Reuniting at 30000 Feet

The seconds had turned into minutes, the minutes into hours, the hours into days, then weeks, and finally into a bone crunching, leaden two months. Or more precisely, 62 days, 4 hours and 24 minutes, but who's counting. Their time away from each other was brutal, not eased by the fact that they'd flirted by phone and email and text, exchanging sexy notes, sentiments, and occasionally, even a randy picture or two. She was less inclined to send "dick pics"--a mother of two young children, she'd been off the market when the whole 'exchanging dirty pictures revolution' occurred and it was still somewhat of a shock to get an unexpected cock in her text or email box. And dangerous. The kids might see.

But 62 days is a long time, and even she had yearned to send something more than the cleverly composed, carefully cropped, but undeniably sexy pictures she had contributed to their little photo exchange. Anything to help replace the empty void of not having him there in her arms, squeezing her tight and hitting that little button that she had thought was gone after years of a lifeless marriage.

And then time is funny. Once they had made their plans to see each other again, the months turned into weeks, the weeks into days, the days into hours, and amazingly--really almost unimaginably, the hours were about to turn into minutes and then seconds and then...

The plan was simple. He was to fly into IAH from LAX and they were to meet at the C Terminal, Gate 23C, to catch their plane to New York for their little "love getaway." Because they were catching a show in the afternoon, it was necessary to leave on a red-eye flight in order to make it there in time to check into the hotel, shower, and grab a cab to the show. So, they were meeting at 23C at 10pm for an 11:23pm flight. With two kids, this was past her bedtime and she would surely be tired, he thought. And his plane was late--he was worried he wouldn't make his connection. He landed in the E Terminal and he quickly ran, with bags crisscrossing his shoulders flying from left to right, through the airport like some horny OJ Simpson running in a Hertz commercial.

He wasn't much for public shows of affection, and he was pretty sure she wasn't either, so he was pleasantly shocked by his own behavior and hers, when he spotted her at the gate and they crashed into each other in a flail of kisses--of hungry tongues going mad, hands grabbing at flesh--public be damned. With the plane boarding, there wasn't much time for this, but even in this short minute or two of standing affection, his impossibly hard cock, pressed tightly against her body, had produced a sweaty butt and the tinniest bit of leakage from its head--he could feel it dirtying his once clean underwear. Oh well, nothing like sitting in wet underwear for 3 hours, he thought. They gathered their carry-ons and boarded the plane in a blush, along with tired travelers who didn't, couldn't know the feeling of raw passion that had enraptured these two the past several months.

But what to do with all that pent-up emotion? They entered the packed plane and made it to their seats--32E and F, a window and middle seat--and sat next to an older woman probably in her 60's, he by the window, her in the middle. Again, they hadn't wanted to make a scene, but the kissing started up again almost immediately once they sat, like a couple of school kids in their parent's car on a first date. Decorum got the best of them, though, as they finally settled back, allowing passengers to board without the embarrassment of having to turn their heads away from this nearly-carnal display.

The plane filled, instructions were given, and it lifted into the air as many were already closing eyes and uncomfortably banging about in intermittent sleep. The lights were turned off to facilitate these slumbers and our two lovers, noticing their row mate already slipping into sleep, started kissing again. But these kisses were different than the enraged ones from the airport. These were softer, more subtle, more exploratory, more specific. He held her head with his right hand, touching the soft skin on her face, which he had thought about so many times these past 62 days; he couldn't believe that he possessed it now, after all that impossible time. The feeling of now having some part of her flesh in his hands brought up a guttural, nearly cannibalistic feeling in his chest--he had to devour this.

The kisses got harder and faster, quickly turning back into the hungry display from before, but even more-so, as the feeling of wanting to take in the other had overcome them both, equally. Now hands were working hard to get under the many layers of clothing one needed to wear on a winter airplane trip, since simply touching the other on the outside of clothes was not enough, not even close. There was a blinding need to touch skin.

He hit pay dirt first, pulling up her shirt and grabbing the smooth hip flesh that slightly poured over her jeans. He thought how much she complained about this bit of 'fat,' and yet how essential it was in this moment, like bread given to a starving man being rescued. He was that man now, having spent 62 days with no food or water on a tiny island of their making. She had managed to get a hand past the three layers of shirts and was now stroking his back, running her hand up and down it's taunt surface and pushing on it harder and harder, now that it was in her mitts. Their kissing increased, and his hand made a quick, economic move up her body and under her bra, grasping onto her breast in a simple, single motion, his thumb flicking her already hard nipple.

Like a button, this turned them both on more, as they drove their mouths against each other harder, somehow. With nowhere to go and with an electricity flowing through her body, she moved her hand from his naked back and grabbed his bulging cock from outside his pants. She was almost shocked by its size--she thought it must be somehow two sizes bigger than she'd remembered it from months before, as if the time away had filled it with expectation, only now awaiting comforting release.

She could feel his whole body quiver when she pounced on it, and his tongue drew deeper in her mouth in an involuntary reaction to her touch. It was a rush knowing she had this power over him, though his touch on her breasts, where he was now pinching her elongated nipple with his thumb and forefinger, almost to the point of pain, was creating a feeling in her that she couldn't control. Down went her inhibitions about being in public, of being on a plane, next to a stranger at 12:30 in the morning. All of that disappeared. The plane, the flight attendants, the passengers. She surrendered almost completely to his touch, his forceful kisses, the throbbing cock she now held so tightly in her hand.

And now there was a desperate attempt by both of them to maneuver their spare hands into equally pleasing positions on the others' bodies, a task that was nearly impossible given the constraints of an economy seat on an outdated 757. He had twisted in such a way as to not lose hold of that beautiful nipple and to not disrupt her vice-like grip on his cock, in order to get his free left hand somewhere, anywhere on her waiting body. Even with the armrest up, though, there was little where it could go, eventually settling in down the crack of her back, his fingers diving in between her bare butt cheeks, though limited in the depth they could travel by the tightness of her jeans.

Her next move surprised him. Surprised her, too. With her free hand, which had been attempting to clear out some space on his neck, she unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped the zipper, allowing his hand free reign to go all the way down to the bottom of her ass. He quickly grabbed it, it's velvet-smooth, peach-soft mass spilling out around his hand as he dove in on it, his hand so far down her back that his middle finger, like an explorer leading the way on the frontier, hit something moist. He had somehow come completely around, touching the very tip of her vulva, which was clearly as wet as it had been near the end of the last time they made love. And yet, they hadn't even really started.

Instinctively wanting more and now knowing it was available to him, he moved his right hand from her breast down the middle of her tummy and straight to her awaiting wet pussy. No subtlety, no teasing, just a deep finger dive into all her glorious, moist flesh, his two hands creating a kind of basket into which she now sat, as if he could pick her up now by her crotch and carry her away. He pushed both hands together, almost to meet in the middle, and a hot wet mess was there as the fingers of his right hand now were all deeply penetrating her pussy.

His mouth went from her lips to her neck and he was afraid he would bite it like a vampire, his need for more flesh was so great. He could feel her spare hand desperately trying to unbutton and unzip his tight jeans, and he hadn't given her the body position to do that, so busy as he was grabbing for all he could.

After much patience and dexterity, though, she managed to open his jeans and with her right hand she gripped his now bare cock, warm and pulsing in her hand. Again, his body quaked to her touch. She felt the impossible need to take this mast, so hard and yet its surface so soft, and bore it into her. She mimicked the act with her hand, running it up and down his shaft, gripping it like her hungry vagina would like to. For him, this was almost too much to bare. He felt as if he might explode then and there. He stopped. He pushed his mouth away from hers and pulled his body back a bit, enough to suggest to her to stop her urgent stroking. He looked straight into her eager eyes and whispered, "what are we doing here? This is no good. I need more. I need to be inside of you. Like NOW."

For the first time in a long time, they took note of their surroundings. Amazingly, the plane seemed indifferent to their tussles. Even the old woman next to them seemed to have hardly been disturbed at all from her slumber. There was no time to develop a solid plan and they knew there were only two options: fuck right there and then at their seats, with her on top of him, or make a dart for the bathroom. Normally, a bathroom run would require careful planning, but there was no time for that (their need to be connected, to fill the abyss of those many together-less nights was so overwhelming) and really, they realized, there was no need. The entire plane had gone to sleep; it seemed to be saying, 'do what you need to do, we won't stand in your way.'

With hardly a word spoken, they quickly buttoned up their pants and one by one got up from their seats, slithering ever-so-carefully past their row mate, and traveled swiftly down the tight aisle. By some miracle, there was no attendant at the back of the plane and they smoothly slipped into the rear bathroom without notice, closing the door behind them in a single swoop and sliding the door lock to its Occupied position, engaging the now blinding lights of the bathroom and revealing to them now in the stark light of day, it seemed, their flushed, sweaty, tasseled faces.

There was a moment of recognition, an instant, a truce, a kind of loving cease fire where they stared into each other's eyes, the clarity of this moment settling over them, before diving right back into their incorrigible need to nearly eat the other. Now clothes were dropped with abandon, three layers at a time coming off in single motions, flesh revealing itself and then quickly pressing against flesh, a momentary salve to the aching frustration of 62 days of not feeling each other, something all the calls, texts, emails and even pics couldn't begin to quench. Flesh on flesh. Water to a flower. A mother's breast to a baby.

They stood there in near nakedness, top clothes tossed to the side, pants and underwear to their ankles, shoes on, the cold air at 30,000 feet pushed aside by the warmth of their bodies pressed impossibly close together. He had both her butt cheeks in his hands, squeezing them tight. She made a b-line for his stiff, erect cock, grabbing it tightly again, not forgetting the need to have it inside her.

It was then that they realized how impossibly small this bathroom was. With less forceful passion, this would have presented a problem to solve, a kind of pause in the action to plan and negotiate, but in their desperate need for each other's bodies, in the inevitable pursuit of penetration at all costs, the problem was solved by instinct, by taking the next second as it came, with no real idea of where those seconds were going to lead them.

He turned and sat himself on the cold toilet seat, pants to his ankles, cock erect like a junior flag pole emerging from his lap. She, with her pants in a bunch at her shoes, turned away from him and sat down on his stiff mount, a maneuver that would have been difficult considering how close her thighs were together, if it weren't for the stream of natural lubrication that was nearly pouring out of her at this point. With only a little bit of repositioning, her pussy slid easily down, enveloping his cock like a fire takes a forest.

That first plunge so intense and so desired, that each of them let out a wail, uncharacteristic to the usually quiet two. She sat there for a moment, as if to take it all in, feeling it throb inside her. She knew he wasn't long for this world, that it would only take a few of these plunges to finish him off. She knew she would not get hers tonight, but the fullness of his cock inside her, the strong arms criss-crossing around her body, the firm hands on her breasts, this was enough, she thought. A new pleasure--the filling of an empty chasm. Knowing his pleasure would be released inside her, and anticipating this, as it was so surely soon to come, was it's own unique rapture.

But then he moved his hand from her breast and plied his fingers in between her thighs. He dug deep with his fore and middle finger, surrounding her clit and pinching it between his fingers. She felt his lips on the back of her neck and she moved up on his cock and plunged down again hard. Again she moved up and down, once, then twice then hitting a rhythm of plunges and ascents, each time creating a path for his fingers to touch her clit, hitting it only in certain parts of her movement up and down. As she felt these uncontrollable sensations, she forgot about his near certain "death," taken over by the need for her own little death.

She now moved up and down with abandon, the only thing constraining and controlling the force and speed and movement of her body, his free arm, which was somewhat guiding the action. He was now squeezing her as tight as a human could squeeze another human, he thought. One arm digging deep into her crotch, the other trying desperately to keep her now involuntary movements in line. He could feel her reaching that place, losing all sense of her surroundings. He felt her wetness on his thighs, the more-than-extra lubrication the only thing keeping him from exploding inside her, though with each plunge and movement up, his defenses gave way, brick by brick, like a fort being assaulting by a warring army. He knew he wasn't long for this world, but he could tell she was close, her abandon turning into frenzy.

She now grabbed his thighs with both hands, digging her finger nails into and breaking his skin. She gave out another wail, this time more of a grinding grunt. He stopped her action with his left arm, pulling her down on him as tightly as was humanly possible. Pushing his right hand hard against her wet crotch, pinching her clit as he unloaded inside her, huge gasps of flow, like an oil rig blowing it's crude. In all her fury she felt this explosion inside her, his pulsing head letting out it's load, just as her wet nether regions were sending its own load of energy throughout her body.

He took his hand off her pussy and now wrapped her up into him, still throbbing, still unloading the last few drops of what had been storing up inside him for weeks. These sensations put a unique crown on her own palpitations. For what seemed like minutes, they sat there quietly, he still up in her, her sitting on top of him, pants to ankles, the bright fluorescent light laying bare what they had done. Their warm, wet bodies held tightly together by his strong arms, her hands sliding slowly up and down his calves.

Finally, she turned her head to him, with a sheepish, big smile, and laughed. They both laughed uncontrollably. Then they kissed, she twisting her body at first, but then, inevitably, lifting off of him to turn completely around to face him. She took his head in her hands and kissed him hard again, though these kisses were different. Not so hungry, not so desperate. These kisses were like the last spoonfuls of an ice cream dessert. Sweet and decadent, almost undeserved, after such a glorious meal.

They finished their kissing and stood up in the now crowded, now tiny bathroom, pulling up their respective pants, searching for their shirts. Looking in the mirror they surveyed the damage. Yes, there was no way to hide this one! They took course paper towels and tried to dry the evidence, then they unlocked the door and headed back to their seats. Surprisingly, no one looked up knowingly; people's heads bowed down for the most part, bouncing to the will of the plane. Except for the elderly woman in their row, who was wide awake, giving them an ever-so-sly smile as she stood up to give them access to their seats. The two lovers sat down, put their seat belts on, and fell fast asleep aside each other, arms entwined, heads resting on opposite shoulders.