The Airplane

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The Airplane

Kathryn M. Burke

I got to the Philadelphia airport well in time for my night flight to San Francisco.

I can’t say I’m fond of red-eye flights, but I don’t like wasting a whole day just going from one coast to the other. Anyway, I’m young (twenty-four) and healthy, so I can sacrifice a little sleep every now and then. I was flattered that my tech firm had entrusted me to meet with the execs of our parent company to discuss a new product, so I was going to make the most of the opportunity.

Don’t get the idea, just because I work in the tech field, that I’m some kind of geek with glasses thick as a Coke bottle. I don’t wear glasses, as a matter of fact. On top of that, I like to think I’m a reasonably good-looking guy. I’m five foot ten, with broad shoulders and good pecs. I’ve had my share of scrumptious females in the bedroom, even though at the moment I don’t have a steady girlfriend. But I am constantly on the lookout.

Not that it was terribly likely I’d find one on an airplane. Even though I was flying first class.

I was in the window seat, and there was only one other seat next to mine on this side of the aisle. Usually I don’t pay much attention to my seatmate, since it’s pretty unlikely I’d have much in common with them. Anyway, most people sleep on night flights, don’t they? I was certainly going to try, since my meeting was at 11 a.m. the next morning.

The lady who sat down in the neighboring seat was probably in her mid-forties, but as an “older woman” she was damn nice to look at. Tall, shapely, with a proud pair of breasts whose outlines were plainly revealed by the thin sweater she was wearing, and swelling hips encased in a wraparound skirt that came down just below her knees. Her face could almost have been called angular, but a better description would be noble, even aristocratic—kind of like some of the great actresses of the 1940s.

It would have been quite a lovely face if she weren’t utterly petrified.

She sat down gingerly on the seat, as if it might explode beneath her, and gave me a broken little smile that seemed to have some kind of plea in it. She didn’t have any carry-on baggage, just a huge handbag that she clutched to her chest as though it might afford her protection from some inexpressible terror. None of this boded well for my own comfort or repose.

“Hi,” I said.

She jerked her head in my direction, her eyes wide. “Hi,” she croaked.

I frowned with concern. “Are you all right?” I said.

“No!” she blurted out. “God, I’m so scared of flying! I haven’t flown in, like, twenty years.”

“Then why—?”

“It’s my mom. She’s gotten pretty sick, and I’m the only person who has the time to go out and look after her.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Oh, I think so—it’s not really life-threatening. But someone has to be there at the hospital and hold her hand and stuff. You know how mothers are.”

“Sure,” I said, even though my own mom wasn’t quite as needy as hers. “But you know what they say: you’re safer in the air than on the ground.”

She looked at me askance. “Yeah, right.”

“My name’s Andrew,” I said, trying to get into a conversation to calm her down.

“Julia,” she said, looking straight ahead of her.

Even as she clung to the handbag as if it were a security blanket, Julia’s chest rose and fell more and more rapidly. I thought she might be hyperventilating.

I was almost going to call the flight attendant—there was one specifically designated to take care of us first-class folks—to help somehow, when that lady caught sight of my seatmate and stalked over to us.

“Ma’am,” she said, “you’re going to have to put that bag under the seat in front of you or in the overhead compartment.”

“Why?” Julia said mulishly.

“Because we can’t have you holding it like that. It’s unsafe.”

That didn’t go over very well with Julia. I could immediately read her thoughts: Are we going to be unsafe up in the air? Are we going to crash?

Grudgingly, Julia stuffed the handbag in the space under the seat in front, kicking it to make sure it was entirely out of the way. As we began taxiing out toward the runway, I felt the need to do what I could to make her settle down. The last thing I wanted was for her to throw some kind of tantrum that would cause this flight to be delayed or cancelled.

“Hey,” I said, stroking her hand as it rested on the armrest between us, “just relax. Everything will be fine. If I can be of any help, just let me know.”

She turned her head in my direction and gave me that broken smile again. I almost thought she was going to cry. She put her hand over mine and said, “You’re awfully sweet. I’m usually a pretty tough broad, but airplanes just give me the willies.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’ll try my best to make it pleasant for you.”

When we took off, Julia again reverted to panic mode and clutched my hand spasmodically—and so tightly that it nearly cut off the circulation. She closed her eyes tightly as we were kozyatağı escort reaching up to cruising altitude, and only when the plane leveled off did she exhale and let go of my hand. I could see thick beads of perspiration on her forehead.

I guess I’m one of the last men on earth to carry a handkerchief. Of course I don’t use it to blow my nose—how disgusting! In fact, I hadn’t used this one at all. But I whipped it out now and mopped her brow. “Take it easy, Julia,” I said.

This might have been a bit “forward” of me, but she seemed so touched and grateful that she stared at me—and then gave me a kiss on the mouth.

She got flustered immediately, blushing crimson. “Oops, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t mind in the least,” I said. And why would I? Who doesn’t want to be kissed by a pretty lady?

“My good-for-nothing husband should have come with me, but his business was so important that he couldn’t be bothered! I don’t even think he likes my mom very much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She was breathing hard again, although this time in anger—presumably thinking about the inconsiderateness of the race of husbands.

The flight attendant now distributed pillows and blankets. The blanket was quite large, and Julia wrapped it around herself like some sort of shield. I wasn’t feeling chilly, and wasn’t ready to sleep, so I didn’t use mine.

I was desperately hoping for a smooth flight so that Julia wouldn’t lapse into hysterics—but, just my luck, not more than half an hour into the flight we hit turbulence.

I will say that the turbulence was quite a bit stronger than I’d experienced before. The plane actually shook from side to side, hurling passengers into their neighbors as if we were a bunch of dice being rattled around in a box. You can imagine the effect on Julia.

She uttered a sharp cry, then slapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself. That would have been bad enough, but as the turbulence continued she almost lunged in my direction, burying her face in the crook of my neck and throwing her arms around my neck.

Ordinarily I’d never say no to being embraced by a female, but this woman was so close to losing it that I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there, arms barely touching her sides. I mean, she was a stranger, for God’s sake! I wasn’t about to hug her as if she were my sister or my—

“Please . . .” she said. “Please hold me.”

What’s a man to do? I first pulled up the armrest so that it wasn’t in our way, then wrapped her in my arms. My hands came to rest in the area of her lower back, and she snuggled closer to me, throwing the blanket around both of us so that we looked like a pair of kids at a slumber party. I could feel her trembling all over—even her teeth were chattering.

Gee, I really felt sorry for poor Julia.

But there was no way I could have predicted what followed. With the turbulence continuing unabated, she took one of my hands in hers. I thought that maybe I was holding her too tightly around the waist, but that wasn’t it. With her face still buried firmly in my neck, she directed my hand to go under her skirt, clearly encouraging me to slide up her thighs and toward her—

And she whispered in my ear, “I might fall asleep if I . . .” She didn’t have to finish; I knew what she couldn’t bring herself to say. If I come.

Well, this was an awkward moment! Although we were concealed under the big blanket, the flight attendant was eyeing us suspiciously. She must have known we were perfect strangers, and yet here we were holding each other like lovers or spouses. And even lovers don’t make such a display on an airplane—even in first class! But since she couldn’t see that we were doing anything obviously obscene, she eventually turned away from us and tended to other customers.

Meanwhile, with infinite slowness my hand made its slow way up those firm and creamy thighs toward the focus of all male desire. When I touched that area between her legs, I felt a surprising amount of wetness bedewing her thin cotton panties. Maybe fear turned her on!

I pulled the cloth away from her crotch and then touched her sex.

She let out a little sigh and clung to me more tightly. As I continued stroke her—up and down the insides of her labia, rubbing her clitoris, and sometimes sticking two fingers deep into her vagina—she began pasting little kisses on my neck and cheek. That worried me a bit: even if what I was doing with my hand couldn’t be seen by that annoying flight attendant, she might well be able to detect the little smooches that Julia was giving me. It was bad enough that we were locked in an embrace under a blanket. I could well imagine her thinking: What exactly are you two doing under there?

But for my part, there was no way I could stop. This was, without question, the most exciting, unexpected, and lewd thing I’d ever done. I could now feel Julia’s breasts pushing up against my chest, and that made me stroke her even harder, sometimes pressing her clitoris against her küçükyalı escort pelvic bone—which several women had told me they found exquisitely pleasurable. Clearly Julia did, for she started letting out weird little mewing sounds, mercifully muffled by the fact that her lips were still pressed against my neck.

And then it happened. After some choking noises came from deep in her throat, Julia began shuddering all over and holding me even tighter. I continued to stroke her pussy, which was now so wet that I wondered whether she was one of those “squirters” that I’d heard of but had never encountered in the flesh. I don’t think she was, but she was certainly getting the maximum pleasure possible out of the orgasm that was washing over her.

After several minutes of this, she kind of collapsed like a balloon with all the air let out of it. Just in time, too: that flight attendant was now glaring venomously at us, not quite able to decide whether to confront us about whatever irregularities were happening under that blanket. I just smiled weakly at her, as if to say: Nothing to see here, lady.

Julia finally pried her face away from my neck, beamed up at me, and said, “That was really, really nice.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said as quietly as I could.

For a while she just snuggled up to me like a contented cat. But then her own hand drifted down toward the area of my groin. Coming upon a bulge there, she whispered in my ear, “Has something happened here?”

“I’m afraid it has,” I said.

She said, almost to herself and with some mild annoyance, “Guys make such a mess.”

Then she was all business. Pulling away from me, she said, “I feel the need to pay you back.”

“You really don’t have to,” I said, totally unconvincingly.

“Don’t be silly. I’m happy to oblige. You head to the restroom. I’ll follow you in a minute or so. I’ll knock twice and you let me in.”

I don’t know why I followed her orders so mindlessly. I really did have a huge hard-on, but I had no idea how exactly Julia was going to “pay me back.” I got into the bathroom (the one reserved for the eight first-class passengers) and sat down on the toilet seat, with the lid down. Then I unbuttoned my pants and slid them down to my feet, exposing my erection. My member is something close to eight inches, and other ladies have been reasonably impressed with the apparatus. I hoped Julia would be.

In less than a minute I heard two knocks on the door, and I let her in. The room was mighty cramped, and she was barely able to slide in through the folding doors and then close them behind her. As she saw my organ, she raised her eyes and nodded to herself. Not bad at all, I could hear her thinking.

She slid to the floor and took my cock in her hand, tugging it this way and that as if to get a sense of the heft of it. Looking up at me, she said, “Is a handjob okay?”

I winced. “That’s so crude.”

“What then? A blowjob?”

I kept quiet for a moment as she gazed up expectantly at me, giving my cock some preliminary pulls.

“Listen,” I said, “I know you’re married, and I don’t want to turn you into an adulteress, but—”

“That ship has sailed, pal,” she said with a smirk.

“Well, then,” I said with immense hesitation, “you could . . . put it in you?”

She looked at my face, then at my cock. Then she shrugged indifferently and said, “Yeah, sure.”

Standing up, she reached under her skirt and peeled away her underwear, placing them on the tiny counter next to the equally tiny sink. I got just a glimpse of a nice bush before her skirt came down over her delta. She seemed on the verge of raising up her skirt and impaling herself on my cock, when I said:

“Um, any chance you’d care to get naked?”

She stopped in mid-stride. Scowling at me, she said, “There’s not a lot of room here!”

I just looked up at her pleadingly. Letting out a huge sigh, she said, “Oh, all right.”

Taking off her sweater and bra wasn’t all that tricky, and even slipping out of her wraparound skirt didn’t require all that much effort, even in the narrow confines of the restroom. The body she revealed was spectacular. I had a sense that her breasts were glorious, and they were: large and firm (especially since she was practically thrusting them into my face with justifiable pride), they ached to be squeezed by a man, while her flaring hips, strong thighs, and tapering calves completed the picture of ripe, luscious womanhood. I only regretted that I couldn’t get a good look at her bottom, although I got a brief glimpse of its succulent curves when she was undressing.

She now took my cock in hand again and sat on it.

I slipped in amazingly easily: she was, of course, still quite wet. She didn’t seem to have any difficulty taking me in all the way, although right at the end she winced a little as if my member was just a tad longer than what she was used to. Meanwhile, her breasts were now directly in front of my face, and I wrapped my hands around her back and pressed mutlukent escort my face against them, sometimes licking and kissing them, sometimes fastening my lips on the large, erect nipples as if I could somehow draw nourishment from them.

Julia was riding me lustily. I sensed that she wanted to cry out, but of course that might have been heard outside and brought that nuisance of a flight attendant down upon us. So we had to keep largely mum, although even so a few quiet grunts and moans escaped our mouths from time to time.

The idea that I was fucking this gorgeous older woman after having known her for less than an hour was the chief reason why I couldn’t hold back my emission more than a few minutes. I really didn’t want to come so soon, but I couldn’t help it; and as I shot my load deep into her, I held her even closer and buried my face in her tits to muffle my own cries.

After I’d finished, Julia seemed inclined to get off of me, but I said, “No, wait . . . let me stay in for a bit.”

She continued to ride me gently, and I think she liked the feel of my come filling up her vagina. After some minutes she looked down at me with a surprised look: you see, I was still hard—in fact, harder than I’d been before. So she danced on my cock more and more violently, as I clutched her bottom and at times actually bit the flesh of her breasts.

Sure enough, I came again. She emitted a little squeal of amazement, while it was all I could do not to shout my mingled pain and pleasure to the world. Even after this, she continued to sit on my cock for quite a while, thoroughly relishing all the come I’d deposited in her.

Finally she did remove herself, saying, “That was quite a performance.”

“It was all your doing,” I said between breaths.

“You’re such a flatterer,” she said, stroking my cheek the way a mother might do to her son.

“Okay,” she said, “you pull your pants up and get back to your seat. I’ll need more space to get dressed than it took to get undressed.”

I did as she ordered. But as I was trying to slither by her in the tight quarters, I caught sight of her underwear on the counter. She had been mopping her crotch with some paper napkins, but was making no effort to slip those panties on.

“Are you . . . going to put those back on?” I said.

“My panties?” she replied. “Probably not. I’m a bit messy down here.”

I looked her right in the face. “Can I have them?”

She looked right back at me, then smiled. “Sure, go ahead.” I’m sure she was thinking: A little trophy of this memorable encounter, eh?

I stuffed them in my pocket, then returned to my seat. Julia joined me a minute or two later.

I figured we were now going to sleep—wasn’t that the main purpose of this exercise?—but Julia, draping the blanket over both of us as before, had other ideas.

Once again pressing her face against my neck, she took my hand firmly in hers and directed it again toward her crotch. I couldn’t believe she really wanted more, but I figured this whole unexpected copulation was as exciting to her as it was to me.

So I spent the next forty-five minutes to an hour with my fingers on her sex. I didn’t stroke her violently; in fact, I was as soft and gentle as I could be, as I sensed that that was what Julia wanted. Little sighs and moans came from her every so often, and I believe she went through those orgasmic shudders at least twice—maybe three times—in that period. I don’t think I’ve ever touched a woman’s genitals that long in all my (brief) life. For all the mopping up she’d done in the restroom, I could feel some of my own thick come intermingled with the thin fluid leaking out of her. I felt proud that I’d placed it there.

After her third climax, she again placed her hand on my groin. Looking up at me, she said, “You’re ready for another round?”

“I—I think so.”

“All right. Go to the restroom; I’ll follow as before.”

We were on the verge of renewing our coupling—my pants pulled down again to my feet, with my huge hard-on pointing straight up—when I said:

“I don’t suppose you’d care to try something else?”

“And what would that be, pray tell?” she said.

I couldn’t look her in face. “I just wondered if you—if you like it . . . in your bottom.”

She gazed down at me. You gotta be kidding me, I’m sure she was thinking.

“You don’t like it?” I said, perfectly happy to have coitus in the usual way.

“I haven’t done that in a really long time,” she said, with a hint of annoyance.

“How long?”

“Probably since before you were born!”

I grinned sheepishly.

Rolling her eyes, she looked around the little room for something. She noticed a little dispenser of land lotion, squeezed some on her fingers, and, raising her skirt in back, lubricated herself.

“I’ll do it—but I’m not taking my clothes off!”

That’s the best I could hope for.

She got into position, turning her back to me and sitting down carefully while holding my cock in her hand. Before her skirt fell down over the area where our bodies met, I saw my cock slowly disappear into her anus, guided by her hand the whole time. As she started bouncing on my cock, I reached around to grab her breasts. Even though encased in her bra and sweater, they felt nice. She let out little groans of mild pain, but she seemed to get into the spirit of things, riding me harder and harder until I shot my load into her bottom.

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