View Full Version : How many Hosties have you had and which was the dirtiest?

1st Jun 2001, 16:36
Another dumbass poll, but thought this one would be kinda fun.

[edited for typo caused by recalcitrant letter T key]

[This message has been edited by Blackshirt (edited 01 June 2001).]

Radar Departure2
1st Jun 2001, 17:22
A dumbass poll? Well, at least one that shows up you and anybody who responds in kind as the pathetic w*nkers you are. Jesus.

(Sorry, Danny, I keep saying I won't get personal, but people keep coming along with reasons to make me change my mind)


1st Jun 2001, 19:12
I had one on today's rotation.

Should have been two, but we had no sickness cover, so had to fly with one - consequent limit on pax numbers, but there you go...

I didn't notice that she was particularly dirty - since it was first thing in the morning, I'd had a shower within half an hour of reporting, and I would hope that she had as well...

1st Jun 2001, 19:46
Aahh, a Mosely man perchance.
I've had seven at one time and they were all quite fresh and clean. They all worked extremely hard and by the end of the flight I daresay they probably all felt like a shower, sorry did I mis-understand you, hmm never mind perhaps someone else will give you the information you seek.

Flap Sup
1st Jun 2001, 23:19
Blackshirt, you may have approached the subject the wrong way

You certainly seemed to have offended some (RD2).

Instead you cold hav asked: Have you had any interesting episodes involving air host/hostess???

And as in other threads, the author of the thread starts out with his/her own story. Now yours may have been a bit like mine, so I'll give mine to make amends. Brace yourself, 'cause its sad.

It happend back in those days, before I started out on my flying career. Back then I worked in dispatch in a land far, far away.
Taking care of a turnaround for a foreign carrier, at first I didn't see her. But suddenly, out of nowhere, there she was (well, actually, she came out of the loo, but thats not very fairytalelike), and I was stunned. Didn't know what to say. Didn't know waht to do. I Dispatched the flight with the girl of my dreams without dooing anything at all.
Fortunately for me, the carrier had only a limited routenetwork, so I got the chance to see her again and again. Everytime she came to my stn, I flirted a little, "made some moves" and asked her out, but alas always with the same answer - no, thanx. However, she was always charming and attentive. Always flirting.
It must have lasted at least 3 months like this, me seeing her approx every week on a turnaround or dispatching the flt after nightstop. Mind you, I didn't see date other girls in this period!! But one beautiful afternoon, upon taking care of the nightstopping flt, I asked her out and she accepted.
"Sure, pick me up at eight".
Imagine my mood.
Same evening, I picked her up, she demanded to go to a specific restaurant. Nothing special, not expensive, not even fancy. I suggested this and that to eat a better (or more impressive) place, but no, she wanted that, and only that restaurant. What could I say??
"Of course. Its just around the corner. We'll be there in two mins"
I noticed a familiar face once there, but I couldn't quite place it. She kept glancing at the table with the familiar face. All the time.
Suddenly, it occured to me; its the F/O from the flt. With another hostie. Da mn, I was beaten (yet another reason to take up flying). I tried it all: Nice, funny, tough, everything, but she just didn't notice me that evening, she kept looking over at that da mn table.
Later, walking her to her hotel, I tried to talk to her about it, but she waved me off. Kissed me on the cheek, vague smile, goodnight. Aaarrgghhh.

I came over her. It took some time though.

It must have been some six months later some collegues and I joined up for a little drinking trip. The others persuaded me to go to her hometown, not because of her (they didn't know of my unrequited crush) but because of the great bars. On the very first day over there, we went shopping for souvenirs (no, we really shopped for beer, but I didn't want to look like an alcoholic here), an guess who I saw. Allright, the attentive readers might have guessed already, for the rest I'll reveal: It was her. Standing opposite of me in the little shop, looking for redwine. In her shoppingbasket I noticed to slices of beef, vegetables, spices, candles, tiramisu, everyting for a nice romantic dinner. Back to square one with FS, I was in love again. Before I could summon the strenght to approach her, Someone else came up to her, padded her on the a ss, and gave her a little kiss. My, oh, my, it was someone I had seen before, but not the F/O from the beforementioned evening. It was the hostie the F/O had dined with that evening! She was a dyke.
Once again FS was struck speechless. This time in a small shop in a foreign country, with a couple of sixpacks in hand. The sixpacks came in handy that day.

Blackshirt, had you started the thread like this, you probably would not have had those angry responses.
Cheers FS

2nd Jun 2001, 02:19
I think I may have posted this before, but what the heck...

First Officer's Lust-Song (with apologies to John Betjeman)

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, cabin crew Number One,
Tarnish'd and varnish'd in stopover sun,
"The Captain has coffee, I'll have a tea";
All in the flight deck - you, him and me!

One-thirty, one-forty, oh! I missed the rotate,
The skipper will spend the whole trip in a bate,
"Slap a screen on that window - there's too much damn sun,
Stay awake for the flight now, we're not here for fun".

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How bad I am, glad I am, that you're up for fun,
The warm-bodied hostie is back in her dress,
Now that shock-faced young steward, he fancies me less.

The ATCO's anonymous, we recycle the squawk,
In hitting the ident I dropped knife and fork
And cool is the welcome that marshals us in
To Golf Nineteen Left as she pockets the gin.

The scent of my aftershave, sound of the shower,
The view from the hotel of pylon and tower,
As I struggle with hairdryer - have I done up my fly?
For we dance at the Palais, my hostie and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and skirt,
Her uniform hat, with my shoes and shirt,
She lies on the bed, I beg her don't mock,
For the minibar key just broke off in the lock.

The jacuzzi is waiting, we wrestle and fall,
Those damn photos of Airbuses fell off the wall,
As I stand at the phone, please don't fondle my wares;
I'm calling my wife - I'll meet you downstairs.

By roads badly surfaced, en route bribing a cop,
The taxi is ancient - will that Peugeot stop?
Into after-dark downtown, the cab has no lights,
And I nibble her ear and run my hand up her tights.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the disco's begun,
Oh! Damn - bust a shoelace, my sock's full of sand,
Then I feel on my thigh your trolley girl's hand.

Around us are Royal Brunei and BA,
El Al and United, BWIA,
And here on my right that young steward's voice,
"Are you certain you know what's your sexual choice?"

Then the scent of her sweat, the words spin round my head,
And the ominous, dangerous time spent in bed.
We talked in the car park till twenty past one
For she now thinks she is pregnant, does Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

2nd Jun 2001, 02:24
Here's the original...

A Subaltern's Love-Song

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnishd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won.
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euononymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
and westering, questioning settles the sun
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads 'not adopted', by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car-park the dance has begun.
Oh! full Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us, the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car-park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

John Betjeman

2nd Jun 2001, 02:58
Had a few but never managed to eat a whole one.

Nil nos tremefacit
2nd Jun 2001, 10:41
Flap Sup

Your story of unrequited love sounds like those stories that you hear on the radio just before a request for a Charles Aznavour record!!! :)

Flap Sup
2nd Jun 2001, 14:02
yet its true (except for the dyke part that I added for the drama)

Stiff Lil' Fingers
2nd Jun 2001, 21:36
Well Flap Sup, doesn't sound all bad. At least "I came over her. It took some time though" :) :)