Originally Posted: 2004-12-30 11:48pm
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Our Single Intimate Encounter With 130 Other Passengers - m4w
There I sat. I was returning alone from a long business trip and unfortunately for me, upgrades were not available. How was I to know that such a special flight from the West Coast to Washington, DC was to await me.
Thanks to my frequent business trips, I was able to board a little early when they called for their frequent flyers. I snuggled into my seat and got ready to play airline seat roulette as the rest of the airborne Noah's ark began to fill. Now every man secretly hopes that they're going to either have the seat next to them left open or that Heidi Klum will sit down next to you wearing a mini skirt. Well, I felt my hopes for the latter being crushed as the group of what appeared to be college sorority girls came down the aisle and paused at my row. They did so only to ditch their luggage in the overhead and tease me with views of their bare abs-a-stretching to get their stuff to fit in the compartment. They then moved down a little further and settled two rows behind me. Oh well, the seat next to me was still empty. This appeared to be my lucky day.
The flight attendants started closing the bins and making preparations for our takeoff but, at the last moment, You came into view. You were truly a sight for sore eyes...by this I mean that my eye bugged out and began aching because I knew that fate had thrown us together. We were to be bonded together in the unreclining seats just forward of the exit row. You truly were a vision. Everything about you was just unimaginable but I'll see if I can begin to describe it.
As your began waddling down the length of the cabin, it could have been my imagination, or it could have been the bag handlers tossing in the last of the luggage below, but I swear I could feel the body of the 737 shift from side to side as first your right foot and then your left food landed. Each successive step closer and I could feel the slight vibration of the airframe increase just as the richter scale measures increase the closer you get to the epicenter. You carried with you 3 bags. None of these looked like it was going to fit in any overhead, but I will say that you were quite committed. I was once again treated to bare abs, but this time it wasn't in the form of a view. It was your belly brushing up against my ear as you tried to cram your stuff amidst that of the college girls. You even called out to the cabin, "Who's purse is this?" That earned you a scowl from one of them as she came to retrieve it. Finally, you decided to enter the row. Instead of letting me get up to let you in, you decided to squeeze by before I could even get my seat belt unbuckled. I was then given the pleasure of deep, pressing lap dance as you ground your way across me with your duffel bag which, when you finally shimmied into your seat, you decided to cram beneath the seats in front of us. Now I say in front of us because you failed to get it beneath the seat in front of you and fully a third of it extended over onto my feet.
At this point, I clicked my heels together 3 times and said, "There's no place like home" but I was not whisked away to Kansas. Instead, the Captain gave the signal to the flight attendants, one of whom handed you the seat belt extension for your obvious use and then proceeded to get another for the demo. At this point, I thought to myself that I would just read my novel. Another Dan Brown thriller should be able to keep me occupied, right? Unfortunately, no. Men just seem to naturally get destracted by certain aspects of women. It could be her eyes. Some guys go for breasts. Some are wild about a woman's rear end. In your case it was your thighs, and even though men are very visual and there was certainly enormous visual stimulus in this area, the vision of them was not why I found them distracting. It began shortly after takeoff when you ventured into your duffle to dig out your first of several portions of food. In order to gain access, you threw your legs wide apart and bent forward. The outward pressure of your own girth upon your legs forced the meat of your thigh to encroach, actually to flow if you will, underneath the arm rest. Believe it or not, I actually saw the damn thing rise about two inches and stay there. You see, your thigh appeared to be locked in this position and pressed against my leg. I could feel the heat from your fat start to permeate through my pants to my leg. You really were making me feel all warm inside and I was getting this funny feeling in my stomach at the thought of spending the next 6 hours crammed next to you. Some might call it butterflies. Other might suggest it to have been loves first spark. Still others might call it stress induced nausea.
After you finished your first feeding and washed it down with the airline snack they provided, which is not much these days, I will admit, it looked like things were going to get better. You were drifting off to sleep. I thought that your state of slumber would help me restrain the animal instincts I was feeling as a result of the intimate physical contact we were sharing. Instead, I only felt myself fantasizing as to how animal events would play out. I daydreamed about the lion taking down the hippo in a bloody mess tearing through the fat and ending its life. One turbulent bump and my daydreams were destroyed, for it was then that your head bobbed and dropped, falling to my shoulder. We were at 30,000 feet by this time, and at that height, I could swear I could almost hear God laughing at me, that is until you started snoring loudly and close to my ear. So loud it was that it drowned out the noise from the jet engines over the wing immediately outside our window. I began scanning the passenger compartment for an obvious air marshall at this point I wanted to beg him to put me down as you would a hopelessly injured animal. My search was to no avail and I must say that I'm very sorry about what happened next. When the aisle cleared, I made a mad dash for the vacant lavatory. I watched your head fall from my shoulder, looking something like I imagine the effects caused by a severe tremor near Mount Rushmore. Your neck snapped in whiplash like fashion and your templed peened upon the raised-to-45-degrees arm rest. You glared up at me with the contempt of a scorned lover as I made my way back to the rear of the aircraft. I took my time, composing myself, prior to my return.
Sooner than I could imagine, we found ourselves in St. Louis for the layover of our through flight and I watched apprehensively as a significant percentage of the passengers departed. You, on the other hand, stayed put. It appeared that we were going to be permanently bonded with heat and sweatm, my thigh now sticking to yours despite the layers of clothing separating them. It must have been my shyness that caused me to get up, deplane, approach the counter, and explain the situation to the gate agents. My begging for a new seat seemed to strike an understanding chord with them. Maybe it was the fact that I pointed out the drool mark on my shoulder that won them over.
The gate agents decided to issue me a new seat in a now-empty row and for the rest of the flight I had to be content to sit there alone wondering what could have been. How much more special could my experience have been if I'd continued to share it with you? Now I can only wonder.
this is in or around Washington Reagan Airport