The truth of the matter is that it turned out to be the most exciting airplane ride ever! Of course, that was not my opinion when I learned the news from my tearful mom that I had been selected to represent the family at my Grandmother's funeral in Portland, Oregon. When I first heard that, I was thinking that it was awful strange that they had moved Portland all the way from Maine to some Godforsaken outpost on the Left Coast.
After a bit of my usual bitching and moaning because I had planned to spend an entire week with my best friend Madison out on Nantucket Island hoping to get laid by some horny fisherman looking for tourist pussy. All I really wanted was about eight inches of non-complicated cock looking to search out new territory to explore.
My devious mother was never comfortable with her demanding mother and she decided I would be the sacrificial goat to appease the maternal gods that reside in the great unknown. Apparently, Nana had become quite confused lately and there was not much communication between them which was quite satisfactory from my mother's point of view. She had decided to vent her sorrow from a distance of some three thousand miles and allow me the pleasure of wearing black since it was a color that did absolutely nothing for her.
"Uncle" Eric, who was my mom's current bedroom playmate, was flexing his muscles next to the hot tub in the back yard and he gave me a look of sympathy knowing I had more carnal plans on my mind than spending a weekend in funeral halls and church cemeteries. I kind of liked Eric because he was so transparent and down to earth. He had showed me his cock one time when he was stoned so bad that he actually thought I was my mom come to give him some head. I wanted to reach out and touch it so badly that I was almost aching deep inside but I was smart enough to know not to fool around with one of my mom's "designated Uncle's". I think he remembered it a little bit because he asked me a couple of times if he was a "bad boy" with me. I just gave him a mysterious look that shut him up and he never mentioned it again.
So, here I was, waiting in line to get groped by the lesbian-looking security person who insisted I remove my shoes and open my bra. It was so strange because that was always the first two things I did when I wanted to get comfortable or was thinking seriously about getting laid. I had expected the woman to be wearing gloves because of obvious reasons but she dug right into my boobs and my backside like we were room-mates having a bit of fun. I have to admit I was aroused even though it was a female checking out my goodies because we maintained eye contact and the lust in her hazel eyes made my slit a little damp knowing she wanted to do mean, nasty things to me all over. I could look out over the top of the curtain and saw the other passengers getting waved on through without any deep searching routine and figured I must have failed the innocent tourist screening test. The agent was patting my cheeks softly now and I must have betrayed my submissive nature by spreading my legs a little bit further. The next thing I knew her fingers were doing a full body cavity search and I looked down into her sensuous hazel eyes with what I am certain was easily recognized "complete surrender".
She put her calling card into my breast pocket and told me,
"Everything is in order. You may move on to the plane now Miss."
I couldn't halt a feeling of wanting to go back through the line a second time just to make sure she didn't miss any important spots but it seemed so dreadfully inane that I laughed at my own stupidity and followed the other passengers down the ramp and into the cabin. The female attendants were pristine and professionally appropriate in every movement they made. I was directed to my seat which was most unfortunately a middle seat squeezed in between a very tempting aisle and a window seat that were still unoccupied.
I said a little prayer hoping that at least one of them would not be filled but knowing the tight schedules lately that seemed a bit unrealistic. Sure enough, a tall Asian man in an expensive business suit waved his ticket at me and stepped on my toes getting into the window seat. He saw me wince in pain and reached down to rub my foot with his huge paw. I lifted my reinforced pantyhose higher for his ministrations and he soon had me breathing fast in anticipation of an expanded massage. I could tell that at this point his actions were completely apologetic in nature and not sexually oriented in the least little bit.
Somehow, I got turned sideways at a different angle and I was certain the man was using the opportunity to analyze my red silk panties under the sheer pantyhose that I liked to wear when traveling. His hands sort of roamed a bit higher up my leg just above my ankle and his fingers wrapped all the way around them like a pair of handcuffs from which there was no escape.
He kept bowing to me the entire time and I smiled to let him know I was enjoying the limited massage of my injured foot. I left my shoes off and allowed us to have thigh to thigh contact even though the other seat was still vacant. The man showed me his name tag that identified him as Mister Tanaka with the Japanese writing underneath as well. I was getting accustomed to Mister Tanaka's leg muscles rippling up and down my thigh when the other aisle seat passenger started to stow his carry-ons in the overhead bin.
This guy was something of a cross between a "hippie" and a "beach boy" with a tan that looked it went all over. He had the bluest eyes that I ever did see and they were so crisp it seemed like little sparks were shooting out in all directions.
"Hi, you guys, my name is Clay and I am on my way back to the beautiful West Coast. Hope I am not squeezing you too tight there, honey, I am too big for these tiny seats."
The fact that Clay's bare knees were rubbing all over my pantyhose made me more unsettled than annoyed and I tried to scoot more toward the window seat but my backside sort of "rode up" on Mister Tanaka's muscular thigh and I knew my silly crack was probably wedged against his solid form as well. I was really happy that Clay must have showered with some fantastic body wash that made me think about male surfers wearing only speedos and cutting through the surf like stiff rods penetrating virgin waves.
"Will all passengers insure their seat belts are locked in place?"