav again. "You can do anything
you want. You're Kathie Lee, for heaven's sake." Gently but firmly, I
pushed open the folding door and steered her inside. "You go, girl."

The door shut. The "occupied" sign flicked on. But a second later, it
flicked off and the door opened.

I peered in. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Kathie Lee said. "No. I just realized you're right. It's not too
late. I can do all those things I haven't gotten to. I'm Kathie Lee!"

I nodded. "That's right. You are. Now why don't you ..."

Kathie Lee put a finger across my lips to shush me.

"Do you know one of those things I've never done?"

I shook my head.

She smiled broadly. Then, taking me off-guard, she grabbed my arm and
yanked me inside the lavatory. As she reached around me to close the
door with one hand, the other clutched my crotch. "I've never joined
the Mile-High Club."

Well, you don't have to ask me twice. At least not if you're Kathie
Lee Gifford. I immediately pulled off my jacket and started
unbuttoning my shirt. Instead of taking off her clothes, Kathie Lee
sat down on the toilet cover and reached for my zipper. In less time
than you can say "Regis Philbin," I was naked, all my clothes strewn
around the tiny floor. My cock was already bobbing proudly erect when
Kathie Lee took it in her well-manicured fingers. Her bright red
fingernails traced its length as she gently blew on its tip. Holding
it in both hands, she licked it like a lollipop, up and down, swirling
around.

"So this is what I've been denying myself," she said before plunging
back into her licking. "I must have been crazy!" She started kissing
my prick all over, leaving bright red lipstick prints.

I started to twist my fingers into her hair, but she pulled away. "I
just spent $500 for this hairdo, mister. Hands off!"

I held my hands up, palms out. "All right," she said with a nod, and
went back to kissing my dick.

When she planted a big, wet kiss smack on the tip of my cock, I felt a
little weak in the knees and had to lean back against the door. Kathie
Lee put a few more smackeroos on my cock before opening her lips
slightly and swallowing the bulbous head.

"Beautiful," I said. She looked up at me with doe eyes as she inched
me into her. She got me about halfway in and started stroking me in
and out as her hands pumped the rest of my rod. On every out stroke I
could see my cock being painted redder and redder as her lipstick
smeared from her tightly pursed mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she
applied suction. I gathered this wasn't her first blowjob.

She sucked me, then slid off and licked me, chewed me up and down like
an ear of corn.

"Oh, Kathie Lee! Do it, girl!" I whispered encouragement. "Suck that
dick, Kathie Lee. That's it! You're the best!"

She swallowed me whole again. This time she started out slowly,
putting almost my entire shaft inside her mouth.

"Oh, god, yes, Kathie Lee! What a mouth!"

Then she began to pick up speed. Her mouth flew up and down my shaft,
faster and faster.

"That's it! That's it! Take it all! Take it!"

Finally I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Here it comes, Kathie Lee! I'm gonna fill that hot mouth of yours!
Get ready. Get ready. Get ... Aaaaauuggghhhh!"

Cum shot out of my cock like it was a cannon. Kathie Lee swallowed the
first load and then pulled back, letting the rest of my jism splatter
over her nose and mouth and cheeks.

With a dainty finger she scooped up the goopy white stuff. Then she
licked the finger clean. That was all it took to get me hard as a rock
again.

Kathie Lee purred in appreciation of that feat as she peeled off her
clothes, folding and stacking them neatly on the tiny shelf.

Her breasts were every bit as good as I'd imagined them after all
those years of seeing her braless on "Live." Big melons -- not as
perky as they might have been, true, but still an impressive feat of
engineering. I reached out to caress them. They were slightly spongy,
but deliciously warm. Kathie Lee ignored my hands and continued
undressing until she was down to nothing but her black stockings,
garter belt and shoes.

We maneuvered around in the delightfully cramped space, rubbing
against each other in many interesting spots before I ended up sitting
on the toilet seat. Kathie Lee tried to sit facing me, but her knees
had nowhere to go. She turned around and backed up on top of my
crotch. I held my cock steady as she squatted down. It was a
surprisingly tight fit for a woman with two kids -- not quite the
tightest I've ever known, but Kathie Lee's cunt was a very enjoyable
burrow for my dick.

After we jostled around a trifle to find the least awkward position,
she settled in. I was able to wrap my arms around her and grab her
tits in both hands as she fucked my cock in a smooth, steady rhythm.

"Oh, yeah, baby," she said in affected voice I gathered was supposed
to resemble some movie character's, though the resemblance escaped me.
"Shag me, baby!" she said, though I was pretty much pinned to the
plastic seat and it was Kathie Lee who was doing all the shagging.

And doing it well. She varied from wild pumping that sent her hair
flying to long, slow strokes with her cunt muscles so tightly clenched
that it felt as if I could count one by one as individual nerve
endings were touched. From time to time she'd stop with her pussy
fully impaled on my rod, and I would hold her even closer to me and
plant soft kisses along her shoulder and neck. The third time I did
that and ended with my tongue sliding into her right ear she launched
into a shrieking orgasm,  banging back against me so violently I
almost got knocked out by the metal wall before her surges subsided.

I was still hard. When Kathie Lee slid off me and got to her knees to
pick up her clothes, which had tumbled to the floor as we had jockeyed
into position before, I quickly got behind her. Grabbing hold of her
hips, I entered her doggie style.

"Hey, what the ..." she started to squeal, but then she got the idea
and we started moving together. I had much more freedom to move now
and corkscrewed my cock into her, trying to reach every last bit of
her cunt. Meantime I slipped a hand around her waist and dipped a
finger into her, twiddling her clit.

When she shouted then there was no fake accent; it was all Kathie Lee.
"Fuck me, baby. Yeah, yeah, ram that poker in there. Ooooh, yeah. Let
me feel it!"

Hearing that kind of talk out of Kathie Lee's ruby lips totally jazzed
me. I picked up the pace, slamming my hard cock into her. Our fucking
got so furious that we actually created some suction when her cunt
lips dragged at my retreating prick, and the frenzy of my entering
strokes made loud schlorping noises. Kathie Lee repeated her "Fuck
me!" cries so fast they turned into a sexual mantra: "Fuck me, fuck
me, fuck me fuck me fuckme fuckme fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme!"

I could feel my cock swelling even more. I pulled out so only the tip
was barely touching her hot, wet pussy lips.

"Don't stop," she begged.

"Tell me what you want," I teased.

"I want your cock," Kathie Lee gasped.

"Like this?" I slid in a bit, stopping just as the bulbous head popped
into her tunnel.

"Yes, yes!" She started to hump back at me with abandon.

I pulled out again.

"Damn you! Put that fucker in me!"

"Oh, Kathie Lee. Ask me nicely."

 "Please put that fucker in me!"

"Now, you can do better than ..."

"Shut up and fuck me! Slam that cock into me, you fucking bastard! I
want you to pump my goddamn cunt full of cum. Fuck me, you asshole!"

Even if her cursing hadn't driven me crazy I was already too close
myself to back out. I shoved my fat cock into her up to the hilt,
forcing a screech from her. Faster and faster and faster I fucked her.
Kathie Lee's sweet round ass banged into me over and over.

As my inner turmoil escaped my lungs as one long "Aaaaah," Kathie
Lee's body began to quiver and suddenly seized up. "Sweet fucking
hell," she groaned, "I'm out of control! Take that, Frank!"

So was I. A gusher of cum blasted out of my cock, filling Kathie Lee's
hungry pussy and spilling out the sides. Once more, twice, three times
the cum spasmed out before I buried my cock deep into her one last
time and then withdrew as it began to shrink.

It was too cramped in their to cuddle in the afterglow. We handed each
other our clothes but soon realized we couldn't get dressed at the
same time without risking grievous bodily injury. Being a gentleman, I
let her go first.

By the time I got dressed next and slipped out of the john, it was
almost time to serve breakfast. Kathie Lee ran a red nail up my arm as
I poured her coffee, but she was out the door in a hurry when we
landed and I've never seen her since -- not in the flesh. I'm hardly
crushed, though. Long-term relationships are not what silver surfing
is about.

And I did hear from her. A week after that flight, the airline
forwarded a package to me.

Kathie Lee's new CD.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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