Girl on The Plane

She was standing behind me in the TSA check in line for the flight to Phoenix. I had noticed her walk in with her friend. She was tall and plain, wearing a very short dress that accentuated the mass of her breasts and the length of her legs. Neck length red hair. Actually, it was cut at the jaw line which gave a full view of her neck. I don't know if it was a long and delicate neck, or if it just appears that way because the haircut. It had a neotenous effect, making her look young and fragile, though she was not. Her features were more delicate and refined than her body would suggest, even the fashionable dark brown lipstick could not bulk up her features. And the clunky Doc Martins with neatly rolled socks, a yard of bare leg and a little girl dress from the 1930s. Hardly a classic look, but oh so fresh, so raw.

Tracy was telling her friend, (who was not her boyfriend) how she didn't like to give blowjobs but found nothing as pleasurable or intimate as her boyfriend giving her oral sex. He didn't exactly ask if it was ok, just assumed it was. It was not clear how the boyfriend broached the matter, but it was just right for her. She was explicit. In the course of the conversation it came out that she had indeed turned 18 and renewed her drivers license, and that she had never felt desperate enough for sex to have a one-night stand. Her companion had a girlfriend who was not fond of oral sex, and though he kept up his side of the conversation, you felt he maybe wished to go down on her. Though maybe he was just as happy not to have that pressure.

I boarded early to get my bag in the overhead. Tracy came on later and sat next to me. I sensed she was embarrassed because I had obviously overheard her conversation. So, I jumped in, "I hear you like oral sex."

Tracy was not as self-assured as she wished to appear and had many doubts, reservations, and soul searching that she was ready to unburden on an older man whom she'd would never see again. And as the flight wore on, I began to contribute more, suggesting how the spontaneity of her passion and desire was so remarkable.

Eventually I persuaded her to go to the rest room with me and lift up her short dress while I lowered her panties. She had to choose, either give in wholeheartedly or freak and flee. She decided what the hell. I lowered myself down back against the wall and I moved my face to her well-trimmed bush and caught the faint female odor. She had bathed before she left, and was fresh, but there was that musky sweat even so. I'll spare you the details of my tongue and lips virtuosic labors. It was worship ministering to her pussy while stroking the inside of her thighs and buttocks, eventually settling my hand where I could push my thumb into her anus. I am sure she had never considered that particular pleasure center; she tensed, relaxed, and came and came and came clenching my embedded thumb so hard it felt like she would tear it off. I was satisfied; too old to turn myself into a pretzel copulating in the airplane restroom. It was awkward enough just getting back on my feet.

I said I would forever remember Tracy on the flight to Phoenix and left the room. She locked the door behind me. The fellow who had been waiting his turn looked puzzled and frowned. She followed a minute later. Returning to the seat laughing about the guy's tentative knock and the shock in his eye when she walked out.

Triumphant, shocked, embarrassed, awkward. Nothing left to say, she took my hand and the thumb she had squeezed so hard and leaned against me and slept. There was still an hour left of the flight and she didn't say anything. I thought about her with tenderness and wonder. She could have been my daughter. She woke up when the plane began its decent, and it was as if I wasn't there; as if nothing more unusual than sleeping on the shoulder of the passenger in the adjacent seat had transpired. Veni vedi vici please don't intrude, let me read the free airline magazine in the seat pocket in front of me.

We waited our turn, pulled down the carry-on from the overhead compartment, and parted company without a word of farewell. I kept her panties and imagined Tracy in her improbably short dress with nothing underneath, walking into the cool night air of Phoenix. I threw the panties away; I didn't care about them beyond that she was not wearing them.

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