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At a dinner party, a female friend of mine once confessed an amusing event that happened to her on an airplane. She had been flying alone, Economy Class, from London to San Francisco, and was sat next to a small, overweight, middle-aged man. The cabin lights were dimmed for that strange time period when flight attendants arbitrarily decide it is bedtime (regardless of the fact it is daylight outside and only 2 o’clock in the afternoon), and she awoke from a nap to find she was inexplicably masturbating the man sitting next to her.
She told us she couldn’t recall whether she had initiated the activity in her unconscious state, or if the stranger had taken advantage of her sleeping arm; but either way, she shrieked in horror and let go immediately upon realizing what was happening. For the remainder of their journey, the fat man had winked frequently at her, as though they shared a secret equally beautiful to them both.
This funny story lived with me for a long time and would particularly come to mind when I was traveling on an airplane. I would no longer fear the peculiar phenomenon of flying itself, but rather, whom I might start touching up if I closed my eyes for a few minutes during the flight.
And then something happened to me that wasn’t a million miles away from my friend’s airplane story. It’s an incident I still think about now, whenever I am flying, and one I daydream about quite regularly, even when I’m nowhere near a plane.
I have racked up quite a few air miles in my life. My work as a journalist frequently takes me on long-distance trips overseas. Most of these flights have now disappeared from my memory as ‘lost time’, in that way certain events in our lives – like waiting for buses, walking the dog, and filling in taxes – have a tendency to do. But one particular flight, from Vancouver to London, will be etched in my mind forever, with the same eternal brilliance that the sun burns in the sky.
I was 29 years old at the time, flying Economy on a fully booked flight that left Vancouver around nine in the evening. I had checked in late and was unable to get my preferred seat on the aisle, finding myself instead in a window-seat, which had two other seats between the aisle and me. I found mine before the inhabitants of the two empty seats beside me had found theirs, and I anxiously surveyed the passengers flooding through the cabin, hoping upon hope that the most unpleasant looking ones — the overweight, the most unclean looking, the youngest kids – were not going to be my immediate neighbors.
I don’t wish to sound like a snob, I have nothing whatever against people who are fat, filthy or children (or even those that are all three), but as I’m sure you are aware, it’s every man and woman for themselves on a flight. All love and tolerance for your fellow human is abandoned on a long haul Economy flight. Being in transit is a mysterious limbo where your ethics, goodwill and personality are suspended.
It wasn’t long before I discovered my seat-neighbors were to be an attractive looking mother and her extremely sexy teenage daughter. The daughter must have been around 19. She had long, sun-streaked brown hair and the most beautiful green-black eyes, thick with a naïve but devastating layer of mascara on the lower lids, and a few cute specks of make-up glitter on her cheeks.
She wore a white vest top with what looked like a loose gym-bra underneath, and a pair of pale blue jeans that stopped at her calves. The nails of her toes, visible from a pair of straw sandals, were painted silver and chipped. She was chewing gum and intermittently created little pink candy-bubbles from her moist-looking lips. They would pop and burst with a smack, before her tongue sucked them back in.
As if I was not lucky enough to have this delicious young woman as one of my neighbors for the 12-hour flight, to my delight, she took the seat immediately next to mine; her mother preferring to be seated on the aisle where she could stretch her legs. I gave silent thanks to the God that tends to be remembered on those occasions when we want something, or have just been given something we suspect we didn’t deserve.
It was going to be a joy to be sat next to this gorgeous girl. We smiled a polite hello to one another as she sat down, and although she didn’t seem too bothered by mine, her own smile successfully melted my heart.
I gathered from a conversation she held with her mother about where to find the cellophane-wrapped blanket beneath the seat, that the girl’s name was Laura. Ah… Laura, I thought to myself, the most beautiful of all women’s names, although I had naturally never thought twice about it before.
I have flown frequently enough to know the importance of wearing comfortable, loose fitting clothing for a long flight, so I was dressed in a t-shirt and jogging pants. After twenty minutes or so of pre-flight rituals — i.e. reading the movie brochure in order to feel disappointed about what films are being Escort Beylikdüzü shown, and ignoring the safety demonstration — the plane was up in the air.
We were all being handed rolled up hot-towels by the flight attendants who served them to us with tongs from a silver tray. Everybody took one — people will take anything that is offered to them when it’s free — and I watched other passengers wonder, just like me, what the hell they should do with it.
The gorgeous girl beside me was having a problem plugging in the flimsy headphones we had been given to access the in-flight “entertainment”. I came valiantly (but casually) to her rescue, and showed her how to attach them to the power input on the arm of her seat. She was warmly grateful and smiled another beautiful smile my way.
I noticed she had the most divinely soft looking, sun-varnished skin and the sort of sexy, pouting lips that rarely revealed her teeth, despite the fact she was continuing to chew gum like it was an Olympic sport she was training for.
On her cheek she had a beauty spot that on anybody else would have simply been a mole. I noticed her slender-fingered hands had something illegible scrawled on the back in crude felt tip. This luscious brunette was blissfully unaware of the sexual allure that virtually dripped from her.
Her breasts were small — no more than a modest palmful each, but they struck me as the perfect size and form of any breasts, because they were attached to her. The proximity of her long bare arm to mine was painfully close as she fiddled with the radio stations on the inside of her seat.
A short while later, the flight attendants announced that dinner would be served. It had gone 11pm and I doubt many passengers were hungry for a meal – most of them having probably eaten before the flight, but we were forced to surrender to the benevolent dictatorship of in-flight planning, and be given an indigestible tray-meal nonetheless.
The male flight attendant served a dinner to Laura and her mother and then asked me if I wanted the “chicken” or the “fish”.
‘Neither, thank you’, I said. ‘Nothing for me’.
‘Oh, but you must eat something”, the man said, looking worried sick; as if he were a robot about to malfunction at any strange request that fell outside his program.
‘Really, I am ok’, I promised.
‘But there won’t be any more food until breakfast’, he said, trying to thrust a foil-covered tray in my direction.
‘No, honestly, I’m good’, I said, struggling to remain affable.
When he had finally given up and moved his trolley on, I added under my breath: “Jesus! It’s like the Spanish Inquisition.’
It was loud enough for Laura to hear and she chuckled sympathetically, having paid attention to the whole exchange. It was a warm, sexy little laugh that made me feel a little closer to her.
Several hours passed and it became time for the flight attendants to dim the lights in the cabin and begin showing the movie. I can’t remember which movie it was but it doesn’t really matter on an airplane where all movies seem terrible whatever they are, on that pokey little screen with bad sound.
I had begun watching the film with my headphones on, and Laura had done the same. After a while I had fallen asleep – it must have been at least 2am by now (Canadian time). When I awoke, I quickly remembered where I was and how uncomfortable I was, and I noticed that Laura was staring down at my lap.
It’s a funny thing on a night flight, but when a guy falls asleep during the hours he would usually be in bed, his body tends to involuntarily respond the way it would if he were asleep at home. And I realized quickly that what Laura was staring at was the crotch of my jogging pants, where I had a full-scale, fully-charged up erection that was so blatantly apparent, it looked obscene.
As casually as I could, I opened the blanket up that was by my side and spread it over my body, pulling it up to my neck from underneath. Laura caught my eye and grinned at me. It was a knowing grin. I grinned back with a more innocent, embarrassed one and closed my eyes again, probably a little red-faced.
The next thing I knew, Laura – after checking that her mother was still asleep, slid her right arm under the side of my blanket. I opened my eyes sharply and looked straight at her. Her eyes showed the sexiest mix of excitement and wonder. We continued to keep our eyes fixed upon one another for most of what followed.
I felt Laura’s arm under my blanket slide down my chest and locate the bulge on the outside of my jogging pants. I was still as hard as a tent peg and a delicious grin crossed her face when she discovered the fact.
I think my expression must have been an interesting combination of fear and arousal. I made no attempt to prevent or assist the delicious assault, but inside I was thanking God again and promising to be good in future if only the molestation would only continue.
Laura’s Escort Bahçeşehir hand pressed down on my erection and she rubbed it a couple of times through the cotton of my pants. I felt her fingers fumble to loosen the string-tie around my waist. It took her a while but suddenly my pants felt looser. I puffed out the blanket a bit more in the area around my lap to hide the appearance of any motion down there, and I felt Laura’s fingers meet my skin as she slid her hand beneath the waistband.
Still looking intently in my eyes, she took hold of my naked erection and began to very slowly move it up and down. I couldn’t believe I was here. On a crowded airplane at 30,000 feet, being jerked off by a teenage stranger, while her mother slept in the seat next to her.
After twenty seconds or so, she stopped and pulled her hand out from my blanket. The disappointment must have been stark in my eyes because she immediately smiled again, and this time provocatively raised one of her dark eyebrows.
She reached down for her own blanket and pulled it up over her body until, like mine, it was concealing her lap and torso like a bed sheet. Now I am not the fastest guy but I cottoned on pretty quickly what she was inviting me to do, and I slid my right arm across from beneath my own blanket until it found the edge of hers. She turned her body sideways to face me and stared again with the most beautiful look of concentration.
My hand found its way to her vest and I began to run my fingers along the thin material. I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath. Her lips parted and although no sound came out, I sensed her breath was coming deeper and faster.
She had the first sign of trepidation in her eyes, and it joined the look of excitement and wonder that remained. I ran my hand in a straight line up the center of her vest until it found her bare shoulders and I trailed my fingers across her breasts. They were firm and felt heavenly.
I grew more confident and gave each one a squeeze, before finding the entrance to her bra strap, and sliding my hand inside. It was a tight fit but I was able to take one of them in my palm. The nipple was smooth and warm.
After exploring the flesh of her breasts in this way, I let my hand stray down to the waist of her jeans. I found the skin of her hot, flat stomach and caressed it a few times.
With each motion of my hand, I allowed my fingertips to stray a little farther under the waistband until they were brushing the top edge of her underwear. Her eyes acquired a look of fierce concentration as though powered by an electric current being generated by my touch.
After a short time I un-popped the top button of her jeans and caressed her abdomen again. This time my fingers were able to reach the first inch or so of her pants. I un-popped a second button and now I could feel delicate curls of hair from under the soft material.
One more pop and I was able to reach right in and feel the flesh of her thighs where they met her panties. It was so soft, it felt like skin that had never been touched. Letting my fingers come to rest between her legs, I felt that the crotch of the pants was damp.
Still keeping my eyes fixed on hers, I carefully peeled back the gusset of her panties from the top of her thighs, and let two fingers come into gentle contact with the damp entrance to her pussy. It felt as warm and wet as the inside of a mouth.
She made the sweetest gasp and looked at me adoringly, as though she would be at my mercy forever. I think at that moment I may have fallen in love. Holding the crotch of her underwear away with my thumb, I rubbed my fingers over her slippery pussy, feeling it grow wetter by the second.
Laura responded by sliding her own hand back under my blanket and into my trousers, taking hold again of my erection. She began to jerk me once again, her hand mirroring the rhythm of my own against her wet little pussy.
Continuing to gaze transfixed at one another in the dim light of the cabin, we slowly and carefully masturbated one another with the delicacy and concentration of Federal Agents defusing an explosive device.
Laura was so wet down there that I was able to insert my forefinger quite deep into her pussy, while continuing to rub her clitoris with the palm of my hand.
I could feel her whole body held rigid and still, as though the slightest fluctuation in her position might halt the pleasure that was steadily building. She was still chewing her gum, but had to take breaks now and again as was panting involuntarily.
She was also returning the favor by massaging my erection up and down, using her hand it seemed, to set the pace and rhythm at which she wanted me to finger-fuck her.
It can’t have been long before I sensed I was about to have an almighty orgasm. I think my expression must have signaled what was about to happen because Laura’s eyes grew wide, and she grinned with a proud anticipation.
Then suddenly, her mother sat up on the seat beside her. I pulled my arm away sharply from Laura’s crotch. We were still well concealed by the blanket.
‘Are you alright?’ her mother asked her softly, noticing that her daughter was turned away. She placed her hand gently on Laura’s shoulder. Laura’s jerking-arm froze, as did my previously bucking hips.
She turned to her mother, a picture of innocence, exactly as I felt my cock twitch and began to unload jet after jet of warm spunk over her hand (which was still tightly gripped around my shaft), and the inside of my jogging pants. The pleasure was so intense I almost fainted, and yet fear prevented me from letting anything show in my face. My cock continued to spasm for what seemed like a blissful age.
‘I’m fine, Mom’, said Laura in what could have been an Academy Award winning performance of believability. She let her hand slip from the drenched confines of my jogging trousers and returned it carefully to the safety of her own blanket.
‘I’m going to stretch my legs,’ her mother said, and folding up her seat-tray, handed a half-cup of water to Laura as she got up.
Laura took the cup with her right hand, and I felt sick when I spotted that her fingers were covered in my sperm. Fortunately her mother didn’t seem to notice. Laura noticed however, and once her mother had departed, began to wipe her fingers on the paper of the vomit bag, which she took from the seat in front. She smiled at me again and I smiled back, probably goofily.
‘I wish we weren’t on this plane’, she said to me dreamily after a while, raising that devastating eyebrow once more as she did so.
I fell in love with her again.
‘Me too’, I said.
Realizing what a mess I was in, I figured I ought to go to the restroom to clean up. I stood up and discovered a damp lake was staining my pants, so I wrapped the blanket around me like a sarong and passing Laura’s seat, headed down the aisle.
On my way to the restroom, I passed Laura’s Mom coming back towards me. I saw her notice the blanket-‘skirt’ I was wearing, and in my paranoia ascribed unlikely thoughts to the woman: that she knew why I was concealing myself with the blanket and was fully aware what I had been doing with her daughter.
There were eight toilet cubicles grouped together on opposite sides of a mini-hallway, halfway down the aisle. I put myself in one of the vacant compartments. It had one of those space-saving folding doors and I found it tricky locking it into place behind me. Once secure in the little, brightly lit booth, I paused for a moment and released a long audible breath, able to register fully what had just happened now that I was alone.
I unwrapped the blanket from my waist and surveyed the flood damage to the crotch of my pants, in the long mirror upon the wall. How the hell was I going to cover up a damp patch that size, I wondered. It looked like I had pissed myself. Twice.
Deciding to deal with the cause of the problem first, I pulled down my pants and looked at myself in the mirror. My cock was flaccid but had that recently-serviced look of fat satisfaction about it. My pubic hair had been reduced to an afro of tangled, sticky knots.
I used paper towels and an awkward maneuver over the hand basin to wash and pad myself dry. When I finally felt clean and comfortable again, I turned my attention back to the state of my pants.
Rubbing away at the damp stain with a paper towel as though I were sanding down a door, I made frustratingly scant progress and decided to simply leave the stain until it had dried, and deal with any mark that might be left on the outside later. I took a piss, tried to make my hair look less unkempt in the mirror, and wrapped the blanket back around my waist, exiting the cubicle.
The moment I emerged from the folding door, I saw Laura waiting in the aisle by the little hallway of toilets. I assumed she had been waiting for a toilet to become vacant, but before I knew what was happening, she was pushing me back into the toilet cubicle and quickly following after me.
It was even more cramped inside when we were in, and Laura had as much trouble as I had done trying to lock the door behind us. Once the lock was in place she leaned in to me, pressing my back to the rear wall of the cubicle, the toilet bowl positioned between my parted legs, and she began to kiss me passionately. It was a deliciously naïve kiss — all tongues and no subtlety — but it was terrifically erotic.
Her lips were warm and wet and she still had a ball of pink gum in her mouth that made her kiss taste like artificial strawberry flavoring. I instinctively ran my hands through her hair and down her back as we slobbered all over each other mouths.
Next thing I knew, Laura was kissing her way down my shirt until she reached my ‘skirt’ which she unwrapped and whipped away, like she was removing a tablecloth without disturbing the contents of the table. She pulled my jogging pants down and my stiff cock sprang out, having proudly prepared itself for battle again; and leaning over, she took its head into her mouth in one go and started furiously sucking me off.
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