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Mile High Thumb Drive
Mile High Thumb Drive?
The people filing into the narrow isles, bumping into each other, and me, remind me that first class is worth the money. Of course if I had not forgotten my flight the day before, I would not be watching or being bumped. My height of nearly six feet cause me enough issues with trying to get comfortable in such cramped quarters, being in coach adds to the discomfort. I am looking to find the silver lining in this cloud. This seems to be the miserable end to a miserable trip home.
I should define home, I have more than one. Germany has been my second home, an experience that makes me appreciate my Louisiana roots, and makes me miss Shreveport even more. I have spent three weeks at my apartment, checking on my college bound children, and trying to recover from the massive storms that devastated our beautiful state, and my poor heart. I am going home; my Germany home.
I am not looking forward to my 8 hour flight from Cincinnati to Frankfurt. But I am a big girl, I will survive. God knows I have suffered far worse. I have a lifetime of memories that haunt me; this won?t make the top ten list. All I have to do is survive the next 8 hours. A book, a nap, I should wake up at home. I am seated next to a woman who is also trying to get comfortable for a long ride. To have an empty seat next to me would be a blessing.
I notice the man across from me keeps looking my way. He has 2 empty seats next to him. I should introduce myself. He notices me looking his way, and at his empty seats. He offers to trade seats with me, so I can stretch out. I guess my long legs are obviously uncomfortable. I feel selfish to trade seats and leave my seatmate without a spare. I suggest moving to the two empty seats next to the kind man, allowing her a spare to be a little more comfortable. The move is made, and it seems cozy enough.
I curl up in the center isle with my feet toward the kind man in 18E. He can tell I am still cramped and offers his lap for a little extra comfort. It seems pretty bold on his part, but I am a lady in distress, I won?t argue with a good offer, (maybe that silver lining). He places his hands on my legs, with a simple gesture of surrender and apology at the same time. I tell him "what happens on the airplane stays on the airplane". We both laugh, but I don't give it any more thought. My sleeping medication is taking effect and I am drifting off.
Through out the night, I drift in and out of wonderful slumber, waking to find this stranger asleep and slumped over my hip. His hands have moved to a comfortable position of my waist. I should say comfortable for him. At first thought, I was shocked to be in such close quarters, but decided that the situation had graduated in small steps and I should not over react. It was kind of nice to feel his touch.
I drifted back to sleep with the thought of his hands moving around my body, with the boldness that few men would have with a total stranger. There are moments that I wonder how much I am dreaming and what is real. My hand moves toward his, but not in a defensive position, maybe even encouraging. My body ached to be held and loved. It has been so long since I allowed myself that pleasure. His light touch became soft rubs, and my hand guided his for a moment that gave him more courage.
His fingers touched my waist line, that soft skin that is so tender to the touch that it turns on the faucet of the soul. My body is responding in ways to his touch that are not right for a total stranger. But I have decided not to object to this silver lining, and just see how far this might go.
He continues his bold movements, up into my shirt and past my bra. My nipples love being touched, and now they are wishing for a set of lips to take them. I had unbuttoned my jeans for comfort; this might have seemed like an invitation to his wondering hands. He moved toward my panty line and turned my insides to Jell-O. He asked in a very soft voice, if I am OK, and I nod a soft and silent yes.
He shifts his weight and asks me to lower my jeans. I am caught off guard by having to actually participate in a physical way. I was fine to ALLOW this to happen, but to have to participate made me stop to process it. I decided I had not had enough, and did as he requested. I lowered my jeans, using the airline blanket to cover my nakedness. He moves his hand under the blanket and his thumb slowly into my wet, throbbing womanhood. He places his other hand into my clit and slowly massages both, until I forgot where I am. I moan and am soon lost in space. The flight attendant has to be aware of what was happening at 5AM in the morning, but choose not to make a scene.
I do come back to earth, after a wonderful emotional and physical release. I am still wondering two things; have I joined the mile high club? And is it true, that what happens on an airplane, stays on the airplane?