“Standby passengers Anderson, Clark, Lemon, Villiers and Moore, please see me at the podium for your seat assignments,” barked the gate agent working the flight from Boston to Dallas.
The loudspeaker in the terminal made a final boarding announcement. “All passengers on the 3:50 PM departure to Dallas, please board now at gate B12. This is your last and final boarding call. Doors closing in five minutes.”
I stepped up to the desk, flashing my ID to the agent. She scanned it and handed me my boarding pass. Seat 9E. A middle seat. Oh well, better than being left behind again. As an airline employee, I was traveling standby on my pass privileges, and I had already tried for two earlier flights to get home. The first one was full, and the second one had a weight restriction and went out with empty seats.
Grabbing my small rollaboard bag, I walked to the agent at the jet bridge door,who scanned the boarding pass. “Have a good flight,” he said.
The air in the jetbridge was stifling. It was an unusually hot and muggy day in Boston. The faint wisps of cool air coming out of the air conditioning vents were no match for the sun beating down outside and the drippingly humid air as the line of passengers slowly made their way onto the airplane.
The face of the flight attendant at the boarding door was beaded with sweat, covering his upper lip and running down his temples. Behind him, the caterers were bringing the final carts into the galley through the service door. Blasts of warm, humid air filled the galley.
I smiled and nodded as he said “Hello, welcome aboard.”
“Thanks, happy to be on,” I replied. Turning right, I scanned the first class cabin, which was completely full. A few rows behind that, I could see my empty seat. And - could it be? - an empty window seat next to it. I wasn’t holding my breath. There were at least a dozen more standbys on the list behind me, so I was sure every seat would be full.
Dropping my small backpack into the middle seat, I started looking for a spot for my suitcase. The bin above my row was full, so I scanned further back in the plane, hoping for something close. Not seeing anything, I started down the aisle, eventually finding one open spot above row 16. I shoved my bag in, closing the overhead bin door, and returned to my row.
I turned to the older woman sitting in the aisle seat. “Excuse me,” I said. “That seat’s mine.” I pointed to my backpack sitting on the middle seat.
She sighed and stood, holding on to the seat back in front of her and stepping into the aisle. I quickly shoved the backpack under the seat in front of me, and sat, pulling down the armrests on either side.
“Is anyone sitting there?,” she asked, pointing to the empty window seat.
“I’m traveling alone, but I’m sure every seat will be full,” I replied.
Just then, a young man with glossy auburn hair came down the aisle. He was carrying a duffle bag and panting heavily. “That’s…my…seat,” he gasped, pointing to the empty window seat. He wore running shorts and a Salty Dog t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, collar slit, and cropped at the bottom. A patch of moisture dampened the middle of his chest.
The PA system crackled. “Boarding complete. Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats as quickly as possible so we can have an on-time departure. Flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The young man frantically opened the overhead bin, looking for a place for his duffle bag. The first class flight attendant came up behind him.
“I have a spot up here,” said the flight attendant. He opened the bin above the last row in first class, and motioned for the guy to put his bag into the bin.
“Am I allowed to put it there?,” he asked.
“At this point, any space is fair game.”
He backed up the aisle, opening the overhead bin. As he stretched to make room for his bag, his cropped shirt rode up, exposing alabaster skin and chiseled abs, a dark reddish treasure trail leading into his shorts. His armpit hair glistened with moisture, thick and lush as he pushed and shoved his bag into the bin. A long lock of auburn hair flopped damply on his forehead. He pulled a Celtics cap out of a pocket on his duffle, pushing his hair back and pulling the cap onto his head. The shaggy ends of his hair grazed his collar, and he used one hand to lift it off of his neck, again exposing his dark armpits.
He slid into the window seat, pulling the seat belt buckle from between the seat and the fuselage and snapping it into place. I sat down next to him, and the older woman thumped into her aisle seat, fastening her seatbelt.
“Thanks,” the young man said. “Didn’t think I was gonna make it. I was on a connecting flight from Nantucket, and it got in late. When I went to board, the machine beeped at me, apparently they had already given my seat to someone else. But the agent fixed it.”
“Well, you made it, that’s what counts,” I replied.
It took quite a while for the aircraft to back away from the gate and taxi out to the runway. The heat in the plane continued to build. I opened the air vent above my seat and pointed the meager breeze on my face. The guy next to me did the same, pulling his shirt away from his chest and directing the air down the front. From the corner of my eye, I could see he had well defined pecs with a patch of glossy straight reddish-brown hair between them. His skin was white, almost translucent. It reminded me of the carved marble sculptures I had seen in Italy.
I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. For some reason, I almost always fall asleep for the first part of a flight. I barely heard the captain’s announcement, “Flight Attendants, prepare for departure.” Minutes later, we were speeding down the runway and climbing slowly above Boston Harbor.
Some time later, I heard the rattle of the serving carts in the aisle. An attractive young male flight attendant was working on one end. He handed packages of snack mix to the first few rows, then started taking drink orders. “Something to drink?,” he asked, smiling as he got to our row.
“Tomato juice, no ice,” said the woman next to me.
“Sure thing. And for you?,” he asked me.
“May I please have a vodka tonic with lime?”
“Non-rev?,” asked the flight attendant. Meaning, are you non-revenue, traveling on airline pass privileges?
“Yep, does it show?,” I asked.
“I can usually tell.” He winked and handed me four vodka miniatures, a can of tonic water, and two glasses with ice. “Happy hour time,” he said. “Is he with you?” He nodded his head to the guy in the window seat.
“Nope.”
“Well, if he wakes up, tell him to ring his call light and I’ll bring him a drink too.” The flight attendant winked again, then continued to the row behind us. “Something to drink?” I heard him say.
The guy in the seat next to me was sound asleep. He his right arm was behind his head, leaning on the fuselage wall. His cap was pulled down over his eyes, blocking the beam of sunshine streaming through the window. I gently reached across him and pulled down the window shade.
Mixing the second vodka mini into a glass with ice and tonic water, I could feel a small buzz starting. I had spent several days in Boston helping an old friend move. She was in the middle of an ugly divorce, and had just gotten a small apartment, moving out of their house on a weekend her soon to be ex-husband was out of town. I was pooped, but I felt good about the progress we had made.
On my left, the older woman put one of those horseshoe-shaped pillows around her neck, and soon she was snoring softly, her head lolling forward. To my right, the young guy shifted in his seat, sliding his hips forward and shoving his flip-flopped feet under the seat in front of him. In the dim light, I could see the distinct outline of his cock pressed up against his left thigh. The silky running short material left little to the imagination. He dropped his arm, shifting his head to the left, and sitting at almost a 45 degree angle in the seat, with his left hip pressed against the armrest, and my leg. He let out a soft sigh.
I continued to sip my drink. I considered pulling my book out of my backpack, but I didn’t want to disturb the people sleeping on either side of me. People always seemed to want to talk to me on planes. I don’t know whether I just have one of those faces, or if luck just puts me next to outgoing and gregarious passengers. When I really don’t want to talk, I use a trick my friend Eddie taught me: ask them what they do for a living, and when they in turn ask me, tell them I’m an undertaker. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that shuts them up.
We winged our way west, crossing the Great Lakes before turning south. Outside, the sky dimmed to a rosy glow as we flew into the sunset. The aircraft cabin darkened, punctuated by pools of light as people snapped on their reading lights. I relaxed into the dimness, sipping my cocktail and enjoying the soothing thrum of the aircraft engines.
The aircraft bumped and fell a bit, as we hit some turbulence. The fasten seat belt sign flicked on, followed by a short announcement from the captain. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re expecting some light chop for the next twenty minutes or so. Please return to your seats and ensure your seatbelt is fastened.”
Next to me, the young guy shifted, pulling the strap on his seatbelt tighter. He rested his left ankle on his right knee, legs spread wide, his left thigh making firm contact with mine. He again sighed softly, seemingly still asleep. I glanced over to see a mound along his left thigh, his cock tumescent under the thin fabric of his shorts. As he shifted again, the head began to emerge, lying against the soft blonde hair of his inner thigh.
I gulped. Was this intentional? Or just a young guy who was having a horny dream? I could feel pressure in my pants as I watched his cock pulse and grow, the full head and part of the shaft now fully exposed. This was like some kind of porn story.
I sat quietly, enjoying the view. The aircraft bumped and jostled again, and the young guy jumped, grabbing my right knee. My arm was awkwardly caught between the arm rest and his arm, and I twisted around to free it, putting my elbow on the armrest, with his arm under mine.
We sat like that for a long time. As the plane shook and bounced, he’d occasionally clench my knee with his hand. He seemed to be asleep, his hat pulled low over his eyes, occasionally shifting his hips slightly. I was fascinated watching his crotch, and seeing even more of his shaft come into view as his shorts rode up further. He seemed completely unaware of his erection, which by now laid fully along his left thigh. It was beautiful, the same ivory white as his skin, thick and at least 7 inches long.
He shifted again, raising his knee up to rest on the armrest between us. This resulted in even more of his cock being exposed, and one of his balls fell out of the leg of his shorts. His leg resting on the armrest pushed my arm off, landing on his thigh. He didn’t react.
More time passed. A bigger bump of turbulence jostled the drinks on my tray table, and my hand dropped further into the guy’s crotch, brushing the side of his thick cock. It pulsed under my touch. I heard the guy let out a small shuddering sigh, but he didn’t move.
I turned my head to the right, leaning against the headrest. There was just enough of a glow coming from below the window shade for me to clearly see his full cock, which by now was completely hard, but held to the side of his thigh by the leg of his shorts. It was one of the prettiest dicks I had ever seen. He was attractive in so many ways. I’m a real sucker for guys that are somewhere between gingers and brunettes. Their smooth, glossy pale skin and auburn hair were my ultimate fantasy.
What should I do? I wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was. Straight or gay? I didn’t catch any gay vibes when he boarded, although he was certainly dressed scantily enough - but so were lots of guys these days, especially when they had the looks and body to show off. Was he just oblivious to the fact he had an erection and that the back of my hand was pressed against his dick? Or was he subtly encouraging me? Maybe he’s bi, or at least bi-curious? I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, especially as an airline employee. I sat, frozen, enjoying the moment but afraid to go further.
The guy shifted again, taking his hand off my knee and pulling his arm up, laying it across my seat back. That put his beautiful armpit right in the view of my turned head, and my dick pulsed frantically at the sight. It was perfect armpit hair, straight and glossy, thick. The kind that peeks out of the arm of a t-shirt or tank top, even when a guy’s arm is down. In addition to the view, his armpit had a slightly musky scent. Not the scent of someone who had just worked out, but the clean, fresh scent of a young man who had been sweating a bit earlier.
The guy shifted his left leg slightly, pushing it to the right and then releasing it. He repeated this a couple of times. The back of my hand moved along his shaft as he did this, and I felt the soft, tender skin of his cock rubbing my hand. The tip of his penis sparkled with a tiny bit of pre-cum.
Throwing caution to the wind, I turned my hand over, so my palm was on his shaft. He let out a small moan, and shifted his hips back and forth, rubbing his shaft against my palm. His head was still turned away from me, so I couldn’t see whether his eyes were open or not. I inhaled deeply, taking in the masculine scent of his armpit, and gripped his thick shaft. In my pants, my dick pulsed, and I could feel my hips begin to move involuntarily.
Gently, cautiously, I began to rub his cock. Pulling my hand back, I pushed his shorts up even further, letting both of his balls fall out on the seat. I curled my fingers back and softly grabbed his balls, rolling them in my palm. They were big, walnut-sized, in a loose, hairy nutsack.
I could feel his breath catch, and he drove his hips forward, pushing my hand even further into his shorts. I could feel the heat and moisture of his taint. My middle finger touched what could only be his hairy asshole, and he shuddered again.
Returning to his now fully erect cock, I gently stroked it, using the softest possible touch. His knee was still on the armrest, so his dick was hidden from the view of the sleeping woman to my left, and hopefully from anyone who walked down the aisle. His hips continued to writhe, his breath coming in short gasps. Straight or not, this was obviously something he wanted.
Gently, unobtrusively, I stroked, from tip to base and back, running my thumb around the mushroom head and along the sensitive frenulum. Suddenly I could feel a change. His balls drew back, and with nothing more than a small gasp, he let loose. Three times his cock jerked, spewing out thick creamy streams onto his hairy leg and the seat. I let my hand lay along side his spent cock as his heavy breathing subsided.
I was beside myself. Maybe not the full “mile-high club”, but this was the most exciting thing I had ever done on an airplane. Yes, I’ve jerked off in a lavatory before - who hasn’t? - but I’ve never done something with anyone else.
With my left hand, I moved my drink, pulling out the wad of napkins it was sitting on. I tossed them onto his leg, hoping it would help to clean up the mess. He brought his right hand around and grabbed them, wiping the jizz off his thigh. I started to move my right hand out of the way so he could clean the seat, but he grabbed it with his right hand and pressed it back into his crotch. I could feel the dampness between his legs, and his hairy balls dropped into my fingers.
He used the napkins to wipe off the seat, wadding them up and putting them into the seat back pocket. I made a mental note to be sure to stuff them into my empty glass, so they wouldn’t stay there for the cabin cleaners.
The guy pulled his arm out from behind my head, dropping it into my lap. Still looking away from me, he continued to squirm in his seat, pressing his hole up against my fingers. His left hand moved lazily across my crotch, easily finding the zipper of my pants. A quick tug, and his hand was inside, holding the length of my erection through my boxers.
His fingers found their way through the elastic, and his hand gripped my cock. It only took a few quick pulls and I erupted, the warm stickiness flooding down the side of my leg and wetting my underwear. A final squeeze, and he pulled his hand out of my pants, laying his arm on top of mine in his lap.
After my mind stopped whirling, I grabbed the drink on my tray table and downed it in one gulp, letting my breathing come back to normal. We sat like that for some time, as my dick finally went limp. I could feel his softening as well. Eventually, I pulled my hand off of his lap, and zipped up my pants. I could feel the guy shifting in his seat as he pulled his shorts down, covering up his cock. He raised his hands over his head and twisted left and right, his back cracking with each twist. Then he leaned against the fuselage and went back to sleep.
An hour later, we were descending into DFW airport. We landed smoothly and taxied to our gate in Terminal C. As the plane jerked to a halt, the flight attendant made their usual spiel, thanking people and reminding them to stay seated until the seatbelt sign was switched off. Once it did, the woman to my left stood, putting her purse strap over her head. As she moved forward, I stepped into the aisle, and motioned the guy next to me out.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“My bag is further back, so why don’t you step out and I’ll just wait here until I can get it.”
“OK, thanks,” he said. He looked at me for a minute, his vivid green eyes rimmed by surprisingly dark lashes. Then he turned and walked forward, grabbing his duffle bag from the bin in first class. I watched his perky butt as he approached the cockpit and turned left to exit. And that was the last I ever saw of him. No name, no contact info, no idea where he was going. But a memory vividly seared into my brain, one I sometimes pull out and revisit with fondness.
