Mwynwen - Party off
By Diana the Valkyrie
I had the advantages of desperation, ruthlessness and stiletto heels, and I used them to good effect. 


"Hi Linda" said Jim, acting as the doorman. "Hi Jim" I said as I slouched in.
It isn't that I find these "Thank god it's Friday" parties especially
entertaining, but there is free food, and a fluffer has to have some social
life. I found a good position near the buffet table, filled up a wine glass
with yoghurt, and stood there eyeing the talent. This being a party for porn
folks, the talent divided into three parts. There were the dishy blokes, there
were the tops and tails, and there were the Dirty Old Men, who liked to call
themselves "producers". More tops and tails than blokes, worse luck, looking
like vultures circling a nearly dead flock of sheep.

One of the DOM sidled up to me. "Hi Linda". I looked down my nose at him, it
was Creepy Henry. "Fancy some action?" "Henry, I already know about your
Action Man collection, and they aren't coming anywhere near my Cindy dolls."
He snorted with laughter. I looked carefully at my yoghurt, put it down on the
table and poured myself a fresh glass. "I mean, wanna dance?" Sigh. "Yes, I'll
dance". "OK, I'll watch you." Duh. I fell straight into that one. "Ha ha,
Henry. Here, hold these." I gave him my glass of yoghurt, then I gave him the
other one from the table. Then, while both his hands were occupied, I put my
hand in his crotch and squeezed a few times. Then I walked away and left him
standing on tiptoe, looking very surprised.

I wandered around a bit, scoping out the trouser, and wondering if some of the
tops were entirely fake, or whether there was some real basis to them. By the
time I'd toured the room, the tobacco smoke was starting to get to me, so I
pushed past Jim to get some air outside. And just as I was going out, who do
you think casually sauntered past me going in? Harry!

"Harry!". He turned. "Harry, what the fuck are you doing here?" He smirked as
he continued on in, forcing me to follow him back into the smoky room. "Party,
Linda. Me an Min was up in town for the day, so I thought we'd drop in on our
old mates." "Harry, no." I grabbed him. He didn't stop. "Harry, no!! Stop."
Just like a man. Took no notice at all. We got inside, he spotted the buffet
and made a beeline for it. "Linda, you've got no idea, I'm starved, me stomach
thinks me throats bin cut. She won't eat meat or anything like that, not even
eggs or butter, it's all fruit and veg, not even yoghurt ..." His voice was
becoming indistinct and garbled " ...oooh, sausages ... " as he prattled
happily about the delights of Gingerbread Cottage " ... outside toilet, no hot
water ...". "Harry, stop it!" He wittered on. "Harry, behind you!" and I gave
him a hard shove. Finally, I'd gotten his attention, and he turned round just
in time to see Sharon.

"Harry!" she shouted. "Sharon?" he whispered. The moron had completely
forgotten that the reason we'd gotten him out of London in the first place was
in order to avoid a possibly lethal beating from the woman he'd just
cuckolded. "Harry!" she was between him and any possible exit. I moved fast,
out of the way. It's never a good idea to come between a tigress and her
victim. I'd done my best, but faced with Harry's invulnerable stupidity, my
best was as a straw in the wind.

Sharon ploughed past me and dived on Harry. "Harry!" "Sharon?" She wrapped her
arms round him and I tried not to hear the sound of ribs cracking. "Harry!"
"Sharon?" he said, somewhat muffled. "Harry!" "Mmmmph". "Oh Harry, Harry"
"Sharon." "Oh Harry"

Well, you get the idea. I won't bore you with a full reprise of the dialogue,
to anyone else it was boring and repetitive, although I dare say it was deeply
meaningful to them. The upshot was, though, this party was not about to become
the scene of a savage beating to within an inch of young Harry's life with
brains and gore spraying over the walls and contaminating the yoghurt. It was
more a lover's reunion, and from the way they were acting, you wouldn't have
thought they'd only been apart a couple of days. And the reunion was gradually
moving from vertical to horizontal as is sometimes the practice at a porn
party, although not usually quite so early in the evening. I worked my way
back to the buffet table, and I was just pouring myself a fresh glass of
yoghurt, having lost track of which one Creepy Henry had snorted into, when my
"instant replay" track caught up with "Me and Min". She must be on her way
here!

I glanced over my shoulder at Sharon and shuddered. This was not a sight
suitable for a sorceress. Mwynwen must be misdirected, truly time to abandon
all alliteration, this is a crisis! I rushed outside with my yoghurt in my
hand, just in time to see an angel descending from heaven. It was Mwynwen! Oh
no!

She glided in, cape streaming out behind her, hair fluttering above the cape.
She was wearing a powder blue "little black dress" that was more like a second
skin than a dress. As she came in to land, she tucked her knees up and did a
mid-air tumble, straightening out in time to land gracefully on two legs, her
arms held above her head and her breasts sticking out like they's never heard
of gravity, which I suppose was just about correct, but with a bit of a jiggle
as she landed. Jiggle jiggle jiggle. And before I could move, there was a
crowd of guys around her; guys always love a bit of a jiggle. I pushed and
shoved, I waved "Hey Min" but it was no use. I could see her standing there,
cape still streaming out behind as if she was in a strong wind. Standing
straight and tall like a seven foot Statue of Liberty; the head of a Camel on
her cape, and nothing keeping her dress up except, I suppose Min herself. Just
as well those nipples stood out so far, otherwise it would have slid down
round her ankles. And there was nothing underneath, we all saw that when she
did the tumble.

And she was moving towards the party. Slowly, because she was being mobbed by
all those dishy blokes I'd noticed before, but surely. And I still couldn't
get near her. It was like one of those dreams where you can see the disaster
in front of you but you can't stop it happening; you can see the shit flying
towards the fan but you know you aren't going to get there it time to ward it
off. I could see the Titanic moving majestically forward, unaware of the
iceberg that was waiting for her inside. I couldn't even get near the door.

I fought forward. The guys around me had the advantage of weight; I had the
advantages of desperation, ruthlessness and stiletto heels, and I used them to
good effect. But I'd only just got as far as the door when I heard the scream
as dream collided with reality and sank with all hands aboard, no lifeboats.
"Nooooo!!!" I could see inside, Harry bent backwards over the buffet table,
Sharon on top of him, and although it wasn't easy to see exactly what she was
doing, it was clear that this wasn't a brutal beating with blood flowing like
yoghurt. Harry yelling "Yes, yes" made it pretty clear that it wasn't rape,
either. I briefly wondered if the table was going to take their combined
weight as Sharon hammered down on top of him, and I could see the buffet
bouncing to the beat.

Then a tornado blew out through the door, and I only just had time to drop my
yoghurt and grab her round the waist in a kind of rugby tackle, but instead of
this bringing her to the ground, the effect was exactly the opposite. She took
off like a rocket.

At that point, I guess I must have lost my usual presence of mind. I hung on.
Bad mistake.

She went up like Roman Candle with me hanging on grimly as if my life depended
on it, which it did. I suppose if my instinct for self preservation had been a
bit quicker on the uptake, I'd have let go soonish and smartish, but by the
time I'd cottoned on to the situation, we were fifty feet up and rising fast,
and letting go was no longer an option. "Bastard!!!" she was screaming as we
headed into the wide blue yonder. "Bastard!!! Bastard!!! Bastard!!!" Camels
aren't supposed to be able to gain altitude this fast, but Min didn't even
look like a Sopwith Camel, more like a Gloster Fury. I just clung on. I mean,
what else? My face was buried in her belly, both my arms were involved in
keeping me alive, there wasn't anything I could do.

She continued up like an express lift, and I did some quick sums in my head.
Her usual ceiling was three thousand feet, but with her in this state I didn't
think she'd stop there. The wind felt like she'd got up to a hundred knots,
and I reckoned she wouldn't be getting any faster. I started to count seconds,
which might sound a pretty futile thing to do, but I didn't have any
non-futile options right now. I counted about 200 seconds before she started
to ease off, slow down, then, finally, thankfully, she stopped, hovering
upright. I looked up. "Witch?"

She looked down at me. "Fluff! Did you see?" "Yes, I saw, I was trying to get
to you before you got inside, but the crowd was too thick." "Bastard! That
bastard." I wasn't going to argue with her. "The fucking bastard!" Yes, very
accurate, although I felt that her swearing vocabulary needed considerable
expansion. "Witch?" "What?" "How high up are we?" "Oh, I don't know. Bastard,
bastard!!!" "I think we're about 25,000 feet" I guessed, based on those 200
seconds and my guess of her speed. She looked around and down. "More like
angels forty-two, Fluff" I suppose her estimate is more likely to be correct,
I'm not used to this. "Witch, you're not wearing much, aren't you getting
cold?" "Freezing" "Tell you what, let's go to my flat, I'll make some hot
chocolate."

"Bastard!!! Bastard!!! Bastard!!!" she repeated. "Min?" I said plaintively.
"Help?" She looked down, then she put her hands under my armpits and pulled me
up so I was facing her. Now I wasn't clinging on for dear life, but do you
think I felt any safer? I looked down.

London was spread out below like a fairy-dust bus map. I could see the silver
snake of the Thames by the light of the silvery moon, I could see the yellow
ribbons of the sodium street lamps, I could see the circle of the M25 car park
and the rivers of cars hurrying towards home sweet home. I could see the dark
patches of the parks, I could see the large patches of water that made up the
King George Reservoir, I could see the Westway knifing out from the heart of
London to Heathrow.

I looked at Min. "Witch, look down. It's beautiful." I've seen this before,
although not quite as lovely. When you fly in to Heathrow Airport, the jets
often follow the Thames on the way in, and you can see the vista of the
capital spread beneath you. But looking out of the window of a jet, you get to
see a lot less than half, and since you're on the glide path approach to the
airport, you're already below ten thousand feet. This was incomparably better,
we were at a height where we could see the whole thing, the sky was clear, and
we had the whole panorama. "Oh Fluff, wow. I never saw this before."

We hovered there, drinking it in. A jet passed below us, heading for the hurly
burly of the airport, passengers safely strapped in, electronic landing aids
engaged. That's not flying. This is flying. She rotated us slowly, so we could
see everything. "Oh, Min. Oh Min, don't cry." "Oh, Fluff, you saw him, Oh,
oh." "There there." What a stupid thing to say. "He's not worth it". Another
stupid thing. So I stopped saying stupid things and just hugged her, and I
guess that didn't help much either, but it was all I had just now. Min cried
and cried, her shoulders heaving, while I dabbed at her eyes and hugged her
some more. And cursed myself for being so stupid. Clever Linda had calculated
that Sharon couldn't hurt Min, she'd just fly out of the way. Clever Linda had
forgotten that there's more than one way people get hurt. Eventually her
sobbing quietened to sniffles and snuffles. "Here, blow your nose on this."
"Fnarrrghhhhh" "There, that's better. We can wash your cape later." She smiled
through the tears. "Oh, Fluff. Always the joker." "How about that hot
chocolate, then?" "OK".

How do you get down from forty-two thousand feet to street level? If you're a
jumbo jet, you glide at an angle of one in twenty. If you're a witch, you
plummet. She wrapped her arms round me, did a half-loop to the head-first dive
position and let go of the gravy. We fell downwards like a JU-87
Sturzkamfflugzeug at thirty-two feet per second per second while the Witch
screamed "BASTARD!!!". That meant that ten seconds later, we were falling at
two hundred knots, and I swear that if it hadn't been for the wind resistance
that her cape was generating, we'd have caused a sonic boom over London
shortly afterwards. Which might have led to some questions. As it was, I felt
like I was standing in an elevator and the cable just broke. Then I felt like
I was moving head-first through a full hurricane as the 200 knot wind ripped
against my hair; I closed my eyes against the force of the blast. Then she
tumbled so we were feet-down, and I got that feeling you get when an express
elevator approaches the ground floor, only ten times more so. Then everything
stopped. Blessed silence, blessed peace. I opened my eyes, looked down.
Pavement. I felt like getting down on my hands and knees and hugging the
ground, but I felt that wouldn't be cool.

So I strolled up to my front door like I always travelled this way, and let us
both in. "Put the kettle on, Min" I called out as I made a very necessary trip
to the bathroom. It had been touch and go there for a while, but I'd managed
to hang on.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, Min was sitting by the table, her face
in her hands. Weeping. "Aw, Min". I put an arm round her shoulder and turned
towards me. "Oh Fluff, I feel so betrayed. He said he loved me." "That's Harry
for you. I'm sure he meant it, too." "So why ...?" "Why the scene you just
saw?" Min sniffled and nodded. "Min, those two have been an item since way
back. Several months, at least." "But you said ..." "Yes, I know, I thought
she'd ditched him like permanently; seems I was wrong. Sorry, Witch". "Sorry?
Sorry??" Her voice rose an octave. "Sorry, are you? It's all very well you
being sorry, I'm the one who, who ..." "Who what? Min, you spent a couple of
days with him, had some great sex, don't blow this out of proportion. He's
been Sharon's bloke for yonks." "But he, but we, I mean ..." "Min, sex isn't
that big a deal to Sharon and Harry, remember the industry they're in? Harry
probably bonks a couple of dozen birds each week, then he goes home to Sharon
and they make love. You see the difference?" Min sniffled some more. "I
thought... " "You were wrong." She wiped her nose on her cape again. Sniff.
It's polyester, it'll wash. "Got any bread? I'm absolutely bingo."

I got a loaf out of the bread basket, and then I thought, angels 42, that's a
lot of potential energy, she's going to need major refuelling. I put a
saucepan on to boil and started scrubbing smoe potatoes. I found a bag of
rice, and put another saucepan on. I opened up a can of curry sauce, and got a
couple of chicken cubes crumbled in with the rice, and by the time Min had
finished my bread, I had something substantial ready for her. She sniffed at
the rice suspiciously, and raised her eyebrows at me. "The closest that came
to a chicken is the picture they put on the cube to mislead you into thinking
there's real chickens involved." Min nodded, Soy beans, salt and soy sauce.
She ate her way steadily through enough food to keep me happy for a week; I
spooned up some yoghurt to keep her company. Eventually she slowed down. And
stopped. "Fluff, that was great, thanks. But I don't feel up to flying home
now, could I stay here overnight?" Well, of course. I hadn't for a moment
thought that she'd be up to a two hour journey in the middle of the night.

We went to bed.

"Fluff?" "Mmm?" "I'm sorry." "What are you apologising for?" "Dragging you
seven miles up into the London sky?" "Oh, that. No, I enjoyed it" I lied.
Well, after I got over the sheer clammy-handed dry-mouthed knicker-wetting
terror I did.

"Fluff?" "Mmm?" "I've lost my bag, my flight suit, my nice frock." "It'll be
where the party was, don't worry, we can pick it up tomorrow." "But all I've
got to wear is this evening dress." "You can borrow a t-shirt." "Thanks."

"Fluff?" "Mmm?" "He was good." "If he wasn't any good, he'd be a piss-poor
porn star" "Yes, but he was ...." she trailed off.

"Fluff?" "Yes?" I was wide awake now. She obviously wanted to talk. "He loved
flying." Nutter, I though. "He wanted me to fly him to London, but I couldn't,
too much weight. Maybe if I had? What do you think?" "Min, that's irrelevant.
If he hadn't seen Sharon then, he'd have seen her some other time, this isn't
anything to do with you or me, it's the two of them, they're an item, you
know?" She was silent for a while.

"Fluff?" "Yes?" "You know, I thought, this time, maybe this time it really
was, you know, I mean, you know? The real thing?" Oh god. "Min, you've been
reading too many Mills and Boon books." "Yes, but he said he loved me." "Fine.
And did he say anything about Sharon?" There was a long silence. "Yes" she
said in a very small voice. "He was screaming her name when he came." I
grunted.

"Fluff?" I pulled out the pillow from under my head, got a good grip on it,
and whacked her with it. "Oh!" Then I whacked her again. She got hers out, and
fought back. Biff, whack, bash, pow. After a few minutes of that, we collapsed
in giggles. She put her arms round me, I snuggled up close to her, and I fell
asleep. I assume she did too.