Airport Fantasy 3 - Mile High
As we walked down the ramp to the plane, I leaned over to Marie. "I'll bet the red haired kid you were watching beats off in the plane."
"Mark, you're gross!" She laughed. "I didn't know you noticed me watching him. He was kind of cute, don't you think?"
I didn't answer. I didn't dare. He was fucking incredibly cute. He was so absolutely suckable that I was tempted to go over to him and say just that. Marie and I were not the only ones watching, either. Some guy three seats from the kid had the radar locked on and was probably closing in as we took our seats. The lucky fucker would probably get him too. When I was that age, I took every chance I got to get my rocks off.
Matt started it all. He was the oldest of the neighborhood kids. He taught all the guys the finer points of jacking off. I didn't need many lessons, but I practiced enough to become a professional.
At 18, I did. I took $20 to get in a car. Over the next several years, my talents developed and my prices went way up. I also made up some stories, which later grew into complete characters. Now, at 26, I had an agent of sorts. Some contacts at better hotels would call him when a guest was interested in something special. He'd match interests. Depending on the details, I might be stopping by.
The baseball player is my best, and most requested, act. I have a few regulars who believe, or at least let themselves believe, that I play minor league ball. Another likes to wrestle, and lose. Mostly, though, I do one-nighters for guys who swear they have never done anything like this before. They can play their characters, too. I don't mind at all. This little business keeps me in the suds. It also pays the rent. Marie thinks the tips at the bar are really great, and that I rake it in as a personal trainer.
The mountains have come into view, and I still can't get the red haired kid out of my mind. I caught only a glance compared to what I wanted. If the kid only knew what he had he could be pulling in twice what I was making. For every call my agent gets for a jock, he gets two for a college boy. One of those might just come from me.
We leveled off into some clouds and bounced around a little. It didn't last very long, though, and the seat belt sign went off. I got up to take care of the coffee that had gotten me to the airport so early and now wanted out. By the time I latched the door to the stall, my plans changed.
Pissing through a hardon at 7 AM with occasional turbulence tossing you into the wall is not a great way to start the day. I suppose following this show into the head might be worse. I knelt forward to increase my chances of hitting stainless instead of plastic.
As I watched my dick empty, I saw the red head before it. I told him no. Today was his lucky day. Mr. Mark the Jock was going to suck him dry. My dick bobbed in approval.
"Whip it out, boy toy. Mark wants breakfast," I mumbled. I crouched my 6 foot four frame lower, popping the remaining buttons on my fly. My well used meat was ready to play. Moments later, I was pounding a shaft of steel.
"Yeah, kid, give me that meat." His manhood loomed before me. He beckoned me to go down on him. "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me."
I licked my lips and imagined choking down his smooth dick. As my nose dove into his pubes, he praised my ability to deep throat him. Repeatedly he cleaned my throat, taking full advantage of my well-honed ability to eat a man's meat.
I was nearing climax in record time. Usually I prided myself on taking all night, but not this time. This was a one-man show, fed by one powerful image. I managed to cum entirely into the bowl. Like the good callboy that I am, I cleaned up and left no trace of what had happened.
As I sat back in my seat, my sister started snickering.
"Mark, why don't you try calling a hooker. Just once, get yourself a guy and resolve this curiosity of yours." She said it as plainly as if she were reading me the paper.
"Maybe I will do that," I said. After a moment I added a thought. "I'll tell you all about it since I'm sure you want to know every detail."
Drop it, dude. Send a line or two to just4funboy@yahoo.com and tell me what you (or your dick) thought of Dean, Brett, and Mark. The boys await your reply.