A London Transsexual Escort. 254 Part 1

I arise at 7am, considering its mid-September the weather is unusually bright and mild in London town. I won't deny feeling a little smug as I board the train to the airport, while all around me people are strap hanging on their way to work, well, at least it’s Friday.
We all work far too much and don’t play nearly enough.
But, governments must have their taxes and advertisers convince us that we must buy their products, with the false promise of enriching and make our lives more joyous, which in turn means having to make even more money by working longer hours; consumerism is one great big vicious circle.   
I arrive at Heathrow airport at the stated hour, 9am. The Check-in strip-show begins, coats: belts; watches; shoes; hats; the security lady pats me down, momentarily pausing before the penny drops and waves me through: tiresome.
Next up, I must navigate safely through Duty-Free along that long winding yellow brick road of cosmetics and perfumes, whilst trying to avoid being pounced upon by ladies in white lab coats, wearing makeup that looks like its been trowled on, spraying their sickly smelling products.
Many moons ago, I was one of those who’d go try all the testers before boarding, then wonder why I felt so nauseous on the plane, it seems the two simply don’t mix, perhaps it's something to do with a pressurize cigar tube at 30,000 feet? 
W, was sat up at the long bar of Fortnum & Mason’s tapping away on his laptop. ‘A glass of champagne and a few oysters before we board Frances,’ 'Why ever not,' I replied ‘and thank you for spoiling me with a weekend away.’
‘Well, I could be sat here in London doing what I need to do, or take my computer and sit on a beach in Corfu doing the same thing.' ‘Look, I’m going to try and get you bumped up to Business class, so just sit where they allocate you and let's see, it’s less than three hours anyway.’
This really wasn’t a problem, as the flight was only half-full so I had a row of three seats to myself already. Just before pushing away from the gate, the stewardess came to me to say, ‘The Captain has asked if you’d like to sit up at the front of the plane,’ and so I did, next to W.
Now, on a 737 (mainly used for short-haul flights), Business class is a bit of a con, the seats and pitch size are exactly the same as economy except, the seat between you now serves as a table, oh and they give you a bit of food and drink too. As for class partition, all they do is simply pull a horizontal sliding curtain between both cabin areas: petite as I am, I’ve never had any trouble with space in economy anyway.
And with a roar of the engine and a tilt of the nose we were up up and away, heading south on my first ever visit to Greece, G&T in hand a good book, I felt a very happy bunny indeed: to be continued...
What I’m reading on the plane…
Plot 29: Allan Jenkins

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