I am a middle class guy in my 50s. I guess I look okay for my age. I am about six feet tall, have a full head of dark hair, and a full, gray beard, which I keep well trimmed. I should work out more as I could use more muscles and better body tone, and I could stand to drop 20 pounds or so; overall though, I guess I am at least average. I keep thinking that the kind of experience I will tell about here could not happen to me, but once in a while, to my awe and amazement, it does.
I am happily married, but a few years ago, my wife had to start taking a medication that reduces her interest in sex. She is still willing to try to meet my needs, and we have good sex several times a year, but for many years, I was more accustomed to several times a week. I do not seek sex outside of my marriage, but my circumstances make it pretty hard to turn it down if it is offered to me in a safe, no strings, sort of way. Although this does not happen very often, it has happened a few times. This story is about my latest experience.
It was a hot July Sunday. I was returning home from a long, professional conference. My wife had attended with me, and we were seated on a crowded airplane that was about ready to depart. There were three seats across on our side of the isle. My wife was in the window seat, and I was in the middle one. I was not sure that anyone was going to take the isle seat, but just before they shut the doors, a young lady was admitted to the airplane and sat down next to me in the isle seat. I am not good at estimating the ages of young women. I can only say that she appeared to be somewhere between about 15 and 30. I later found out that she was somewhere in the college years. I can not say that I originally thought of her as being beautiful, alluring, sexy, or any of those other terms associated with young women. My impression was that she was just a little chubby and did not have a tremendous amount going for her in the breast size department. She had honey blond hair, which was pinned up and tied back. It was mostly on top of her head with a little bit hanging down in a pony tale. She was nicely tanned, and she was wearing white walking shorts, not overly short, and a matching, white tank top. She had a bra on under the tank top. This was obvious by virtue of what could not be seen, and also, by the fact that, every time she moved, the bra straps kept peeking out from either side of the tank top straps.
When she entered the airplane, she had a large back pack on her back. She stuffed this into the overhead storage area, which my wife and I had left empty because we had checked everything except my laptop, which I had stashed under the seat in front of me. The only other carry on she had with her was a very shiny purse. Just to make conversation, I asked her if the shiny things on her purse were mother of purl shells. She smiled and said, "Just artificial sequence bangles," and then she did not say much else.
As she sat down, however, her arm brushed my arm and side. I can not really explain what happened then, or why it happened, but it seemed as if an electric charge flowed from her to me. I usually am not moved much by average looking girls who are half my age and whom I meet casually, so I was surprised at the sudden jolt, but just chalked it up to being tired from a long week of conference meetings, work into the night, and short sleep periods.
My wife was even more tired than I was. The last two nights of the conference, she had girls' nights out with some female associates, and she fell asleep almost the instant we sat down on the airplane.
I was a little sleepy too, but mostly just board, so I sat in a half stupor, just occasionally glancing at the young lady who had joined our row of seats. I would not have been interested at all except for that initial electric charge I felt when our bodies had inadvertently touched. I was trying to understand what had happened with that and why.
My mind was about to leave this pursuit when we both adjusted our seats, and pulled down the trays on the seats in front of us because the flight attendants were bringing refreshments. This time, our hands and wrists touched, and again, there it was, that inexplicable feeling of electric charge, of a quasi-sexual tension which should not have been present between to complete strangers.
The flight attendant served our drinks. My wife was sleeping and did not have anything, but I had a cup of coffee, and the young lady had a diet Coke. As we reached for our drinks, and the pretzels we were provided, on the crowded airplane, our hands occasionally touched several additional times. Each time, again there was that spark. I was surprised we did not see little flashes coming off of our hands. I did not understand it, but I wondered if she was feeling it also.
Maybe I got a hint about that, although I did not take it as such at the time. As the flight drug on, I was revved up because of the coffee, but the young lady became sleepy. While my wife was sleeping sitting fairly straight in her seat, however, the young lady turned her groggy, sleeping head and body toward me. She was on her side facing me, and her head and breasts ended up sagging against me. I lifted my arm and put it over and around her shoulders with my hand caressing her back. This at least seemed a comfortable position.
That pesky electricity was still there though! I felt a slight twitching in my groin, but tried to ignore it as I kept telling myself that the quasi-hug I was getting was an unconscious act on the young lady's part, and that she would be embarrassed if she realized what she was doing.
Quite to the contrary, however, about ten minutes before landing, she woke up, smiled a beautiful white smile, and said, "Thank you. That was a nice way to spend the trip." I smiled and said that it had been pleasant for me too. My wife continued to slumber on the other side of me. I had to wake her up after the airplane had landed.
My wife and I had to change airplanes at the large, Midwestern airport where we had landed, and we were not in any hurry to get off of the aircraft because we had nearly a three hour layover. The flight had been cheap by comparison with others available, but the connections really were not very good. We thus decided to remain on the plane until most other passengers had gotten off. The young lady next to me, on the other hand, being in an isle seat, was one of the first off of the plane. She grabbed her back pack from the overhead storage and bolted off of the aircraft with the impatience of her apparent tender years.
I remember thinking, "There she goes. Now I will never know why I had those electric feelings of sexual tension as our bodies inadvertently touched, and I will never know if she had the same sensations."
My wife and I eventually got off of the plane and went immediately to the departure area for our next flight, which was just a few gates down the concourse. My wife said that she was going to stretch out and see if she could get a little more sleep. I gave her my laptop to use as a pillow. I told her that I needed to use the restroom, and that I would then wonder a bit and look through some of the shops or have a drink. She told me to go on, have a good time, and let her sleep.
I meandered down the concourse. By this time the young lady of the previous flight was pretty well out of my mind. I was thinking about what I wanted to do with my time. The airport was pretty crowded as July is a heavy travel month, but there were several fast food type bar and grill operations that I could visit without having to clear security. I started looking for one that was not too crowded, and decided that, first, I had better use the restroom. I entered the next men's restroom which came along, but was quite surprised at the crowds in it. I just needed to pee, but there were at least two guys lined up waiting for each urinal. The stalls were all full as well. "To hell with that," I thought. I did not need to go all that badly, and I was hoping for a less crowded, less public type restroom on down the concourse. Maybe one of those bar and grill operations would have its own facilities. As I was thinking this, I walked by a door labeled "Companion Restroom," and it had the little tactile shadow figures of both the man and woman on the sign next to the wheelchair symbol and the accompanying Braille label giving, I assume, the same information in those little groups of mysterious bumps.
One sees those companion restrooms in large facilities from time to time now. They have been around ever sense just a few years after the adoption of the Americans with Disabilities Act. I guess they make them available so that disabled people who need attendant assistance to use the restroom can use them, and so parents can help their children. As they are not available in most places, however, a lot of people do not think about using them. As a fairly frequent traveler, I have learned that such facilities are often available, quite private, and often quite clean and pleasant. I tried the door, and it was unlocked. I went through, and it was one of those two door entry systems, the first door being the more substantial, and the second being more akin to an oversized stall door. I entered the second door, and found myself staring directly at the young lady who had been sitting next to me on the plain. She was sitting on the tall toilet with those white walking shorts, and some pale pink panties adorning her ankles. I could see just the top portion of a nicely trimmed pubic bush peeking above the lip of the commode.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Excuse me!: I almost screamed as I attempted to back out of the oversized stall door. That door, however, was one of those self latching ones. It had swung shut upon my entrance, and without my turning around and flicking the latch, it would not move. I started to make this turn, but I then heard what I found to be a quite surprising sound, laughter.
"Well don't just stand there; the roller is empty. Hand me that roll of toilet paper on the shelf above the sink," she giggled. I had not noticed the empty roller or the shelf above the sink containing the additional toilet paper. I guess that until I had started to turn to fumble with the latch, my eyes had been fixated on that ridge of pubic thatch. I stepped over her back pack, which she had deposited in front of the sink, and handed her the paper. I started to turn to fumble with the latch and again attempt to make an exit, but she said, "You don't have to leave. I'm done now." She stood up and pulled up those pale pink panties, and then her walking shorts. The automatic flusher on the toilet went, "whish," she pushed past me to the sink, washed her hands, picked up her back pack and left, brushing her hips ever so slightly past me on her way out.
Again, that touch was incredible. Every time this woman touched me, even ever so slightly and inadvertently, sparks were going off all over my nerve endings, but particularly in the ones surrounding my groin. I had to collapse for a bit, sitting on the toilet ring and attempting to catch my breath. Also, my cock was at least at half mast, and I had to wait for it to calm down to be able to pee.
Finally, I was able to stand up, turn around, unzip, and drain the snake. I had just finished, and that automatic flusher had just gone "whish" again when I heard the outside door open.
"Just coming out," I said. I did not hear anything said in return, but I zipped up and turned around to see the inner, oversized stall door open, and in shot the same young lady.
"Oh, didn't know you were still in here. I got my back pack, but left my purse."
