It's Thursday, September twenty fifth, and time feared daily. Fuck. The only sound is the deep, monotonous drone of the jet engines, a constant hum that has vibrated its way into my bones. A cabin is dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of the overhead sides the occasional screen of a phone. Everyone around me is asleep, their heads lowered, back, mouths slightly agape. Everyone except him. He's in the seat next to me, the stranger I've been
pressed against for the last four hours. I know the shape of his jaw from the slipper of moon my coming through the window. I know the set of his skin, clean soap, and a faint, spicy column that I've been breathing in all night. Our thighs have been in a constant more contact, a line of heap from hip to knee. We haven't spoken a word since he asked if I needed help with my bag, but a conversation has been happening in the space between us, with every accidental brush
of our hands on the shared arm rest. He shifts in his sleep or a faint sleep, and his knee presses firmly against mine, lingering for a beat too long, A cholt, sharp and electric should straight to my core. At that moment, I decide turbulence isn't going to be the only thing making this flight interesting. My mood is subtle. I pretend a shiver, Pulling the thin, scratchy airline blanket higher on my lap, I let one corner of its slide over, covering his thigh as well as mine, a
shared tent in the dark. I feel him still for a moment. Then his hand moves ostensibly to adjust the blanket. His fingers brushed mind, a deliberate, questioning touch. I don't pull away. Instead, I turn my hand, palm up, my fingers, curling slightly. It's an invitation. Slowly, his fingers lace with mind under the cover. My heart is a frantic bird against my ribs. My other hand, the one he can't see, makes its journey across the inches of seat separating us.
I let go of his hand, and under the blanket, my finger tips find the rough denim of his thigh. I let them rest there. A sonid question he answers by shifting again, giving me better access. My hand creeps higher, a slow motion exploration of our private darkness. I find the bulge in his chains, my fingers trace its length. It's hard. The knowledge sends a fresh wave of heat pulling between my legs. At the same time, his hand begins its own journey. His knuckles skin the inside of
my thigh. His touch feather light on my bare skin where my dress is ridden up. The risk is intoxicating. A flight attendant could walk by at any second. The man across the aisle could wake up, but that fear is an aphrodisiac, sharpening every sensation. My fingers find the button of his fly, and with painstaking slowness, unfastens it. The rasp of his zipper sounds like a gunshot in the quiet cabin. I slip my hand inside, past the fabric of his boxers and finally touch him. He's hot, smooth,
and pulsing with life. I wrap my fingers around his cock, and he enhils sharply, a sound that's swallowed by the engines drone. As I begin to stroke him, his hand reaches its destination. His fingers slide under the hem of my panties, which are already soaked through. He finds my clip at out hesitation, and a choked gasp escapes my lips. I press my head back against the seat, my eyes
squeezed shut. We fall into a silent, desperate rhythm. My hand pumps his hard cock, feeling it grow even thicker, slick with his pre comb, his fingers circle and tease, sending jolts of lightning through my entire body. I can feel him getting closer, his whole body tensing with the effort of staying silent. I'm right there with him, on a razor's edge of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. I have to bite down on my own knuckle to keep from crying out. Your argasm hits me without mourning,
a silent, violent convulsion under the blanket. My body shudders, my hips bucking uselessly against the seat belt in his expert hand. My climax tritters his. I feel his cock pulse in my fist, his heart released, coating my hand, as his entire body goes rigid in a silent, shuddering climax. We stay like that for a long moment, breathless and trembling. In the aftermath, our hands still intimately connected. Slowly we withdraw, cleaning ourselves as best we can. With airplane napkins in
the dark, We leave the blanket in place. Neither of us sleeps for the rest of the flight. As the sun rises and the cabin lights flicker on, we turn and look at each other for the first time. He has kind eyes and a tired, beautiful smile. I smiled back. We walk off the jet bridge in opposite directions, without ever learning each other's names. It was the most intimate conversation I've ever had.