The Red Eye

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For the frustrated English and Grammar teachers and those anonymous purveyors who spew nothing but bile, move on! There is nothing here for you!

It was the late 1980’s. I was a regional sales manager for construction products company. It was 10:30 pm on the West Coast. I was sitting under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights in the San Jose airport waiting for my red eye to Chicago’s O’Hare. Janitorial crews plied their cleanup routine in a desultory manner among the few drowsy passengers.

San Jose was a smallish airport at the time. You could park less than 100 yards from the ticketing counter. Outside airport security, such that it was, was primarily concerned with traffic control. 9/11, with its frenetic ramp up of airport security and the resultant suspicious glare at anything out of the ordinary, was not even a bad dream. It was unthinkable.

I arrived with about 30 minutes to flight time. I was coming off an evening of dinner, drinks and wine with a customer. I was jetting across country to a morning meeting in Chicago. I killed time waiting for the flight to be called by topping off the buzz I had from dinner with a few drinks while indulging the hobby of many frequent flyers: people watching.

It was the usual milieu of disparate flyers; Maybe 25 or 30 total for our last out flight. There were hippie types with the long hair and back packs. There was a young family with a fretful baby in mom’s arms while dad struggled with the luggage. I spied a few suits. They were the ambitious youngsters trying to impress the higher ups by jetting frantically across the country to show movement, interest and, hopefully, leading to profit for the company and promotion for the ambitious corporate climber. I resembled that description!

I noticed a 50ish blue haired grandmother type. There was nothing really special about her. She was a little chunky at about 5′ 3″ or so, maybe 150 lbs. She was at that age where her breasts, even with a bra, seemed to rest comfortably just above her belly. She was not your instant dick hardening female, especially for a 30ish corporate animal like I was at the time.

In retrospect, what grabbed my attention was her obvious nervousness. Her eyes were as large as dinner plates. She continually dug in her oversized purse for Kleenex which she nervously twisted in her trembling hands. Eventually she would rise, walk to the waste receptacle and discard the shredded tissue. Then she would return to her airport style plastic chair and repeat the compulsive process.

My experienced frequent flyers eye identified her as a white knuckle flier.

I checked in with the overly perky clerk at the podium. Her bright chatter seemed obscene at this ungodly hour. But true to her training, she greeted each passenger brightly, took their ticket and assigned their seat. I presented my ticket to this bleached blond representative of the airline. She identified me as a frequent flyer, confirmed that my request for a specific row was honored. She then assured me that after families with small children, I would be an early board. Looking around at my small gaggle of fellow fliers, I knew this was a dubious but still welcomed perk.

Before I could sit down, Miss Overly Perky called my flight. I grabbed my two-suiter and briefcase and made my way to the entrance to the jet way. Just in front of me was my family with the fretful baby. I offered a silent prayer to the airline gods to seat them as far from me as possible. I like kids but I didn’t want to be seated close to a baby that might wail for the four hour flight.

The Boeing bahis firmaları 727 was the workhorse of the airlines at that time. It was virtually impossible to move around the country without being on a 727 at some point. The aircraft had a feature that made it the darling of the frequent flyer. The row adjacent to the emergency exit had mega leg room because there were no rows of seats in front of the emergency exit! A long legged fellow like me could stretch out.

I stowed my items in the overhead, buckled up and prepared for takeoff. After takeoff the flight attendants made the usual announcement for a late night flight. After the initial beverage service, the lights would be dimmed for the remainder of the flight. I ordered a brandy and flirted a little with the good looking attendant. She good naturedly accepted my flirtation and casually worked into the conversation her husband and two kids. I watched ruefully as her shapely hips swayed seductively as she moved down the aisle doing the beverage service. The mid-thigh skirt showed off well-toned legs that seemed to go on forever! I got a plastic smile as she returned to the rear of the plane and dimmed the lights.

I finished my drink and grabbed a (free!!) blanket from the overhead. The plan was to sleep across country.

As I settled in I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. A contralto voice asked my pardon. I opened my eyes and looked up at my blue haired grandmother. She was accompanied by my leggy flight attendant. Even though the flight was less the half full, would I mind sharing my row? The lady had arthritic knees and the extra leg room would ease her discomfort.

I scooted to the widow seat. My new found seatmate took the aisle. The attendant offered and she accepted a blanket from the overhead. I settled back down and began to doze off. Suddenly the plane lurched and shook like a wet dog shaking off water. The seat belt light popped on and the captain announced we had hit some chop. To an old hand like me it meant that we were nearing the Great Plains states, probably nearing the western border of Nebraska. To my seatmate it signaled impending disaster.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and a quiet whimper. I raised my head to see my blue haired grandmother type had a death grip on the armrest.

I sighed and set up in my seat. She jumped as I reached over and covered her hand with mine. I began reciting the veteran flier’s mantra to the newbie: Flying was safer than driving; less people are killed in air disasters worldwide than in one year of traffic accidents in the States, etc., etc., blah, blah.

She would have none of it! She knew she was about to die. It was time to make peace with her maker and accept her fate.

I suggested a drink. She nodded her head nervously. I made my way back to the galley. My long legged attendant sympathized and added a few extra bottles to my order of four brandies, coke and cups of ice.

When I returned to my seat, she had moved to the center seat. My seatmate downed two airline bottles of brandy quickly and in an impressive fashion. I poured the third bottle over the ice. She stopped me before I added the coke. She knocked down half the glass, stopped for a breath and then drained the glass. I was impressed and silently held up the fourth bottle.

“Thank you, no, I think I will try to rest now.” She said pertly.

I slid back down in my seat with little doubt she would rest well!

I woke to a warm body pressed against me. I opened my eyes and saw my drinking grandmother had scooted closer and had her ample ass pressed kaçak iddaa into my crotch. In addition my hands were trapped between our bodies. I pressed myself as far as I could against the window and tried to extract my hands. Inevitably they slid across her ass and she woke up. Hurriedly I began explaining the situation. All I needed was her to yell that I had been feeling her up while she slept.

In a slurred voice she assured me it was ok. In the dim light I could see her eyes were unfocused and watery. The three brandies had kicked in!

She turned back on her side, scooted her ass back against my crotch, put my arm around her waist and appeared to go back to sleep. But my other arm was still trapped between us and now my hand was also uncomfortable close to her large breasts. Tentatively I moved the arm that was between us. My hand moved up her leg and settled between her thighs. Her skirt had ridden up!

Finally, taking the hint, I gently squeezed her thigh. She raised her leg to allow me access. She also pulled the hand on her waist around to rest on her breasts. I squeezed the soft pillowy mass and was rewarded with a sigh. I moved the other hand up over the nylons to her pantied pussy. I gently cupped it and was rewarded with a wiggle and another sigh. Then I felt her hand move over us and between us. She rubbed my cock.

We began a clandestine make out session. I massaged her tits through blouse and bra. My other hand stroked her dampening pussy through the gusset of her cotton panties. She began a frantic grinding of her large ass against my crotch alternating with her hand rubbing my dick roughly.

My rigid member was straining against my suit pants. Both of our breathing was becoming heavy.

Suddenly she sat up in her seat. She stood and walked quickly to the back of the plane. I experienced a moment of panic, envisioning her complaining about being molested to the flight attendants.

A few minutes later she returned to our row. Without a word she covered us both with our blankets. She lie on her side and wriggled her skirt up. Then she scooted her bare ass back against my pants. She had removed her nylons and stockings! I unbuckled and slid my pants and jockeys down. I could feel my pre cum lubricated member slide between her ass cheeks. She raised her leg slightly and I slid down her ass and effortlessly into her dripping wet pussy!

She sighed softly as she felt me enter her. She took my free hand and placed it on her breast. She had unbuttoned her blouse! I slipped my hand under her bra and began massaging her soft breasts. At the same time I slowly stroked in and out of her pussy. She began to meet my thrusts inward with her thrusts backward. The sound of slapping flesh caused us both to pause. The rows around us were empty but the plane was quiet and sound carried!

She giggled. Then she went slower. She was so tight that I could feel the head of my cock sliding in the sheath of her pussy. It was as though the head forced its way in and her pussy tightened back after the head, tightly shrouding it. Each stroke became an incredible fight for control. Else I would explode too quickly. I wanted it to last!

It became apparent that she did too. She would reach back, place a hand between us to slow me down. I found her nipple and began mauling it between my fingers. I stretched it and rolled it. I pinched and jacked it like a mini cock.

Her breathing was labored. I felt her tremble. Suddenly she bucked back hard against me and a stifled cry escaped her lips. Almost impossibly, I felt her wetness increase as she came.

She kaçak bahis lay still in her seat. I began to slowly plumb the depths of this amazing mature pussy. At first she lay quietly, her breathing heavy. Then as I continued my slow stroking, I heard a muffled: oh my god. As I pulled on her rigid erect nipple, she began to thrust back frantically. She jammed back hard, pushing me against the window as another orgasm wracked her body.

Her breathing was harsh and labored. I could feel her sides rise and fall desperately as she tried to catch her breath. With my dick balls deep in her spasming pussy, I leaned in close.

“Do you want to stop?” I whispered.

She nodded her head.

I began to pull out, disappointed that I didn’t get off but concerned that the excitement and alcohol was taking a toll on my mature sex partner.

“No, no, don’t take it all the way out!” she whispered hoarsely. “Just let me rest!”

I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I felt the pitch of the plane change slightly. It meant we were entering the O’Hare traffic pattern. We were close to or over the western edge of Iowa. We were less than an hour from landing. The lights would be coming up shortly.

“We need to stop!” I said.

“Ok, but could you come in me first? I want to feel that. It has been so long since I felt a man’s seed fill me. “

Her tone was pleading, almost frantic.

I began a hard thrusting. Her ass bounced with each hard push in. Her grunts became louder despite my attempts to shush her. I grabbed her hips in both hands. With each inward thrust, I slammed her ass back into me. I felt that tickle in my balls. I felt my cock began to swell as my seed moved from balls into my cock and then surge like water from a firehose deep in her eager love canal. Her pussy spasmed reflexively. It clamped down so hard that I thought she would squeeze me out of her.

“Oh fuck yes…oh yes….god yes, yes…fill me up.” She mewled as her ass jammed back hard against me. “Sweet jezuz, it feels so good!!”

She collapsed on her side in her seat. Her breathing was harsh and heavy.

I was deeply concerned.

“Are you ok?”

At first all she could do was nod. I slowly pulled my softening cock out of her. She hissed loudly.

The lights in the cabin came up. I quickly wiped our wetness from my now flaccid member with the blanket. I quickly pulled my clothes up.

“You need to get your clothes together.” I whispered.

She rolled to a sitting position. Her blanket fell to the floor of the cabin. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist. I could see my come leaking on the seat from her bristly black bush. It was tinged heavily with grey. I recalled thinking that she hadn’t died that blue.

I quickly threw my stained blanket over her nakedness.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry! I’m just a little out of it!” She stammered.

Under the blanket, she scooted her skirt down. She stood and walked unsteadily to the aft washroom.

As the attendant announced the final approach to O’Hare, my seatmate returned. Her makeup was freshened, her hair brushed and combed. Her blouse was buttoned and firmly held by the waist of her slightly wrinkled skirt.

As we landed, we had a conversation about our 33,000 foot high tryst.

The synopsis: I was a nice guy. I had taken an interest and helped her through the flight. Yes she was terrified of flying. And, finally, the girls at the bridge club had discussed joining the 5 Mile High club. She saw me as the chance to do it. And wouldn’t the bridge club girls be jealous!

I walked with her to baggage claim. She introduced me to her daughter and her daughter’s husband as the “Nice gentleman who had helped her with her fear of flying”! I got a peck on the cheek and a warm good bye.

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