"Aw Mom," he said, sounding more eight than eighteen.
"Now Mikey..."
"Mom, stop calling me Mikey. I told you I'm too old for a little boy's name."
"Very well, Michael..." Mike's mom said smiling at her son.
"Mother!"
"OK Mike, I got it, but you have to give me some time to get used to calling you that."
"You said I wouldn't have to go to Wyoming if I found a job here this summer. Jimmy told me Mr. Lansing told him he's going to hire me."
Mike mentally kicked himself for referring to Jim as Jimmy. Both boys were struggling to grow up as quickly as possible.
"I know, honey, and I wish we didn't have to do this but your Aunt Molly is struggling more than anyone suspected and summer is the most critical time for her. There will come a day when you realize this is what family is about."
"But she's not even related! Not really, anyway."
Mike, apparently, was in a mental kicking mood and offered one to his Uncle Hastings for dying so suddenly last fall. Then he kicked himself even harder, mentally, of course, for being a callous jerk.
"Michael! Don't say such a thing. Hastings was my only brother and Molly was his wife. Like us, they never had much and now she's faced with losing everything. Please say you'll help her."
Mike could no more turn down the plea in his mother's eyes than he could buy her the mansion on a hill she deserved. With servants. Topless, female servants...horny ones...pretty...with great bodies...
Mike shook his head to clear it. Would such intrusive thoughts never go away he wondered? His mother brushed a tear from her eye as she watched her son retreat to his room.
Lying on his bed, Mike began contemplating the pros and cons of spending the summer on a ranch in Wyoming. Or at least he wanted to but there didn't seem to be all that many pros.
He really wanted that pool-cleaning job with Mr. Lansing. Jim had worked there last summer and was full of stories of classmates, college coeds, and even some hot moms sunning themselves in bikinis – or less! Throughout their senior year of high school, Jim had teased Mike unmercifully about the sights he'd seen on pool aprons around town.
Mike was completely jealous of his best friend and continually badgered his buddy to put in a good word with Mr. Lansing. All winter Mike lay naked in his bed masturbating, like he was doing at the moment, thinking about seeing Jessica or Melanie or any of a dozen girls at school Jim claimed wore micro bikinis.
Releasing his semen into the air above his chest, Mike groaned softly as it splashed onto his bare skin. When his heavy breathing finally calmed, he hurried to mop himself dry with a soiled tee shirt from his hamper.
This was to have been his "breakout" summer. At eighteen, Mike was still a virgin. If there were degrees of virginity, Mike would be among the purest. He had never been on a date, never kissed a girl, never seen one naked or even topless. The only things impure about him were his thoughts and those innumerable trysts with his hand.
High school had not been the best of times for Mike, and senior year was the worst. He matured late growing eight inches in the eight months before graduation. Limited family resources, a result of his father's disability, meant his wardrobe lost race after race with his body. For the most part, he looked like some gangly Huck Finn with three inches of bare arm sticking out of his shirt sleeves and pant cuffs high enough to remain dry when fording small streams.
He tried to take the ribbing of classmates good-naturedly, took what pleasure he could in the fact that he wouldn't spend his life at five feet seven inches. Now 6'3" all those features that had been oddly proportioned making him look and feel goofy suddenly fit.
Mike the butterfly has emerged from his chrysalis, he thought as he admired himself in the mirror then immediately chastised himself for such a "girly" analogy. The ugly ducking has become... Ugh! Was his the mind of a six-year-old?
Mike wasn't just adding stature to femur, fibula, and tibia either. For each inch in height, he added half that where it counted most: his cock. Mike knew because he kept precise records.
In September, he measured a rock hard five inches. By Christmas, he was sporting six and a half inch boners. At spring break he was a full eight inches, topping out at a stunning nine, thick inches in May.
His cock was not limited to a growth spurt either; there was also spurt growth. At the beginning of the year, lying in bed jerking off, Mike could hit his collarbone with the first two squirts of his five shot orgasms.
By midyear he could easily fire over his head with four or five shots and orgasms were lasting nine to twelve contractions each.
In May, Mike could blast the wall behind his bed three feet above where he lay. Not wanting to create enormous messes to clean up, he usually pointed his dick straight up shooting cum geysers four feet high before they came splashing onto his bare torso.
Sometimes, he would try to aim his ejaculation so it would land on his face, capturing some on his tongue and mouth. He was flexible enough that, as his cock grew, he was able to get his tongue, and finally, his lips around the head.
While what he did felt great, he never actually succeeded in sucking himself off. He did, however jerk himself off into his own mouth sometimes. He felt perverted, not realizing that these were the things teenage boys either accomplished or attempted.
* * * *
There was only one other passenger on the regional jet that flew Mike into Cheyenne, a man who appeared to be in his fifties and slept most of the way.
Mike guessed the solitary flight attendant to be mid to late twenties and reasonably cute. He stared at her often and she caught him more than once. She too had noticed the tall, lean, good-looking teen as he checked in and boarded her flight.
With the plane virtually empty, she knew she could either go up front with the pilot and co-pilot or flirt with the kid in seat 4A. She chose the latter. The first thing she did was to go into the galley and roll the waistband of her navy-blue skirt over four times so the hem went from the top of the knee to mid-thigh.
"Hi," she said, settling onto the aisle armrest of 6B with her legs facing Mike. "I'm Jen."
"Mike," he said dragging his gaze from her legs to her eyes.
Jen had a great time watching Mike struggle to maintain eye contact. Every time he ogled her legs, she would steal a look at his crotch. The kid was packing something, that was for sure, and it was getting bigger.
Jen continually touched Mike on the arm or shoulder as they talked about themselves. Once she punched his arm when he made a sarcastic comment, and once she tousled his hair because she found him so cute.
"How do you like your job?" Mike asked.
"It's OK," Jen responded.
"I really like your uniform. You look good in it."
"Really?" Jen answered, genuinely flattered. She stood up and modeled it for him, turning backward and then sideways. She knew she had a nice figure.
Sitting again, she draped one leg onto the seat next to Mike leaving her knees wider apart. He could feel his erection building. "The material is very soft. Go ahead, feel it."
Blood rushed immediately to Mike's cock and he felt a pain as it tried to push down his tight pants leg. Gently, quickly, he ran two fingers a few inches across the hem of the skirt. He felt the firmness of her thigh under the skirt.
"Very nice," Mike said. His ambiguity was unintentional.
Despite the minimalism of the sexual content in his touch to Jen's leg, it was the most intimate contact he'd ever had with a female. Mike's phallus screamed silently as it lay cramped, doubled over, against his thigh. Pre-cum was beginning to leak through his shorts and moisten his jeans.
"Not like that," Jen admonished grabbing his hand. She placed it flat against her thigh and pulled it up to within an inch of her pussy. As she did, Mike watched intently. He was not the only person in row four whose genitals were leaking liquid. He was, however, the only one whose fluid was showing. A silver dollar sized spot had formed to the left of his fly.
"Oh my!" exclaimed Jen, nearly giggling out loud. "Did you spill something?" She was well aware, of course, of the true source of the liquid causing the wet spot. "Let me get you a towel to blot that," she said as she swayed toward the galley. She could feel a squishy slipperiness between her own legs as she sashayed with exaggerated undulations.
No sooner had she turned the corner than Mike popped out of his seat. He was unaware of the slit in the galley wall through which Jen watched as he pried at the hard cock trying to reduce his pain.
As he walked forward, in the same direction the flight attendant had just taken, Jen could make out an enormous denim covered tube extending from the crotch to the left, front pocket of Mike's jeans. It had been a long time since she'd dick teases someone so young and she was having fun as well as becoming excited. When he reached the galley, Mike poked his head around the corner so he wouldn't expose his obvious boner to the friendly stewardess.
"I'll take care of it in the men's room," he stated as he slipped into the cramped lavatory.
Once inside, he ripped down his pants and sighed out loud as his phallus sprang from its tight, denim prison. Grabbing himself, Mike began beating his meat to relieve the lust consuming him.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Mike had rushed to the toilet. Jen smiled when she heard the moans of self-gratification emitting from inside the restroom. Briefly, she considered knocking on the door to ask if she could help with anything but thought that would be too cruel.
