I'm Anna, a small-town-librarian, who loves to fly, but I wasn't always so brave about it. In fact, not too long ago, I began all of my flights with a death-grip on the armrests, praying my head off. This irrational fear led to a bit of fun with George, and several months later...a LOT of fun with Sean.
It all started, one quiet afternoon at the library, which is when I usually do a little personal research on the Internet. I happened to come across an article on therapy for nervous fliers, so I decided to give it the old college try. The basic idea was to meditate on something (besides eminent death) during take off. MY something, was a tropical Island swim. It felt safe, and was busy enough to occupy all five senses, which the article said was important.
On my next flight, I actually tried this while sitting next to George, the Pharmaceutical salesman. I'd say he was in his mid forties, neatly dressed in a casual suit. With blue eyes, blond curls, and a soft mustache, he was borderline cute with a hint of mischief.
George noticed my eyes squeezed shut and the bottom lip I bit into during take-off. Those first few minutes were always the worst. When I felt him drop a little blue bag in my lap, I realized he thought I was going to puke. At that point, I felt I had to explain just a bit about the swim fantasy.
George looked relieved, but he teased me about "fantasizing", saying he could do better ...perhaps I'd like a swimming partner like Brad Pitt . Naturally, George offered to swim with me too...which for some odd reason was even more of a turn on. I opened one eye to peek at him. George wiggled his eyebrows. I couldn't help the giggle which bubbled out as I gave him a playful smack with my ticket envelope.
Up until that moment, my heart was pounding so hard that I thought I was going to need that blue bag after all. I took his naughty bait and felt much better...doing George on the beach in front of several half naked celebrities. Thanks George!
George gave my thigh a pat and went back to "reading" his copy of Maximus Booblios. The rest of that flight was uneventful, but for months afterward, George was my favorite fantasy to accompany my little vibrator sessions.
Now before you jump to any conclusions, let me remind you that for 50 hours a week, I succeed as a plausible librarian. Factual and organized Anna. Some would even say I'm "bookish" and apparently a bit shy. Privately, I'm a very naughty wench with a dirty mind. I have a nightstand filled with delightful toys...and an extensive collection of written and visual erotica. Funny how my librarian side can say, "I'm an erotica collector."...but what I really am is a lady who loves the beauty of sex in all of its forms.
The combination of those things had been a great turn-on for me, but it got even better. Doing George led to further fun, but I had seriously underestimated where it all would lead.
One December afternoon, I headed through a huge Detroit-Metro terminal on the way to my assigned gate. I'd dressed that morning as if meeting a secret lover; sexy black lace undergarments beneath a blue silk pant suit.
My long red curls were loosely pinned up, but I'd left a few tendrils escaping, as if a single tug would release the rest. I painted on dark red lipstick to match my nails, and spritzed on a darker scent than I'd usually wear for daytime. I hoped I was striking a balance between classy lady, and sexy vixen.
Luckily I had allowed myself an extra hour to find that gate, and I arrived with time to spare. With a three hour long flight to Phoenix ahead, I scanned the crowd for the kind of man who revs my engines; one who would work for a fantasy distraction. I guess I should have felt a bit guilty for scanning strangers that way...but I figured no one would be the wiser.
It wasn't until I was actually boarding, that I spotted him...or more accurately, I smelled him. My first alert was a whiff of fresh air and Stetson.
I traced the scent to an older man who took the seat directly across the aisle from where I'd be sitting. I could hardly believe my luck. I may as well confess now, that I have a thing for guys nearly twice my age. Maybe it's because they make me feel safe, but it's a strong theme in all of my fantasies, and yes...my realities as well.
Watching him as he sat down, I noted soft brown eyes, laugh lines and mostly gray hair. He must have been a bit over 50, which was just about perfect. He seemed to be of average height, with a stocky build, but in pretty fair shape for his age. His dark suit coat was worn open and casual. It was impossible to ignore the deliciously coarse gray fuzz, which was visible at the neckline of his matching shirt. All the better for me...I happen to like fuzzy bears.
I was just getting settled into my seat, when this man of my dreams, jumped up to help someone stow an awkward bag, directly over my head. For one full minute his crotch was about six inches from my face. I don't know what got into me that day. Normally I'd lean away to grant some space, but just this once... it occurred to me that if I leaned ever so slightly toward him, I could have kissed his fly.
Before I could stop myself I was shifting in my seat, just to get an inch or two closer. Nothing more. It would be enough to know I'd secretly gotten that close. Too bad I didn't foresee that my hair, would then get caught on his coat button. Luckily embarrassment isn't terminal and I neatly survived the few seconds it took for him to disentangle us. The poor man kept apologizing as if it were HIS fault entirely. I cheerfully assured him it was NOT a big deal, but I was blushing terribly because of what was going through my mind at the time.
As I tightened my seat-belt and leaned back to close my eyes, there was a quick flash of guilt for what I was about to do to him. Then came whispers from my darker half...saying he'd probably love it...if only he knew. I sure wasn't going to tell him. In a matter of minutes, the plane was taxiing out and I was using him mercilessly in fantasy.
It began with his easy smile, his mouth hovering over mine. My fingers playing in his close cut gray curls. I let the first imaginary kiss travel the scale from gentle to ravishing. It helped that I could still detect the faint musky scent of his cologne. From there the fantasy evolved on it's own and I was lost in visions of HIM. Under me...over me...behind me, strong and randy.
It was such a busy little distraction that for the first time, I barely noticed the planes ascent. If my hands gripped the armrests on that flight, it was only to keep them from a very improper public display, which might have gotten me arrested.
By the time the plane reached cruising altitude, I thought I was going to need a trip to the in-flight rest room. A few private moments to find some means of release would have been great, but the restrooms were "occupied" for most of the trip. My fingers itched for the tiny lipstick vibrator in my purse. I settled instead, for bit of squirming until the excitement faded. OK, so my panties were damp and my clit was throbbing, but I managed to survive it. I hoped he was thinking nice thoughts of me too. His occasional smiles across the aisle were encouraging.
When we finally landed in sunny Phoenix, I found myself standing to await the usual slow exodus. That's when my smiling hero stood up behind me and made his first move.
"Hi...I'm Sean." He grinned and offered a handshake.
Good manners dictated that I turn to meet the gesture. He carried it off quite well, wrapping my hand between both of his, for a few seconds longer than I expected. I was still embarrassed about the tangle I'd caused earlier, so I smiled and sputtered nervously.
