My name is Muriel. I am a 37 year old divorced mother of one. My son, Jonathan, is 19 years old and attends MIT in Massachusetts. I live on the West Coast. This past spring Jonathan and I took a cross-country flight to check out some Ivy League universities in the east. I had a tremendous fear of flying, but Jonathan was insistent that I come with him. We were only 18 years apart and we were more like friends than mother and son. His father left us when he was 9 years old and we struggled through life together. Jonathan was an excellent student and carried a 4.0 grade point average. He was highly intelligent and very dedicated to his studies. This left him little time for girls. And with my full time job and hectic schedule, my social life was non-existent. I did not have a date in three years.
We boarded a commercial airliner at Los Angeles International Airport. I was nervous to fly and had to take mild sedative. Although he never flew before, Jonathan was braver than I and did what he could to reassure me that everything would be all right.
Jonathan had grown into quite a young man. He was tall but a tad gangly looking. He stood at 6'-1" and weighed 165 pounds. He had his father's blond hair and deep blue eyes. He had a bright wide smile and he would be a very handsome young lad if he fixed his chronically unkempt hair and wore contact lenses as opposed to his thick horn-rimmed glasses. His face was pockmarked and he had an annoying nasal disorder, which caused him to gag uncontrollable on occasion. These unfortunate flaws contributed to his lack of success with girls. But as a loving mother, I thought he was a nice boy and would be a wonderful catch for a deserving young woman.
I decided to wear something comfortable, yet attractive for the five-hour red eye flight. I wanted to be comfortable so that I could relax more and I wanted to look appealing enough should I meet a nice professional man or even a pilot on the plane. I wore a sleek black Cashmere sweater dress with a turtleneck. It made me look slim and pretty. It went well with my auburn hair, which I pulled back into a French braid. Being a petite woman, I was only 5'-4" and weighed 115 pounds. I had a trim waist and sleek, sexy legs, which were covered in suntan colored pantyhose. I wore black patent leather pumps that made me look taller and accentuated the lines and curves of my legs. My breasts were a perfect set of 36-Cs, which were incredibly enhanced by my black satin and lace push up bra. I was 37 years old, but I had a figure to die for. I had brains to boot. I was a paralegal for a prominent law firm. I considered myself an ideal catch for any forty-something single male.
We boarded the flight and took our seats. I let Jonathan take the window seat, because I had no desire to look out during the flight. In my nervousness, as I sat in my seat, I forgot to smooth out the front of my dress and my hemline raised up high on my thighs as I settled in. A glint of white from my shiny nylon panties with lace trim peeked out from the dark triangular shadow beneath my dress. I caught Jonathan stealing a glimpse of my undies as he leaned forward and settled back into his seat. He blushed and smiled during the awkward moment, but he politely looked away. I lifted my posterior from the confining coach seat and stretched the front of my dress down to my knees to properly conceal my unmentionables. I didn't realize that the dress was that short. I sat back down and crossed my legs. I fastened my seatbelt tightly around my hips and prepared myself mentally for takeoff. Jonathan made himself comfortable and pulled out a science book to read.
We sat and waited for the remaining passengers to board. A man in his late forties took the outside seat next to mine. He was tall with short dark hair that was graying at the sides. He wore a gray business suit and a paisley silk tie. He had a pleasant smile and a deep voice. He sensed my apprehension and he kindly tried to put me at ease. He said he was in sales and was on a business trip to Boston. His name was Bob and he seemed to be a nice guy. We talked until it was time to take off.
Soon, the plane taxied down the runway and stopped. The engines roared to life and the brakes released thrusting the plane forward. We rumbled down the runway as we increased velocity. My fingers dug into the armrests. Jonathan placed his hand over mine a grasped it in order to comfort me. I swallowed deeply and concentrated on breathing evenly as the giant plane lifted into the air. I felt a heavy force push me back into my cushioned seat. The vibration of the plane caused my pussy and clitoris to tingle a bit as they were in close contact with the reverberating seat.
"OOOOOOooo!" I said expressed out loud. It almost was an erotic feeling. I closed my eyes and tried to picture pleasant thoughts. Within several minutes we were well underway. Once we leveled off, I felt more at ease. The plane seemed to slice through the air and I was surprised at how smooth the flight was turning out. A flight attendant passed out blankets and pillows. I took one of each and made myself comfortable. About an hour into the flight, the sedative kicked in and I drifted off to sleep.
I slept for two hours, but I felt I was out for two days. I awoke to the sounds of horrendous thunder and flashes of lightning. I was still very groggy, but I noticed that we were flying through a fierce electrical storm. I felt the plane bumping and jolting violently as we encountered turbulence. In between the bumps and jolts were periods of strong continuos shaking. The wildly vibrating fuselage sent waves of motion up through my seat and coursing through my body. I reached over and grabbed Jonathan's hand and held it tightly.
"We hit a big storm over Nebraska." Said Jonathan, "We are in for a bumpy ride."
"Great!" I said sarcastically. "I hope this plane can hold together."
A bolt of lightening flashed through the sky followed by a loud explosion. I jumped up and grabbed Jonathan tightly by the arm. He put his arm around my shoulders and cradled me. I was shaking as bad as the plane, but my son was doing his best to keep me from going crazy. He was so strong and mature for his age. I was proud of the man he had become and how well he was taking care of his frightened mother.
