Flyin High

Minneapolis is a great big small town. Basically rural ideology, and rural people, all crammed together in a dirty, decaying city. Even though the city where I was born is as dangerous and grungy as New York, LA, Chicago, or any other major city, we don't have any of the fun stuff.

There are no completely nude strip joints, 24-hour bars, or all-night clubs to speak of. Like I said, even though we're a city, we live like we're in a small town; sidewalks still get rolled up and activity options get pretty limited after dark. Which, pretty much, is all irrelevant anyway, since I was stupid enough to listen to my dad. "Make yourself invaluable to your employer and you'll always have a job."

The jerk. He was right. I did make myself invaluable to my employer. So now, I put in 60 to 80 hours a week rather than 40. Thanks a lot, Dad! You're a real peach!

I guess it doesn't really matter, like I said, there's nothing to do around here anyway. Evidently my boss thinks I'm damn good at it; making money, that is. Boxes of award plaques are piled up in my closet proclaiming my superiority. This, of course, meant I was the chosen one to fly to New York in order to woo a potential new client.

Even though I hate flying, it gives me the opportunity to experience `real' city life. Airports are previews of Hell. Lines, crowds, waiting, crowds, surely agents, crowds, and hours of wasted time. Oh, and crowds. But I didn't exactly have much say in the matter, not if I wanted to keep my job, -and golden-boy status anyway.

I chose a red-eye flight.

Being a Mid-westerner, I was taught never to be pushy or demanding; always open doors for anyone behind me, and give the choicest picks to everyone else. Including plane seats. First class is just a plain old waste of money by the standards of a Minnesotan and not wanting to be noticed, I pick the very last seat on the plane. It reminded me of when I always sat in the back of the school bus -- where every bump and pothole felt like the Grand Canyon.

But I was being polite.

I drag my big `ol feet through those according-like tunnels and schlump my way to the back of some tin can with Popsicle sticks for wings. I'm tall and cramming myself into those stupid little glorified car seats, I get claustrophobic. Thankfully, on that puddle-jumper, there would only be one person sitting next to me rather than three seats smashed together. I get the window!

Stuffing my face into a book, I try to mentally project myself into the story. (The mid-westerner's answer to affordable vacationing.) Actually starting to become interested in whatever I was reading, I was unceremoniously yanked out of my book, back into my life. Oh joy.

Oh, maybe it was in deed joy I thought, as the over-stuffed, carry-on levitated to the overhead compartment, revealing a business suit. Checking out the quality of the suit pants (yah, right) I just happened to notice that as the guy was cramming his 400-pound suitcase into the flimsy little space directly over my head, his silky pants outlined a generous length of cut cock.

OK, there's no way this guy could be wearing underwear if I can tell whether he's circumcised or not. Not that I'm complaining mind you, it was just a really hot sight. My imagination (and cock) both went into instant hyper-dive.

Somehow, the guy managed to pound his luggage into the bin then removed his suit coat. As he stretched out of the (very well tailored) jacket, his white shirt pulled tight across his chest. Like angry dark storm clouds, black fur was clearly visible through the thin shirt fabric. So maybe flying isn't so bad after all.

I almost jumped after him as he turned around, walking back up front. He wasn't leaving me, thank God, he was just handing his jacket to a Steward so they could hang it up. What an great ass! It was one of those high, hard asses that you just wanna sink your teeth into! The soft pants settled in a crease between his ass cheeks- yeow!

I tried to check him out as he came back but every time I looked up at him, he was looking at me. He was even taller than I am, and I'm six-three. The man was stunning! Wavy black hair, thick and glossy, just days away from needing a trim, giving him that almost-a-rebel look. Huge black eyebrows above large eyes, framed by butterfly-wing lashes. Fat, suckable lips and a chin dimple!

That did it. There's something about a chin dimple that just unhinges me! (Right, like there wasn't enough already...)

Please God; make him single, horny, and desperate for a mid-west husband!

He squeezed himself into his seat like a toddler trying to fit into their old highchair. Oh my God, he smelled so good!

This flight was going to be Hell!

His handsome face, just inches from mine, smiled as he introduced himself. I didn't even hear his name as I concentrated on his bleached, filed, and uniform teeth.

I bet they would feel good if I were to slide my tongue across them.

I think I remembered my name trying not to let my voice crack as his hot, square hand, set my body aflame. Just one big, explosive fire whooshed across me like in the cartoons; I was a crispy critter. Clammy and nervous, I tried to ignore the default-feeling of unworthiness as his deep silky voice slinked its way through my ear into my soul.

I sure hope I responded appropriately.

We obediently strained our attention as the fuzzy, incomprehensible voice buzzed and crackled in the stale air with its instructions of important safety features and helpful tips while a nearly comatose Steward showed everyone how he could play with a seatbelt latch. All to soon the entertainment, committee was suddenly rushing down the isle as if they'd just realized how foolish their circus act had been.

My ears wouldn't pop after the plane took off so everything my handsome sidekick said was just muffled music. It sure was nice to see though. Sitting that close, I could see he shaved his eyebrow in two, just above his nose.

Every nerved ending in my body Morse-coded that THAT was the sexiest thing in the world. What happened here? I was a normal, self-deprecating, overly conservative, humorless Minnesotan just a minute earlier. My own parent's wouldn't recognize me now. Ogling and swooning like those teenyboppers you see on old clips of the Beatles.

Together, we enjoyed a complimentary, hearty, refreshing beverage and our complimentary packet of baby-pretzels. With the first swallow of his complimentary, hearty, refreshing beverage, he downed a sleeping pill! All to soon he announced he was tired, wanted to sleep. I was on hyper-alert and wanted to throw a temper tantrum.

Doesn't he realize he's my fantasy come true? Sleep. The nerve!

Everyone was dropping off in the dark interior of the rattling rattrap. I had opened my personal cooling vent, full blast. The butterflies in my stomach were noisily re-enacting the rumble scene from West Side Story. Sweat sprayed out from ever pore of my body.

My fantasy man had shifted; his head was on my shoulder.

Panic, fear, excitement, joy, arousal, and sin. Of all the things I was feeling and thinking, sin won. So much for my good Catholic upbringing. Sinful, evil, naughty thoughts crowded together in my head, all jostling for first place in line.

Somehow, my left hand had gotten left on my neighbor's thigh. Oops, I mean crotch. The fingers on that hand told me that they were gently curling around a squeezably-soft appendage. The hand ignored my reprimands as it was being filled up by that inflating appendage.

The guy next to me shifts again, rolling his head to the isle as his endless legs reached diagonally beneath the chair in front of me. Oh dear, that renegade leftie was inspecting the zipper on the guy's pants. Completely out of line, and it knew that!

But one zipper-tooth at a time, his pants opened. Ignoring my commands to return to me, the fingertips on my left hand sniffed around the opening, peeking into the dark interior. I told them not to go in, but just to spite me; they crawled into the warm cave, out of sight.

My brain was informed that the firm, slab floor of the cave was covered with a thick, soft coating. The fingertips bumped their noses into a log or something. Exploring the obstacle, the fingers crept up over the mound, wrapping around it, taking it prisoner. The prisoner jumped. The captor-fingers struggled but once again, they held tight to their long, thick find.

Regardless of the dangers that lie within that cave, those fingers, emboldened by their victory, began to toy with their captive. Dancing along its length, holding it tight, and trying to pull it out into the light.

Ruthless and careless, the hand dragged its victim from the darkness. I looked to make sure the messages going to my brain were real. That left hand had, in deed, dragged the guy's big fat erection out of his pants. I couldn't believe what it had done. I stared in disbelief at the exposed muscle.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to dive on it, devouring it before anyone else could get it. But I was polite. I did what any good Mid-westerner would do when face-to-face with a situation. I pretended it wasn't happening.

I ignored the fact that my left hand was playing with the man's erection, standing it up like a tower. A tower of devotion to manhood. That hand scaled the tower, descended, and scaled it again. Over and over the massive steel column was run up and down. Like any metal when heated, it expanded, -just before firing like a cannon.

Hundreds of millions of white cannon balls fell on the dark cloth surrounding it. Volley after volley exploded into the air as white, molten magma spilled over the rim, sliding down my hand. I could smell the gunpowder. That unique, instantly identifiable smell of a man's orgasm. My brain whizzed in circles inside my head. What had my left hand done?! There was no way it was going to get away with its evil doings. And it was attached me!

In spite of my terror and pleading, my left hand refused to let go of the man's softening erection. It melted down into a thick handle, mushrooming out the top of my wayward fist. Thank Heaven that fist decided to put it back in the guy's pants.

Once evil, always evil. Rather than get out of there, toot-sweet, the sticky, slimy hand cupped his big balls as they drooped between his tree-trunk thighs. Like playing with marbles, the hand rolled them around, deciding which one would be the shooter marble.

It felt like I had to do an exorcism, but I managed to retrieve my hand from the evil that possessed it. Kissing and liking it, I welcomed it back. In an instant, fire charred me to the soul as the guy next to me moved, bending his long torso in half, he laid his head in my lap! His legs were bent; there was no way his zipper was going to get closed. My aching groin; a hard pillow. I froze and so did time. Every breath I drew was scented with his smell. I was dizzy, hot, and uncomfortable, feeling appropriately guilty; thinking about how was I going to explain what lead to my being arrested by airport security.

Eventually the buzzing voices babbled through the speakers, disturbing everyone's slumber. I immediately feigned sleep as my fantasy man pulled himself off my lap. Panicked, I tried to construct anything close to a reasonable explanation for his suit pants to be speckled with dried cum. But he didn't seem to notice.

Being seated in the very last seats, my punishment for sin was endless. We sat there, waiting to get off of that damn plane while he talked to me so nicely, and all the time, -that smell! How could he not smell it?!

God took mercy on me. We finally got off the plane and when we were at the baggage claim area, he let me know that his 400-pound overhead carry-on was all he had, so he reached out his hand to shake mine. As my eyes went from his open zipper to his hand, I reached out to him, but he reached up, grabbed the back of my head, pulling me to him.

He kissed me hard right in front of everyone. Then nearly suffocated me in a bear hug, whispering in my ear, "Thanks for making my flight a great one. Remember the name Michael Hasapopoulus."

My lungs had collapsed, my brain had turned to mush and the sweat was again spraying out of every pore of my body, soaking the back of my shirt as I stupidly, silently, watched him walk away.

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written by giomjrmastro