Flight Moves

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In a world with six billion people in it, million-to-one chances happen thousands of times a day. Thousands of lucky folks strike it rich, or get killed by a falling coconut, or have something equally unlikely happen to them. It ain’t all good, but it is all rare. And sometimes some guy finds himself at thirty thousand feet with… well, you’ll have to wait a bit for that part. This is the story of the day it was me who got lucky.

I was on the first leg of long flight home. I’d been doing forensic geology in a place I’ll call Unpronouncablestan–one of the crazy little countries on the southern edge of the old Soviet Union that are the wild west of the new Asia. There was a little company claiming to have made a big gold strike there, and before Western investors plunged in they wanted some assurance that the gold was–how do I say it?–not added to the samples along the way.

Trust is a hard commodity to come by in the precious metals business, but my old college roommate worked for one of the investors and could vouch for me personally, as could any number of clients. I don’t claim any special virtue–I’m just such a lousy liar that pulling any kind of scam always seemed impossible. I kinda like some of the work I’ve done unraveling other people’s dishonest schemes because it shines a light into an alien world, one where what people say isn’t always what they mean. I’m just not good at that.

Knowing that, you might guess I have trouble with women. My very-recently-ex girlfriend was just the latest in a long line of failed relationships. I think she was attracted by my honesty at first, but in a kinky kind of way. She was always on about people being liars. The big thing I learned from her is that people see in others what they find in themselves. She was the least honest person I ever met, and even with killer legs and perfect pert tits topped by little pillbox nipples it wasn’t worth being subject to her paranoid rants about my purported dishonesty.

Being habitually dishonest herself, she accused others as a kind of preemptive defense. It had taken me a long time to see that, and even longer to act on it. She was a crazy bitch, but a wildcat in bed, and a man gets to like that. But we all draw the line somewhere, and she finally crossed mine by accusing me of lying to her about all kinds of stuff through the whole time we’d known each other. It would have been funny to watch in a movie–the nutty blonde who lives in her own little world and thinks she’s fooling everyone with her misdirection and manipulation. She fooled me for quite a while, because really honest people have a hard time seeing dishonesty. istanbul escort Like I said: we see in others what we find in ourselves.

The last time I’d seen her before flying out to this job ended with her screaming accusations at me about all kinds of things. I got fed up and walked out, and I knew I wouldn’t be back. I could see now that she’d stuck with me mostly for my money–I’d made a major find early in my prospecting career and really didn’t need to keep working, but kept in the game ’cause it’s what I know and what I like. On reflection I could see that her sexual antics were just a ploy to keep me interested. She figured I’d never stay if she was just herself, which was probably true because underneath the hedonistic exterior she was a prudish bitch who hated sex and, from what she had been screaming at me when I left, thought my interest and enjoyment in it was sick and disgusting.

The whole thing got me soured on women, and the whores of Unpronouncablestan got the benefit. They didn’t speak my language and I didn’t speak theirs, but I wasn’t there for conversation, and at least we both knew we were involved in a straight commercial transaction.

I was wondering what I’d do for sex now I was headed back to the world. I couldn’t really imagine a steady diet of escorts and hookers would be very satisfying. I got thinking then about the pair of flight attendants who were staffing the aft cabin. I could definitely imagine a steady diet of them being satisfying, or even just a snack. One was a petite brunette with fine features and glossy shoulder-length hair. The other was a bit taller, a sturdy blonde with strong athletic shoulders balanced by a find pair up front that bounced and swayed as she walked through the cabin.

The world outside was dark, and we were probably somewhere over the Middle East, six hours in to a twelve hour flight to Frankfurt. I was planning a layover in Europe for a little R&R before heading home.

The blonde flight attendant–mustn’t call them stewardesses these days–had just passed forward and I watched her nicely rounded ass sway until she stepped through the curtains separating us working folks from first class. I needed to sleep, but got up to relieve myself first, rolling along between rows of passengers, all slumped and at least trying to find a little peace in the arms of Morpheus.

The curtain at the rear of the cabin was closed too, screening off the cubby at the back of the plane. As I slipped into the lav I could hear a faint shifting and rustling through the curtain, as if the sole occupant was trying to find a comfortable position Escort Anadolu Yakası for some shut-eye of her own.

I did my thing, flushed, washed my hands and did up my jeans. They don’t make aircraft loos for folks my size: six two and pretty broad across the shoulders. Hard work at the gym has kept the fat off my belly, but it’s a constant struggle. Worth it, though, as the guy in the mirror didn’t look half bad for the wrong side of thirty.

I don’t know how it happened, but the door must have snagged on the curtain somehow, so when I opened it I stepped not into the cabin but into the flight attendant’s area behind. The pretty brunette was slouched in one of the built-in seats with her shoes off and her feet up. Her skirt was up too, and her hand moved deep within her panties. Her blouse was loose and the other hand massaged a nipple beneath the thin fabric.

Her eyes were closed, but they slitted open as she felt my presence, then slowly widened. They were sleepy, dreamy eyes, filled with the glassy look of desire that a woman gets when lost in pleasure.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but I found my hand reaching tentatively for my belt buckle, which was still only half snug, and I said quietly, “I can help you with that”, nodding in the direction of her crotch.

She responded without a word, reaching out with both hands to undo my belt and pulling down my pants and boxers, letting my erection swing free. I’m no bigger than the average guy, but in that enclosed space it seemed huge, although I only had a glimpse before she twisted in her seat, leaned forward and took it in her hot little mouth. I gasped as she enveloped me, gripping me with one hand and pulling me into her against the swaying of the plane while the other plunged back into her panties. I could feel little moans starting in her throat and vibrating through the sensitive skin of my head, deep within her.

I steadied myself with one hand and stroked her hair with the other, trying to hold myself back so would come together. I’m such an old fashioned guy. Besides, although I was nervous we might get caught, I wanted the moment to last.

We were well on our way to paradise when her blonde colleague peaked an eye through the curtain. I must have heard her approach subconsciously because my head turned that way of its own accord. There wasn’t much of my body under my conscious control just then.

My eyes locked with the blonde’s, and I felt my face forming into what I hoped was a welcoming smile. I’m not much to look at, although I’ve been called ruggedly handsome on occasion, but I fill out Anadolu Yakası Rus Escort a tee-shirt nicely and I saw her eyes flick over my well-muscled frame with approval. She glanced down at her co-worker, who was so lost in pleasure that she hadn’t even noticed her colleague’s arrival. My hips were still pumping against the brunette’s face in an unbroken rhythm. The blonde must have liked what she saw, because she slipped quickly through the curtain and just as quickly shed her skirt and panties, lifting herself up onto the stainless steel countertop that formed the back wall of the cabin.

If the brunette noticed any of this she gave no sign, and I contorted my body to bring my face down between the blonde’s open legs. Her nicely plump thighs closed warmly around my ears as my tongue found the clean-shaven salty taste of her, and another set of quiet moans joined the brunette’s and my own.

I don’t know how long the three of use stayed like that, locked in a circle of pleasure, each rising toward a shared peak. The brunette reached it first, and I could feel her mouth suddenly tighten around me as she tried to stifle a loud cry. That was enough to send me over the edge, and I gushed my load into her, feeling the pulsing suction as she swallowed it down. Finally the blonde gave a shudder and swallowed her own moan of pleasure as I buried mine in her wet muff.

For a moment then we were all still, lost in our own worlds. At last the moment ended as I raised my head from its warm embrace and felt my now-flacid member come free into the cool cabin air. Each of us again gave a little sigh at the disengagement, as if we were all sharing the same feeling of deep satisfaction. I felt no shame as I zipped up my jeans and stowed away my tackle. Everyone had enjoyed themselves equally, payment given and received in the same coin. I gave each of them a tip of my nonexistent hat and without speaking a word stepped back through the curtain, leaving them to sort themselves out. As I settled back in my seat I thought I heard low voices and a soft giggle somewhere aft.

I awoke during descent, and as I walked off the plane in Frankfurt I nodded and smiled to each of them, and managed to slip both a business card with my cell number. I had a feeling I’d be keeping my phone turned on even though I was planning a little downtime.

They both smiled back, the brunette shyly, the blonde with a knowing grin, and I suddenly found I was no longer soured on women. Who knows if they’ll call, separately or together. I don’t really care, although I wouldn’t mind the fun, and if they decided to bring the leggy redhead I’d noticed serving in the first-class cabin we could have ourselves a fourgy. A man can dream.

Because in a world with six billion people in it, million-to-one chances happen thousands of times a day. Maybe today will be your turn. Watch out for falling coconuts.

Now, I’ve got to go–my phone is ringing.

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