I confess, there are moments of truth to this tale, but most is sheer fantasy. The guy riding a near-empty plane commando, absent-mindedly letting me admire his cock from across the aisle? Well, that's real. The rest is how it might have gone, had he actually noticed me looking....
He was straight, that much was obvious from the copy of Maxim spread across his lap. But it didn't explain why my fellow traveler seemed so intent on drawing my attention to his crotch.
Not that I objected. In times like this, on the way back from a business trip to New York, I don't mind a little in-flight distraction. Usually, I have to settle for trolling the JFK restrooms, trying to size up strangers' cocks at a row of partition-free urinals. Every now and then, someone catches me looking and puts on a show. Our cocks get swollen, we rub one out and then disappear to our respective boarding gates.
But this kid was brazen. He was determined for me to look -- on the plane no less. Sitting across the aisle with his legs spread, he couldn't have been more than 19. A college student, judging by his well-worn UCLA t-shirt. Probably a surfer too, with big broad shoulders and longish sun-bleached curls. I could just picture the chiseled Abercrombie bod beneath that tattered tee.
But it was the pants that caught my eye: loose fitting cotton pajama bottoms draped low across his fratboy hips, the worked-out V of his lower torso disappearing under the string-tied waistband. Damn, seeing pants like that took me back to my own dorm room days: They were just the type the jocks wore to and from the shower room, their big dicks swinging heavy behind the loose folds of fabric.
It wasn't that long ago that I was in college, sucking my roommate's dick on inebriated Friday nights. Seven or eight years ago, I guess. I'm 30 now, still in pretty good shape. The abs are a little harder to maintain, but I still get cruised in the gym showers. Probably helps that I'm hung. And uncut. Other guys seem to dig the foreskin. And I never get tired of feeding it to 'em.
This guy was cut -- you could just tell as he sauntered up the aisle of our all-but-deserted flight, the ridge of his cockhead clearly visible against the blue material. So many empty seats on our plane, and he picked the one opposite mine, sizing me up with those big blue eyes before dropping heavily into the fake-leather seat. That first look had been a lustful invitation, but he was playing it cool now, nonchalantly thumbing through his copy of Maxim as the stewardess went through her safety spiel.
He didn't look my way again until we were already in the air. It was just a flicker, a sidelong glance across the dim cabin as he reached up to click on the reading light, clearly intended to check whether I was looking. I was looking all right, soaking it in as he extended a muscular arm above his head, his t-shirt hitching up to reveal a glimpse of bare flat stomach.
A vision of pinning him down and blowing my load across those smooth abs crossed my mind, and I must have smiled, because his eyes darted away instantly. He went back to reading, adjusting his crotch absent-mindedly with the heel of his right hand.
I practically fainted at the sight. His little maneuver had shifted those pajama pants just enough that the button-fly yawned wide in my direction. A single button pinned the flap in the middle, but just barely, doing nothing to disguise the fact that he was flying commando. A clear view of dense boy bush made that all too clear.
I stared at his fly praying for a glimpse of skin, when, as if in answer to my fast-developing fantasy, he reached down again and scratched at his pubes. The movement dislodged that lone button, exposing the top inch or so of cock, where shaft met crotch. Still, his eyes remained fixed on his copy of Maxim, studying all those fake-titted tarts that fill the pages of such lad mags.
He seemed to find the material inspiring, because things started to swell in no time. Again, the ridge of his cockhead became visible as it stirred lower down his leg, pushing upwards against his pajamas. My own dick was having an identical reaction, stiffening in my jeans as I watched this kid's equipment expand.
And suddenly he noticed, his glance shooting across the aisle to catch my greedy stare. I reddened as he met my gaze. Busted, I thought, for surely he would button up, adjust his tool, end of story. Instead, he dipped his hand into the open slit, grabbed a handful of thick dick and hauled the whole thing out for me to see, running his hand up and down the still-growing shaft a couple times to plump it to full size.
The thing was pale, with a rosy pink helmet flared at its tip. My jaw dropped open in appreciation, and I saw him give a silent laugh as I gaped. He looked back at the magazine, as if to remind me that the bimbos had inspired the boner, and continued stroking. His hand lingered at the tip, shiny with precum, and spread the fluid across his bulging cockhead. Again he looked at me, his smile pure mischief, then closed his eyes and tilted back his head as a little shiver of pleasure rippled through his body.
I squirmed in my seat, wondering what might happen if I joined in, when the seatbelt light chimed off. Out of nowhere, this swishy young flight attendant went breezing by, ogling me as he went. My young companion must have sensed him coming, lowering his magazine just in time to cover his enormous erection. Once the steward passed, the boy unbuckled, that big dick of his bouncing as he stood up in his row. He stood there facing me for a moment, letting me take in his swollen tool with my eyes before tucking it awkwardly back through the slot. It made a conspicuous tent there, a dime-sized pool of precum instantly forming where tip touched fabric.
He stepped into the aisle, standing there within arm's length for a moment, his eyes scanning the faces of the other passengers in the back of the plane. He didn't seem to care who noticed (and why should he, with at least eight inches of eager rod on display like that?), but the show was clearly for my benefit. Without so much as a word or gesture, I knew he was willing me to follow him down the aisle toward the lavatories. I watched his perfect ass retreat toward the rear, realizing that the area was empty of flight attendants, who were assembled toward the cockpit loudly preparing the drink cart.
Once he reached the bathrooms, he made a quarter-turn toward me, glancing my way just long enough for me to catch the invitation. I quickly adjusted my own erection, unbuckled my belt and hustled down the aisle after him. The lavatory door was still closing as I got there, but the "occupied" indicator never flashed on. I waited 10, 15, 30 seconds, still no lock, then I took a deep breath and grabbed the handle.
He was seated, pants pooled around his ankles, running a manly hand up and down his enormous rod. I must have hesitated, staring at that thick tube so shiny and slick with all the clear fluid oozing from the slit, because he reached out with a strong left hand, grabbed my belt and pulled me in with him.
"I'm Adam," he said. "Lock the door." I obeyed without thinking. The room got a little bit brighter the instant I turned the latch, and I took a second to absorb this dude's beauty. It was absurd, but he looked like some kind of Greek god on his throne.
"Help me get this off," he said, not bothering to whisper as he tried to pull the cotton jersey over his head. I gladly obliged, admiring his perfect pecs and tiny pink nipples. He smiled as he caught my gaze, giving one of the dime-sized discs a rough tweak, that left a streak of shiny precum in its wake.
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" he growled, and I instantly unfastened my belt, tearing the button fly of my jeans open to reveal a sizable erection of my own straining against my white Calvins. He took over from there. With a single efficient movement, he grabbed the waistband and pulled my boxer briefs down, leaving my cock and buns bare.
"Ni-i-i-ice," he drawled, wrapping one of those big hands around my shaft just beneath the head. He worked the foreskin forward so it puckered in his fist, then gave it a swift downward stroke, peeling back my skin to reveal a flushed red cockhead. My entire dick throbbed with excitement, shiny but dry (I don't precum anything like this guy did).
With me practically in a trance, he stood up and pulled our cocks together to form one massive bazooka between us, using both hands to stroke them in unison. His dick was big, but the skin was loose enough to move in tandem with mine. His slippery discharge provided more than enough lube for both of us.
"Now sit down and suck it," he commanded. That was all the invitation I needed, rotating around to take his former spot on the throne. On my way down, I felt him thrust that massive shaft into my mouth, his cockhead reaching the back of my throat much sooner than expected, plenty of pipe still extending beyond the reach of my lips. Could he really be so big?
I went to work, pulling back enough to work my tongue over that plum-sized helmet of his. But he wanted me in deep and grabbed the back of my head with both hands till I almost choked. "Fuck, man, that feels good," he moaned as he moved. I could taste him, a musky brew that drove me on, eager for the full load.
I wanted to bury my nose in his bush but he was just too big, and I couldn't get anywhere near it. Instead, I just stared up at his face as he manhandled me. He'd tossed his own head back toward the ceiling in ecstasy, letting his hips do the work.
With one hand, I grabbed his right ass cheek, while my other snaked up his chest to that rosy nipple. As I pinched it, I could feel his body tense, his back arch and his perfect butt quivering under my grip.
He exploded with an unexpected ferocity, a thick jet of cum instantly flooding my throat, followed by four, five, then six more bursts. The sheer quantity was suffocating. I coughed, somehow managing not to bite him as a mass of his cum came shooting out my nose to land in his pubes. He laughed, and I couldn't help but join him, trying to suck down all that sweet seed.
His cock was still half-hard as he pulled it free from my hungry mouth, a thick rope of cum connecting us. I swept it clean with my tongue, running it greedily along the underside of his plump pink head. Before I could get to that last glob I'd blown free, he smeared the cum into the curls of his pubes. Grabbing my chin, he gave each of my cheeks a playful slap with his salami-sized semi and purred, "Now you go on and finish up by yourself, 'k?"
Watching him tug his shirt back over his head, those big biceps flexing in the process, I felt incredibly ashamed, doing my best not to imagine myself stroking alone. Then he cracked a huge smile, a sideways shit-eating grin that revealed perfect teeth behind lips I would've given anything to see wrapped around my own cock, and said, "Just kidding."
With that, he pulled me up by my elbow and spun me around. The lavatory was so tight, I nearly hit my head on the sloped ceiling. Instead, I propped my arms out in front of me to brace myself as I felt his still-juicy cock separate my cheeks from behind. With my buns buried in his bush, he wrapped both arms around me, grabbing hold of my big boner, and went to work.
For a straight dude, he knew just how to work my cock. Instead of touching the head directly, he concentrated his strokes on my foreskin, working it back and forth like a sleeve. While his right hand stroked, his left thumb pressed down on the top of my shaft, putting pressure where it met my body, as he teased the underside of my balls with his loose fingers.
I'd never felt like that in my life. Usually I can hold out for hours, but he had me on the edge already, and with a violent shudder, I blasted what felt like a quart of hot cum against the back wall of the bathroom.
He milked my thick shaft until the last eruption had subsided, taking great pleasure in manipulating my foreskin. I could feel him breathing heavy against my right ear, felt the slippery mass of his cock against my backside. Though he hadn't actually fucked me, the feeling had been every bit as intense. I felt spent in his arms, which he now moved up my body and crossing over my chest, as if to claim me for him own.
Then he whispered (dropping his voice for the first time in our whole session), "That was awesome, man, thanks. I can't sleep on a plane until I've taken off the pressure, if you know what I mean."
There was some movement behind me, the light dimmed slightly, and I felt the suck of the cabin air against my back as he disappeared back into the plane. The door closed to leave me alone, and I flipped the switch, taking my time to wipe all traces of our fun off those walls.
When I finally got back to my seat, his light was off and the guy was already deep asleep. I watched his chest rise and fall, hoping that this perfect stranger across the aisle was dreaming about me instead of those damn Maxim girls, if only this once.
Like what you read? Tell me about it: doubleplusuncut@yahoo.com