As I left my house I continued to bitch and moan about how I did not want to
take this trip. It seemed useless to me to be flying back to LAX again to
learn a skill I already knew. No matter how I protested, my boss was not
going to be dissuaded on the idea. I was going to San Marcos whether I liked
it or not.
I packed enough clothes for 4 days although I knew I was only going to be
gone for 2. I liked having options when it comes to my appearance. What if I
decided to go out? What if I met someone? What if diner was in some "Jacket
Required" joint? The last thing I wanted to be was "that" guy in the
setting. You know the one, the one that has on high top tennis shoes at the swanky
new bar. If given the choice between not being noticed because of how I am
dressed and totally blending in or being the best dressed guy in the
room, and drawing attention because of it; I would always choose to be noticed for being well put together. I just don't want to stick out like a sore thumb because I am dressed like the tool in the nightclub wearing Underarmor shirt. I realize that
every woman that has ever slept with me has done so because of the attention
that I pay to myself and to her. I am not the guy that a woman looks at in
the bar and says to her girlfriend's... "I have to fuck him tonight!" I mean
I have picked up many women in clubs before, but only after impressing them in some other way. I love to dance, so sometimes that worked; or we would end up
talking the night away, and that normally worked; however, I always knew that if it was going to happen it always needed a great deal of involvement from me. Believe me, it's not that I'm ugly, but I'm not Brad Pitt either. I just have a game plan that works, so I try to stick to it.
Since the attacks of 9/11 the airport is kind of a crazy place. In the past people would sit there waiting with loved ones until it's time for them to get on their flight. Now, people flying alone sit in the airport alone and try not to act lonely. For me, it affords me one of many opportunities to do what comes natural... Look at women. Over the years I learned how to appreciate women, without staring or leering. I always want to appreciate the lines and curves of the female form, without being intrusive into their space or disrespectful to who they are. Many guys stare at women, but generally speaking I don't look at the same current stereotypes that most men do. I appreciate women of all shapes and sizes, all ethnicities and colors, and all cultures. For me it's more than if they are blonde or brunette, short or tall, skinny or overweight. There has to be a something more for her to capture my eye. I like a woman who has confidence in the way she moves. Someone whose clothes are fashionable and well put together, without screaming look at me, look at me. The average guy would be interested in the 20-year-old, 5'7", 105 pound, athletic blonde with oversize sunglasses, that she is wearing simply because she just saw this week's famous spoiled brat cover girl wearing them. As for me, a 20 year old girl is sexy until she is standing next to a 30 year-old woman. That 30 year-old woman is sexy, until she is standing next to a four-year-old lady.
So here I sit, flipping through a copy of Sports Illustrated pretending to read it, as if I haven't watched SportsCenter twice a day every day for the last 15 years. It keeps me distracted, in between my head turns of looking at the beautiful women walk up and down the concourse.
Then I see her, strutting in as proud as can be. Even men, who would not typically be drawn to her, stop what they're doing to glance at her direction. Fathers with babies, husbands with their wives, and teenage boys who know they want to look but realize she's out of their league; all pay a subtle homage to her stunning beauty. She is 5 foot 6 inches tall and has long curly dark hair that has a character of its own. She is certainly not slim enough to be on the cover of any popular magazine, but she is not large enough to even consider corrective surgery. She is a woman that if she lived in a different time, Rubin would have mused over her. She is full and round in all the places God intended a woman to be full and round. She is the natural beauty that skinny models hope to one day become. Her lips pout without collagen. Her breasts are large and full and they bounce when she walks, as if to add defiance to anyone that may have thought they were not natural. Her hips swing and sway gently with every stride, it's just enough to cause a distraction, without being obscene. She is all woman, and there is no mistaking it. As she walks by I find my eyes riveted to her. I drink in her beauty and sense of style from head to toe and back again. She is wearing knee-high black leather boots, with the functional and funky chunky heel. A gray, burgundy and black tweed skirt that falls just above her knee, a black ribbed V neck sweater that shows her fluid lines and ample bosom, and a waist cut black leather jacket that looks like it was tailored just for her. Her jewelry is simple but still draws your attention. Hand pounded silver earrings and a silver pendant necklace that falls to the top of her cleavage.
Just at that moment she turns her head toward me. I feel a bolt of electricity racing through my body when our eyes meet for the first time. Much to my surprise she does not look away, but rather holds my gaze as if to say, she is in charge. For a moment I wonder who will look away first, and then as I bow my head, I wonder no more. Briskly, I dart my eyes back up for my magazine and I can see the wry smile she that has crossed her face, as if to say, I won that round. She continues over to the booth where people are checking in and getting seat assignments, and has a few words with the flight attendant before finding a place to sit. She locates a position, where she can keep an eye on me, but where I can plainly see her as well. She pulls out a book and begins to read, and at the end of each page her eyes glance up from her book finding mine, then returned to their page. This eye contact continues for the next hour as we both wait to board the plane to Los Angeles. As the flight attendant calls out seating and which rows are boarding next, I noticed that she grabs her bag and moves toward the front of the aircraft at the same time I do. Could I be so lucky as to have this beauty sitting next to me for the next 2 1/2 hours? The last time I was on a flight, it was a four hours trip back from Florida, and I was trapped between two 300 pound rednecks, whose incessant chatter revolved exclusively around fishing and NASCAR. If she ended up in either of the seats in my row, I would have to grab a lottery ticket the moment I hit the ground because this would surely be my lucky day. As I walk down the aisle of the airplane I felt like a high school k** who was waiting to find out if the girl he pined over the past three years would actually be his prom date. I actually felt my heart dropped to my stomach when she sat in the aisle seat, in a row of across from mine. I was trapped, next to the window, two seats away from the most captivating woman that I have never spoken to.
Over the next 20 minutes we shared looks and glances at one another, like teenagers at the local shopping mall. Here we sat flirting, without saying a word. At one point I lifted my left hand to show her my lack of a wedding ring. My heart raced as she did the same. These little hijinks went on and on for the first hour of the flight. And then her eyes changed, they got smaller, mischievous, erotic.
With the slightest nod of her head, she gestured to the rear of the plane. I nodded so quickly it felt like an involuntary reaction. Like a doctor had just tapped my knee with a mallet, and I kicked as high as Jackie Chan. She calmly stood up, straightened her skirt and took long, purposeful strides to the aft of the plane. Trying not to look overly anxious or too eager, I stood and made my way to the aisle in just enough time to see her disappear into the closet on the right. As I walked down the aisle a thousand thoughts raced through my brain; what if I misunderstood, what is my breath smelled bad, what if she hated my cologne, how would I tactfully excuse myself if I had just made the biggest mistake of my adult dating life.
Without a knock, I pulled open the door and stepped inside the lavatory. As I started to speak to introduce myself, she put one finger over my lips to keep me quiet. She then pointed one hand to her ear and gestured to the other side of the door with her other hand. With that, I was determined not to let another sound escape my lips. She put her arms around my waist and pulled me close and I could finally feel the curves of her body pressed against me. I drew both of my hands to either side of her face, and slid my fingers back to the nape of her neck to pulled her close so that our lips may finally meet. It was such a deep and passionate kiss, that if there was anyone watching there is no way that they would think that this was our first time. I gently sucked on her tongue and lips and licked them slowly and in circles. I sucked her mouth into mine as a wine taster draws in the first brilliant taste of a long awaited Merlot. I not only kissed her but I tasted her, her chin, her lips, her tongue, her neck. As her breathing quickened, she went straight for my crotch. She unzipped my pants, unbuckled my belt and pulled out my throbbing cock. She let her other hand caress my ass and f***ed my trousers to the floor. With her left hand firmly planted on my ass and her right hand squeezing the base of my cock, she broke our kiss and looked down at my manhood. She smiled as if she had found just what she'd been looking for after months of fruitless searching. She sat down on the lid of the toilet and stared at me. Not all of me, just my cock. She was objectifying my manhood just like many men have objectified her body for years. Briefly, I was ashamed, until I could see she was admiring it. Slowly she started at the base of my cock and licked it all the way to the tip. Again she repeated the same process on the other side. My dick was now covered in her saliva, like it was a personal lubricant. She then drew me in and sucked me deep, straining to try to get the full length of my manhood into her throat. After realizing she could not, she backed off and sucked the head of it while she stroked the shaft. I have never had a woman blow me with such authority, with such hunger, with such passion. That alone was nearly cause enough for me to explode, but somehow I maintained. Knowing that the blissful pleasure that she was providing would soon send me over the edge, I knew I had to stop her. I knew I had to have her. I reached down and pulled her up to me and began kissing her again. I used both of my hands and kneaded her massive breasts and pushed them closer to my face. I licked her cleavage and kissed the tops of her huge tits, wishing I could get her naked so that I could see them in their full glory. She then gently, but persuasively pushed me back on to the toilet seat. She grabbed the base of her skirt and slowly started rolling it up passed her hips. I never got to see her pussy. She reached between her legs, grabbed my cock firmly and began running the head of it up-and-down her dripping wet slit. With the head of my cock I could feel her pussy, from her strong clitoris, all the way back to her wet, wanton hole. With her left hand firmly attached to the base of my cock she slowly slid down my dick until she engulfed the full length of me inside her. Inch by inch as I slid inside her, her face hinted toward pain, and then relented toward pleasure. She took a few long slow strokes up and down, as our bodies became one. Then she sat on my cock and kept it fully inside her. She began to rock back and forth in my lap as I cupped her full ass with my hands. She lifted her skirt in the front just enough so she could slide one hand underneath. She knew how to get herself off, and was not going to wait around for me. She started rubbing her own clitoris while making little circles with her hips, grinding her pussy all over my cock. As her pace quickened I squeezed her voluptuous ass harder and lifted her off of my cock, only to f***e its full length back in. It was not hard to tell how much she loved having my cock slam in and out of her from this angle. At this point she was bouncing on me in a fevered pitch. With her bra and shirt still on, her large breast were bouncing in my face buoyantly, and her ribbed sweater began to rub my face raw. Then all of a sudden with a quiet shutter, she paused. From a body that was moments ago filled with activity, raging rubbing and bouncing, a static form now only remained. Her body pulsed, and quaked with involuntary spasm after spasm. I can feel her cunt grab my cock as if it were a thief, then release it just as quickly. I knew that she could not go on, but I was too close to stop now. I planted my feet firmly on either side of the stool, and like I've done in the gym so many times before I stood from that squatting motion with twice my body weight and drove my hips forward. The motion shocked her and she spread both hands to either side of the door frame. With her hands touching the wall to steady herself, and her feet planted on the ground, her ass was now in plain view, and high in the air. My cock had not slid out, and her skirt was around her waist. I began pounding her pussy from behind and watching her round thick ass bounce against me. Watching her ass cushion each of my powerful blows, while feeling my dick get deeper and deeper inside of her, was more than I could handle. I reached around her big round thighs to find a well groomed mound of hair. Searching and exploring I found what I was looking for…her still erect clit. It was bigger than I would have dreamed. I now know why she reached for it immediately, if a clit this large were in my presence I would play with it as often as I could too. She tossed her hair to one side and looked like she was going to speak. With my left hand I reached up and pulled the back of her hair until my lips were inches away from her ear. "Shhhh, no sounds remember!" I continued to rub her clit while pounding my cock into her wet pussy from behind. I still have my fingers entangled in her thick curly hair and used it to pull her harder on to my cock. Suddenly, I felt her legs tremble and weaken underneath me, and I knew she was coming again. This time she contracted so hard she almost f***ed my cock out of her, and her fluids ran down the shaft of my cock and dripped off of my balls. I could hold it any longer. I pulled out to step back and stumbled onto the toilet seat. I sat there quietly pounding my fist around my cock like a teenage boy who had just seen his first copy of Playboy. I stroked my cock until my eruption came, and white lava flowed over the knuckles of my hands, my balls and my thighs.
The woman that I had just been inside turned and watched me complete my ecstasy. She watched as I jacked it and finished pleasuring myself. Without a word she began straightening herself and slid out of the folding door. As I sit there with my mind reeling and my manhood in my hands, the familiar voice came over the loudspeaker. "This is your Captain, we are beginning our descent into LAX. Please fasten your seat belts and return your seat backs and tray tables to the up and locked position." I quickly grabbed a paper towel and tried to clean myself up. As I stood and buckled my pants, I tried to splash water on my face; as I did I inadvertently spilled some on the leg of my slacks. Frenzied in my mind, but calm on the surface I made my way back to my seat. As I had to climb over the two people in my row to return to my seat, the man on the aisle commented on the wet spot on my slacks. He said loudly enough as if complaining to the flight attendant, "I hate the bathrooms on these things, that happens to me every time!" I smiled and looked at my companion across the aisle and responded, "That’s the first time it happened to me!"