IN-FLIGHT SCISSORS By Kandor I was catching a late-night connecting flight from Charlotte, S.C., to Boston and it was a mercifully empty plane, absent the screaming kids and aisle-clogging elderly that had been on the first leg out from Miami. I took an aisle seat toward the back and didn't notice right away the three women sitting across the aisle, one next to me and one each in the two seats ahead of her. The beverage service, with complimentary bag of dried crap, came and went quickly. The rest of the handful of people aboard were in first class where the flight attendants stayed the rest of the way. About an hour out of Boston the light clicked on above the seat next to mine across the aisle and it was then I saw the thickest, meatiest pair of calved I'd seen in ages, extending out of a pair of Capri pants, those that end at the knees. Their owner was a pretty, stylish older woman I pegged to be about 50 or so, if that, short grayish blonde hair, high cheekbones and very sexy face. Lights clicked in the two seats ahead of her. In the seat before the pretty elderly woman was a woman, blonde, about 30 or so, also in Capri pants, her tanned shins shining in the light, her calves trim, slender, sinewy. More calves ahead, belonging to a very pretty blonde, long leg extended over the seat arm bouncing slightly, slender but flaring out with a muscular fan alone her shin as it pressed against the seat. I didn't know where to look as I took them all in and sighed. "Good calves run in the family," a voice said. The pretty woman to my left smiled as she looked at me over her reading glasses. "Ex.excuses me?" I tried, knowing I was busted. "Hi, my name is Lisa," she said, extending a slender hand, her tanned forearm rippling. "I said calves, good, hard calves, run in the family. That's my daughter and granddaughter." She nodded her pretty head toward the seats ahead. "Granddaughter?" I said, impressed. "But you're not.well, you're not old enough." "Why thank you, sir," she laughed sweetly, a hint of southern accent in her voice. "But I assure you I am." "No way," I asserted in typical northeast disbelief. "How old are you?" She laughed gently. "A lady never tells," she said with gentility and grace. "But I will tell you I'm what the speed limit used to be." I laughed. "Fifty five, then. And I find it hard to believe you're even that, with legs like those." She leaned over to speak, even though with the engine drone no one else could hear. "You like muscular calves, do you?" she asked, almost in sinister fashion. I looked down. She balled up that outer calf nearest me and I gasped. Beneath remarkably smooth skin bunched a fist, thick and hard, solid muscle dancing. "My God," I hissed, unable to avert my eyes but aware she was looking into them. "Do you know what calves like this can do?" she hissed. I blinked and looked up. She was looking at me; light blue eyes alit in the dark, a sly smile on her lips, the most delicate webworm of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. "Grammar, you gonna do the scissors thing again?" I looked to the side and the girl, all of 17, was leaning out and looking at us, as was the woman in the middle seat, smiling. "Gees, Momma, it's been what, 12 hours since you trashed that room service guy at the hotel," the middle woman laughed. "My daughter, Lucille, and granddaughter, Amy," Lisa said by way of nodding introduction. "35 and 17 respectively. We were on vacation together." "Sc.scissors thing?" I asked, not at all sure where this was going. "Well, it's something I taught my girls to do, use their legs like scissors to squeeze men, their heads, necks, bodies, to make them submit and more compliant in their ways," Lisa said softly, that southern lilt making my groin stir as much as what she was saying, incredible things that she was making sound so routine. "Scissor heads? Necks?" I asked, shaking my head and watching the women watch me, smiles on their faces. "Submit, you make them submit in the scissors of your legs?" They all nodded. Sweetly. The gleam in Amy's eyes was especially bright. "Lisa, with all due respect, and you've all got splendid legs and all, but I just can't believe it.I'm sorry," I said, shrugging. The women looked at each other and smiled. "Who wants to go first?" Lisa asked. "ME!" Amy squeaked, a hand in the air like a schoolchild I'm sure she still was. "Age before beauty," Lucille said with a laugh. "You'll have your turn. We all will." "I guess I'm on," Lisa said, putting the magazine she was reading down on the seat next to her. I had no idea what was going on so Lisa's blinding move caught me totally by surprise. She pivoted on her seat, swung her legs toward the aisle and up at me, those calves finding my neck as I faced her, the flat sandals she wore flying off on impact and landing behind me on the seat. She locked her ankles, the bulk of those enormous calves latching securely to the sides of my neck, the pain instant and severe. I looked into her blue eyes. They were on fire with concentration, mine were blurry with tears of agony. "Give it up, sir," she said through clenched teeth, her hands gripping the seat she was now above as she lifted her butt off it, her body a bridge between it and my neck. "My legs NEVER take no for an answer!" I couldn't believe the pain. Lisa's calves were huge when fully unleashed and as she tilted her head back and growled, I knew I was getting the full treatment. My hands pulled feebly at the crushing limbs, my fingers slipping over and off the thick lumps of muscle. "You better submit, mister, my gramma has never not scissored anyone into submission." Amy was kneeling in the seat before me, looking over the headrest, chewing gum casually as her grandmother scissored me. "Harder, Momma, harder!" Lucille chortled, kneeling over her seat to look at her mother. "C'mon, 100 percent!" This wasn't 100 percent? No, I found out, as the pressure doubled and my head felt like it would be sheared off my shoulders by Lisa's relentless calfy grip. "I ... give." I croaked, my head cocked as a painful compensatory angle. Lisa's legs flew open as she unlocked her ankles and swiveled to a normal seating position, as I did the same. Only she was calm and poised, ladylike in repose again as I twitched on my seat, rubbing my sore neck. "What the fuck?" I shouted, my words heard only by the three women. "My good sir, we are ladies and as such do not appreciate use of profanity in our presence," Lisa scolded, clearly rankled, a harsher southern accent arising in her voice as a result. "Yeah, asshole," Amy chirped, rewarded by admonishing looks from her maternal elders. "Here, get comfy," Lisa said, reclining my seat back fully as I failed to notice Lucille snuggling in the seat behind me. "C'mon, Mom, my turn," Amy protested. "Hush, child," Lucille said. She made her presence known to me quickly as her lean, sinewy calves flew up and over the seat back and slammed alongside my sore neck, the bulk of them on the sides of my neck, but the hard shinbones along my jawbones. She locked her sneakered feet and hunkered down, her knees digging into the sides of the top of my head. My skull burned with pain, trapped tightly in her legs, a complete prisoner of her lethal lower legs. "My mom's got pretty good scissors, too," Amy sniffed proudly. "But wait'll you feel mine!" I could hardly wait, I thought, my eyes watering, my neck throbbing, my jaw bending under the insane pressure of Lucille's long calves. The steely tendons in the slender tubes of flesh sliced like cables into me. I screamed my surrender. "That was quick," Lisa marveled. "Of course, I think I weakened him for you." "You taught me well, Momma," Lucille laughed as she let go and I flipped forward in my seat. I lolled in my seat, my neck aching, head throbbing. I weakly looked up into Amy's anxious face. "MAH turn!" she squealed, all southern fire and beauty. She was quick. Twisting in the seat before me, she threw her legs up and over the back, her lower belly coming to rest on top of the seatback, her long legs extended toward me, the scissoring calves finding their target. She was the most creative of the trio as she leaned forward over the seat, calves locked around my neck, slender and not particularly muscular but damned hard, steel-like in their embrace under ridiculously smooth, young skin. She gripped the arms of the seat below her and she looked back over her slender shoulder at me, swishing her cornsilk blonde hair out of her face to get a better look. "GOTCHA!" she giggled. Got me indeed. Her shins on my shoulders, her calves absolutely imprisoned my head, bubbles of muscle rippling up under my ears, leaving the audio portion of this bizarre in-flight movie open for me to hear. "Good one, honey!" Lucille beamed. "My, my, my," Lisa sighed. "That's the best one yet." Lucky me. Amy's trim calves crushed my neck, cutting off the blood to my brain. My hands fell away from her supple limbs. "Ah..g." I started, succumbing to the sudden cranial blood loss. She instantly let up and I came around, expecting the lithe legs to snap open and release me, the weird work of the leggy triumvirate complete. Wrong again. "That was quick, honey, good job," Lisa smiled. "Too quick," Amy pouted. "Good position for your Butt Bomber, honey," Lucille suggested. Amy brightened. I didn't like the sound of it, and for good reason. Bracing herself by gripping the arms of the seat she was still holding, her body parallel to the floor, Amy drew her calves up behind my head, the crossed meat of them pressing on it. She grunted and began an incredibly fast, wickedly brutal series of forward snaps with her legs that blasted my face into the J Crew-covered confines of her bodacious and rock-hard butt. Over and over she rammed the calves forward, over and over my face rocketing into her ass. She was jack hammering me, bombing her butt with my face two times a second, her grunts followed by mine as my nose, mouth, eyes connected with the hardest ass I'd ever felt, my head going from 0 to what felt like 60mph in a tenth of a second. "She's.an all-star.athlete.in.lacrosse..soccer..basketball." Lucille said in between staccato blasts when my face was ricocheting off Amy's athletic ass and readying for the next ride in. "Got a.butt of..steel." No shit, I thought. I couldn't resist her, I could only let my lower body go slack and allow my head an easier journey to Amy's dangerous derriere without resistance that could further injure my neck, if that were possible. She kept up the butt bombs for two full, long minutes until my whole face felt like hamburger. "Then it got worse with the words, "put him out, sugah," spoken in unison by mom and gramma. "Ooooooooooook!" Amy squealed. She drew her calves to the back of my head again, this time holding them there and slowly pressing me forward until my nose fit snugly into the crack of her sweet but deadly ass. Pressing further, my face was lost in the musky confines of her stony assmeat, cheeks gently opening to let me in more. It was then I realized with frightening certainty she was going to knock me out. My chest tightened, my body thrashed, my lungs burned after 15 seconds of oxygen denial. I clawed at Amy's gripping calves, clutching and pawing at her concrete ass, trying to pry the cheeks open and snatch some air. Thirty seconds, 45, my head swum, chest heaved, eyes burned. I could barely feel her calves crunching me now. As my vision faded, I saw, over the otherwise magnificent swell of her ass, Amy reaching back with both hands, her back bowed, to grab her sneakers and pull with all her strength, effectively burying me alive, driving my face impossibly deeper still into the muscular clench of the tomb of her ass. And then I was out. I slept, deeply, peacefully. Next thing I knew a flight attendant was waking me in Boston. My eyes opened. There was concern in hers. "You were really out," she said, relieved. "I thought you were dead." "So did I," I groaned, unable to move my head for the pain in my neck. "You slept on it funny, probably," she said, noticing my agony. "Nothing funny about what it really is," I said, thinking of telling her of the leggy attack from three passengers but thinking better of it. I mean, who the hell would believe me? I grabbed my carry-on, my only luggage, and shuffled off the plane. As I stepped outside to the sidewalk, my head down in pain, unable to even lift it to look ahead of me, I saw three pairs of calves - in Capri pants - on the sidewalk near the curb, one very muscular, one sinewy, one young and slender. I slowly, painfully looked up and winced. They were smiling at me as they waited a transport van. "Hope you liked our southern, scissorin' hospitality," Lisa said, smiling. "Hope you have a safe drive home," Lucille said. "Safer than the flight home, anyway." "And I hope you nevah, evah, evah," Amy hissed, putting her face close to mine, blue eyes on fire, "get the tattoo of mah ass offa your face!" "Girl, your language," Lisa sighed. Their laughter echoed off the concrete cavern of the parking garage into which I plunged, enveloped by the safety of the dark.