TWO ON THE TARMAC by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2003 by the author.
Air travel nowadays is a crapshoot. The worst aggravation can happen when you least expect it. That day when I flew back to the Dallas/Fort Worth airport after a short business trip, planning to catch a connection back to my home in Austin, I had no idea how screwed up things were going to get.
It was the end of May. We had taken off from St. Louis late on a beautiful sunny afternoon, with no problems. The pilot had come on the P.A. during the flight and given us nothing but good news. Things were going so well, he said, that we were going to arrive at DFW ahead of schedule.
When he came on the loudspeaker again shortly after we touched down and were taxiing toward the terminal, I could tell as soon as he started to speak that something had gone wrong. I didn't understand what it could be. I mean, here we were. All we had to do was get to a gate and get off the plane, right?
Well, that was the problem. There had been a bad thunderstorm earlier that afternoon in the Metro area. Planes that should have left hours ago were still here, and there was no gate for us. Nor would there be for at least another hour and forty minutes.
A collective loud groan went up from the passengers at the news. There's nothing as depressing as looking forward to getting off a crowded plane, stretching your legs, getting your blood circulating and a breath of fresh air, only to be told that you're going to be crammed together like sardines for God knows how long.
Trying to make the best of a bad situation, the flight attendant came on the speaker and suggested that we pull out our cell phones and tell whoever we needed to about the delay.
I was sitting on an aisle seat on the left side. The man next to me in the window seat shifted and sighed. He hadn't said much during the two-hour flight. I'm not usually the type to chit-chat with strangers on a plane, but I'd have liked to have gotten to know this one a little bit. Part of it was that I was at loose ends these days with the recent breakup of a long-term relationship. Part of it was that he was just my age and type.
He was still this side of forty, tall and trim, legs long enough that he looked a bit uncomfortable in the cramped airplane seat. He was dressed in an oxford shirt, which I could tell was made out of good material, and dark wool dress slacks. Probably he was returning from a business trip, just like me.
He had red hair clipped very short, almost buzzed. I've always been a sucker for red hair and the fair skin that usually goes with it. He had good features too, straight nose, square jaw and full, slightly pouty lips, framed by a neat goatee. I'd wanted all during the flight to look straight into his eyes and find out their exact color. He also had nice hands, and, the only feature that had disappointed me, a wedding ring on the left one.
At the moment my hot but married seat companion was bending down, rummaging in his briefcase stowed underneath the seat in front of him. He pulled out a cell phone. I had one too, but hadn't bothered to get it out. I was planning to take the airport shuttle home to an empty apartment--no one was meeting me.
The man next to me frowned, held the phone to his ear, pushed some buttons, held it to his ear again, then dropped his hand in a gesture of disgust.
"Not working?" I said.
He looked at me as if seeing me for the very first time. His eyes were green. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Battery's just about dead. Forgot to charge it last night."
I bent down, fished mine out and offered it to him. "Here. Use mine."
"You sure?" His eyes were suspicious. Married men were always so cautious. Maybe with guys like me around they needed to be.
I gave him my most guileless smile. "Absolutely."
He sized me up a moment longer, then took it, glanced at the keypad, and punched in a number. I looked away, giving him some personal space to talk to his wife, tell her he was delayed and didn't know how long it was going to be, et cetera, et cetera.
He stopped talking. The next moment I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned, a jolt going through me at his touch, as fleeting and impersonal as it was.
My companion was holding my cell phone out toward me. He still wasn't smiling, but seemed a hair more relaxed. "Thanks."
I took it and nodded. "No problem. Let me know if you need it again." I folded it and put it in my shirt pocket.
"You're not going to use it?"
I shrugged. "I got no one I'm going home to."
He didn't have anything to say to that, but after a few moments, he said, "This sure is a bitch, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Unbelievable, landing early and then sitting here like this."
"I still have to get on a plane to San Antonio tonight. What if I miss it?"
"I hear you. I'm supposed to leave for Austin at nine. You can bet that plane's the last one out tonight." I held out my hand. "By the way, I'm Stan."
He shook it. "Burt."
We talked about the gloomy prospect of getting stranded here, which was looking more and more likely. Occasionally the plane taxied forward for a bit before stopping again, but looking out the window we could see the long line of planes in front of us. We were still far from the terminal.
Burt turned away from the depressing sight. "The least they could do is serve us free drinks."
An idea flashed into my evil mind. I'd gotten him talking. Maybe I could loosen him up a bit more.
I reached back down into a pocket of my carry-on and pulled out a small bottle of red wine. I'd brought it from the mini-bar in my St. Louis hotel room as a souvenir. I held it up and wiggled my brow playfully at him. "No sooner said than done. Here you go."
He protested. "I can't take that. Besides, we're not supposed to drink our own stuff."
"Who's looking? There isn't a flight attendant for miles." They had disappeared, probably to escape our wrath. I unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up again. "C'mon. Live dangerously."
Burt hesitated a bit longer, then smiled, making his already handsome face irresistible. "Okay, you talked me into it." He took the bottle from me and raised it to his lips, taking a cautious swig, then quickly lowered it to his lap.
"Take some more," I urged.
He shook his head. "Don't you want any?"
I twinkled at him. "Well, leave me one swallow."
This time he took a longer hit, then leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed. "Thanks. Good stuff." He handed me back the bottle. I raised it toward my mouth.
"Wait--shouldn't you wipe that off?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I'm not afraid of your cooties." The thought of us sharing a bottle bugged him enough to say something. Interesting.
He laughed, surprising me. "I haven't heard that word since my kid was little."
By now I was in full flirt, determined to see just how far I could push this. I winked at him and said, "Bottoms up." I pushed the neck of the bottle way into my mouth, tipped my head back and drained the rest of the wine, then drew it slowly out, letting my lips smack shut. I let my eyes flick down to his crotch before I looked him in the eye again. Either he'd be totally grossed out by my display and refuse to speak to me anymore, or...
He was staring, a new glint in his eye. I kept a lid on my excitement by reminding myself that this probably was going nowhere. At any moment we'd taxi to the terminal, get off the plane and go our separate ways. Still, no harm having a little fun while we were waiting.
"Looks like you've done that before," Burt said. I laughed inside. This one knew what he was doing. Without batting an eyelash he'd raised the stakes of the game. I stayed right with him.
"Sure I have, lots of times," I said. "How about you?"
He shook his head, still holding my gaze. "Not often enough. Especially lately."
"I could help you with that, maybe." I moved my left leg over just enough so that it touched his right one. He didn't draw away.
"We're going different places, aren't we?"
I tapped my wristwatch. "What time did you say your plane was leaving?"
"Eight-thirty."
"You're going to miss it. And I'm probably going to miss mine too."
He was no longer bothering to hide the need in his eyes.
"C'mon," I said softly. "Live dangerously."
He licked his lips. "I'll have to call my wife."
I took my cell phone out of my shirt pocket and handed it to him. His fingers brushed against mine as he took it.
"Honey? Listen, I've got bad news. We're still stuck here on the runway..."
He said goodbye, and we sat in companionable silence, watching twilight fall over the airport. Once in a while our legs would touch, or I'd let myself press discreetly against his shoulder as I leaned over to look out the window.
It was dark before we finally got to a gate. We trekked up the jetway with other tired, frustrated passengers. Both our connecting flights were long gone, of course. The harassed passenger service agent at the gate told us the best the airline could do would be to put us up in a nearby motel for the night.
"Well, I guess that will have to do," I said, laying it on thick. I winked at Burt.
"You hungry?" I asked him as we turned away from the counter.
He shook his head. "Not for food," he replied, and gave me a grin that made my cock jump in my pants.
Soon we were both sitting in the back of a cab on the way to the Country Inn in Arlington. A few minutes after we got on the freeway I felt a hand on my thigh. Though I was dead tired, new energy sparked into me at his touch, and I responded in turn, feeling sturdy muscles underneath the material, reaching over and squeezing the hardening bulge between his legs.
The night clerk at the motel was a polite young Indian. He looked apprehensive as he informed us that only one non-smoking room was left, and we would have to share.
"Fine," I said.
Relieved that we weren't going to make trouble, he became voluble. It was a very nice room, suite actually, two separate rooms. If we gentlemen didn't wish to share a bed the couch in the living room pulled out into an extra.
We thanked him, took our bags and walked to the second-floor suite. It was cool and spacious. We put our luggage down and faced each other, hands on hips.
"So here we are," Burt said. Now that we were alone together I suddenly felt shy and hesitant. My new friend took matters into his own hands. He stepped forward and put his arms around me. I hugged him back, kneading the muscles in his back and shoulders.
Burt expelled his breath in a sigh. "Damn, that feels good," he said against my shoulder. I pulled back and looked into his face.
"You're a good-looking man."
He lowered his eyes, embarrassed. "Thanks. So are you."
I traced one finger around his goatee, stroking his lips, surprisingly soft, just before I touched them with my own. The next moment our mouths were grinding together, tongues and teeth tangling and clashing. We broke apart at last, panting.
"I've been wanting to do that ever since I sat down next to you on that plane," I told him.
He smiled again, his guard now totally down. "Me too."
I began to unbuckle his belt. "Let's see what you've got. Felt pretty impressive in the cab." I whistled as his underwear came into view--skimpy black bikini briefs, bulging and stained in front with his precum. "Hot skivvies."
"My wife bought them for me. I suppose I shouldn't say that."
I shrugged. "She's got good taste." I pushed my hands under the waistband in back and grabbed his firm buns as I drew his underwear and pants down. His cock flopped out, long, cut and surrounded by coppery hair, vivid against the pale, milky skin of his belly. It was a color combination guaranteed to drive me wild, and in the blink of an eye I was on my knees in front of him, drawing his tube into my mouth, soaking it in my saliva as I took it down to the root. His pubes tickled my nose as the acrid musky scent of aroused male filled my brain. I could feel my own precum leaking into my jockeys. Burt moaned softly as he buried his hands in my hair and thrust his hips softly back and forth.
After I had sucked him a while, not neglecting his generously filled ball sack, I stood and began to take off my clothes. Burt followed my lead more slowly. When I was done stripping my cock sprang out stiff in front of me, but his eyes were on my chest and stomach.
"You've got a great body."
"Thanks." I was glad I hadn't slacked off on working out.
Burt's own body was more than decent. I couldn't wait to get him on the bed and my paws on him, but before I could suggest moving to the bedroom he leaned down and began to kiss my chest. I sucked in my breath as he found a nipple and caressed it with his tongue.
"Mm, nice."
He looked up. "You like that?"
"Very much."
He grinned. "It works on guys too."
I grabbed his wrist and pulled. "Let's see what else you know how to do."
In a few minutes we were writhing and wrestling on the double bed. The few other married men I'd encountered in the past had been stiff and inhibited, but Burt dove headfirst into mansex as if he were starving. His hungry mouth was constantly on mine, my nipples, my balls and most of all my cock. I got him on his back, straddled his body, shoved my rod into his mouth and began to fuck his face. He took me easily, swallowing me whole like he sucked cock every day.
I wanted more of him, and swiveled around until we were sixty-nining on our sides. I probed between his buttcheeks with one finger until I found the soft, puckered flesh of his asshole. He grunted as I slid inside him. I pushed further in until I found the firm mass of his prostate. When I began to work it he moaned, his words muffled by my meat still stuffed in his mouth.
"Fuck me."
"Soon, baby, soon," I answered, pulling my finger out as I tongued his balls. I moved behind between his legs until I reached his hole again with my mouth. His breath quickened in anticipation as I let my tongue flicker around the moist, musky rosebud. He moaned again as I finally pushed it in. I ate him out until the bittersweet taste of his asshole filled my mouth. By then he had let go of my cock and was whimpering, helpless with the pleasure of a good rim job.
Finally I took pity on him, about to bust my nuts myself. I got up off the bed and went over to my carry on to get the rubber and lube I always had stashed away. When I came back into the bedroom Burt was on his stomach, his eyes closed, humping the bed in anticipation. I quickly tore the packet open, hooded and greased myself, then climbed back on, grabbing and kneading his shoulders, letting my stiff prick nudge his butt.
"Please, Stan," Burt begged. "Fuck me now."
I guided my rod to his hole and pushed, slowly and steadily until his flesh yielded. Another deep groan welled from Burt's chest as my rod sank into his hot, tight innards. I gave him a moment to adjust to the invasion, then began to slide in and out. I felt his ass muscles squeeze my cock in response as I stepped up the pace. His hands reached around and grabbed my ass, urging me further in. I gave his ear a few licks, then whispered into it.
"How're you doing?"
"Fuck it's great," he replied. "God, it's been so long. Don't stop."
"I won't," I said as the bed shook under my assault. Even in mid-fuck my brain was working, though. After a while I stopped and pulled out.
Burt looked up, puzzled. "Where are you going?"
I slapped his butt. "Turn over," I said.
I wanted to penetrate him as deep as my cock would go. I wanted to kiss his soft full lips while my hips reamed him like a machine. I wanted to see his face, stripped of all defense, when he reached the point of no return. I wanted to see the cream that I had milked from his prostate shoot out of his engorged cockhead and spray over his body, matting the sweaty hair on his heaving chest and stomach. I wanted to taste his seed.
As soon as he was on his back I hooked his legs over my shoulders, pressed his knees to his chest with the weight of my body and impaled him again with my tool. My pubic bone made a slamming noise as it collided with his buns of steel on every downstroke.
Our eyes locked together in unholy communion. Our tongues tickled each other in a delicate dance of lust.
"You'll remember this," I said to him. He nodded. It was the last coherent thought I had before my body went into overdrive, rushing toward completion. At last I turned my head toward the ceiling, arching my back, a hoarse cry of triumph welling up from my throat as liquid fire burst out of my balls and through my cock, filling the rubber inside Burt's ravaged hole. Through the storm buffeting us I heard his shouts underneath me. I collapsed onto his heaving body and felt sticky wetness gluing us together.
We clung to each other like drowning men until our breathing returned to something near normal. Only then was I able to raise myself and clean Burt's chest with my tongue, claiming my salty, bitter prize. I pulled myself out of him then and we lay finished, exhausted in each other's arms.
Burt was the first to stir. He took hold of my face and turned it toward his, planting a long, lingering kiss on my lips, licking up the last of his cum that remained on them. A playful expression appeared on his face.
"Ka-pow," he said.
"I know," I replied. "What the hell happened?"
Burt rubbed his stomach. "Now, I'm hungry."
"There's a twenty-four hour greasy spoon next door. Want to grab a bite?"
Over pancakes and eggs we talked some more, filled in the gaps, compared our lives. Burt had been married fifteen years, happily, he said. There were just these other needs that he had to take care of once in a while. I listened and nodded. It was a story I'd heard before.
After we split the check we went back to the room. The airline had given us both early flights out, but Burt's left an hour before mine. He'd have to get up at the crack of dawn.
"I ought to turn in, but I don't feel sleepy." His eyes were thoughtful as he looked at me. I was right with him.
"Feel like a nightcap?" I asked, rubbing his swelling bulge. Soon I was on all fours on the bed as he happily plowed my ass from behind. We managed to milk another load apiece from our unwilling gonads before falling asleep in each other's arms. It was way past midnight.
I awoke to find Burt moving about the room, getting dressed and packed. It was five a.m. He was almost ready to go before he noticed that I was awake. He crossed over to the bed, leaned down and gave me a long hug, surrounding me with the scent of fresh aftershave.
"This was great. Hope our paths cross again."
"Safe journey," I told him. Then he was out the door and gone. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
When I got out of bed an hour later I saw that he'd left something. Crumpled in a heap on the floor were the black bikinis I'd peeled off of him the night before. I held them to my face, drinking in his scent, and put them in my bag.
I've never been sure whether Burt forgot his skivvies or left them on purpose as a souvenir. Maybe some day I'll see him on another flight. That's the first question I'll ask.
END