A Short Trip Home

Note: This is a very short tale.

*

I was sitting in the middle seat on the plane coming home. Because of weather delays, we didn't board until almost midnight, but it was only a short flight. A pretty woman sat next to me by the window. She was much younger than me. She didn't look at me when I sat down after her, and I got the impression immediately that she was either very shy or just didn't want to strike up a conversation. So I just sat down quietly without saying a word.

She had a bag underneath the seat in front of her, but she didn't have a book or a magazine or an electronic device, and she didn't order a drink when the attendant came around. She sat there motionless. She sat upright in her seat. She had long brown hair. She wore thin, stretchy black leggings. She was just plain cute.

The lights went off in the cabin. The passenger in the aisle seat next to me was asleep, and I pretended that I was, too, but the whole time I stared down at her hands as they sat in her lap. Her right hand was tucked in between her legs, the other lie on top. For minutes, my imagination was stimulated by the thought of her hands being so close to her sex, and I wondered if I detected any movement that might be a sign that she was pleasuring herself. During the whole time of the flight, she never moved her hands away from her lap.

Time went slowly by and then I saw it: a definite movement of her right hand sliding up to her crotch. She tried to hide it with her left hand, but I could see the fingers of her right hand bending together at the knuckles and I was certain she must have been touching herself. When her skinny thighs opened a crack, I knew I must be right.

She went on this way for a little while, and I continued to watch, my left elbow resting on the arm of the seat, my head resting on my left hand, tilted slightly toward her. Her left hand began to press her right hand further down on her crotch. Her thighs opened slightly again, and I sensed her body slouch just a bit in her seat. She didn't make a sound, but it seemed like she was breathing heavier.

I continued to watch her. Her movements were so subtle and delicate, and I wondered if I were just imagining all this. When I placed my left hand on my thigh, the movements stopped completely. I must have scared her. I wasn't sure what to do. I wished I could talk to her, say something, but I didn't dare.

My left hand slid down the outside of my thigh, less than an inch from her thigh. I didn't move it again. She didn't move. Time slowed down even more. And then I saw it again, the slight twitch of her right hand between her thighs. I imagined she must be rubbing herself again, perhaps even daring that I was watching her. My ring finger touched her thigh lightly. She did not draw away. Maybe she didn't even feel it. I began to caress her thigh lightly with my fingertip, at first as though accidental and then after a while, after she parted her thighs again and I could see her right hand pressing harder into her crotch, my caresses became more loving.

This continued for some time, as I lightly touched her thigh with my fingertips and she rubbed herself. At some point, I began to touch myself with my right hand over my slacks and I could feel my hardness and my ache through the sheer fabric. I felt her shoulder lean slightly against mine. I could feel the warmth of her body that way. It was like a small cuddle between strangers. I dared to put the palm of my hand on her thigh, just resting it there, and continued to watch her. She continued to touch herself and then she tilted her head in the direction of where our shoulders touched and she whispered a quiet, "oh."

She repeated it once more and then stopped. Neither of us moved again until the captain turned on the seatbelt signs and the attendants said we should return our trays and seats to their upright positions. We never looked at each other, even when the lights came back on. I followed her down the ramp, and then I lost her in the crowd inside the terminal.