Sky Daddy

by Kate Folk

I was receptive to the idea, as I’d always subscribed to the notion of an intelligent universe, a web of predestination in which we all were tangled.

Only such a cosmic force could bring about my dream of marriage to a plane—what others vulgarly refer to as a “plane crash.” I believed this was my destiny: for a plane to recognize me as his soulmate mid-flight and, overcome with passion, relinquish his grip on the sky, hurtling us to earth in a carnage that would meld our souls for eternity.

though I wished I could ask him many things, such as which model of plane was his favorite, and whether he felt an emotional attachment to the planes, as a farmer loves the horse that assists his labors.

Though I’d take no pleasure from sex with this pilot, or any person, I would submit to the act to please him, and remain in good standing as his wife. I’d be caressed—infrequently, I hoped—by fingers that had recently touched the most intimate parts of a plane, and been anointed.

As a rule, I avoided forming deep connections with other people.

like valid

I preferred to fly near a mountain range, whose choppy airstreams, I hoped, would embolden a plane to yield to his lust for me, as alcohol primes a human lover for intercourse.

Lewd shots from below, that long stretch of belly, fish-smooth and flanked by testicular engines.

The cabin filled with screams and prayers. All the while, a cord of energy crept up my spine. I was filled with a warm liquid sensation, a feeling of inevitability, along with wave upon wave of pleasure, what I would later understand had been my first orgasm.

yo wtf lmao

But before I could reach this goal, my love was placed in storage after a mechanical issue on a flight from Newark to San Juan.

New jersey mentioned