The rumble of the plane passing through the dark sky, a shudder from the wings, and a turbulent bump wakes you from your broken sleep. Trying to sleep on this rollercoaster flight with the uncomfortable seat and the dry, recirculated air makes you want to scream. Placing the cheap Mills and Boon romance novel in the back of the aeroplane seat, you see the other passengers sleeping. Some blinds are down, but you see the dark sky hurtling around the plane through the open windows. "I hate night flights," you think to yourself. You rarely sleep, particularly when sandwiched in the middle seat between your Child and your husband. You need to stretch your legs and calm an unquenchable thirst with a cool drink, and a pee wouldn't go amiss either.
Your husband sleeps beside you, his head down and tightly wrapped in their blanket, snoring. As you watch his body, sat bent and twisted, the thought of a carnival peep show comes to mind, a contortionist or gymnast all scrunched up tight and small. Your hand touches the hard rubber of the armrest between you and him, and you stand, turn, and start the dance of the insomniac on a plane. To move without waking those around you. You turn, face the back of your chair, and manoeuvre over your husband. You are desperately trying not to wake them. You feel your calf and thigh brush past his legs. Finding yourself straddling him, you can help but consider that if this were a page from your Mills & Boon or perhaps ten years earlier, he would wake up and kiss you, letting his hands move over you in the dark. Your hands grip the seat back, and as you lift your leg over him, you feel him stir under you before you finally reach the aisle.
In the dark gloom, you shake your legs and walk towards the front of the plane, stopping at the mid-gally in search of a glass of water. On the counter, the stewards have set aside some sips of water, snacks and cookies that you presume are for your convenience so that you can sit and chat on the other side of the galley. Reaching out for a glass of water, you get the sensation of being watched. Stood on the other side of the Galley pass is a tall man in his late 40s with a solid and muscular physique. You find yourself captivated as you watch him run his hands through his wavy salt and pepper blond hair, his dark eyes set upon his phone, as he sips from a plastic tumbler. Looking up, he notices you and smiles.
"Hello," he says in a bright yet hushed voice. "Can't you sleep either?"
"Hi. No," you stutter, your mind not prepared for a conversation.
"I'm guessing the turbulence woke you too. It surprises me that everyone else can sleep through the bumps," he says, taking the opportunity to click his phone shut.
You nod, suddenly finding yourself a little tongue-tied.
"It definitely makes it hard to get comfy," he continues.
The conversation is brief, and you feel a little awkward. It's strange how similar he is to the lead male from your romance novel. He is pleasant and easy to talk to. His good looks certainly help the conversation along, and he has this mesmerising cheeky smile whenever he finishes talking that infectiously makes you smile. He listens well and is genuinely engaged in what you have to say. Most surprising of all, you find yourself thinking that if you were just a decade younger, you would be working harder to work the connection that is appearing between you both. You are an educated and witty individual with excellent conversational skills, so if you wanted, you could be quite seductive and alluring to those around you.
"Do you know what it is like to have insomnia? I always struggle to sleep when I fly," he asks you, his phone resting in his lap.
You feel the weight of his eyes upon you, and you realise he has been watching you sip at your water. You hold the glass with your hand against your chest, just below your throat, and notice the pink of your flesh that has been exposed through the undone buttons on your dress. He is not subtle in his attention, and you start to feel your face grow warm.
"No," you reply.
"Oh, it is no fun, trust me. I've been on planes for years and can't ever get comfortable," he tells you, tapping his leg.
You are in awe that he is talking to you and have much to say back, but you find yourself tongue-tied as the flight continues. In truth, you just don't want him to leave your side. His name is Oliver, and he is flying home from a family vacation in the States. He was there for two weeks. He also seems happy to talk to you and genuinely interested in your life. You learn that he lives in a town just a few miles away from you and is in his early 40s. You share the small details of your life. You have had a similar vacation visiting many of the same tourist sights and feel the same tiredness that comes from travelling with family. You ask him how long he thinks the flight will last.
"Another couple of hours, I think," he replies, checking his watch.
"I can't wait to get home," he says. "Me too," you reply before continuing. "Then I have to get the family sorted before we rejoin the human race." for some reason, deep down, you instantly regret mentioning the family. You're not sure you want him to know you're not travelling alone, which is ridiculous in retrospect as you have been babbling on about your vacation with them. What does it matter that you're not on your own? Nothing is going to happen. You're married with a child. Yet the regret is because you don't want this moment to stop. You don't want the fantasy running through your head to be ruined by the reality that you have a family. That, though, creates a marvellous tingle in your panties.
You sip your water and return the glass to your chest. His eyes follow it down before returning to your face. He smiles just as you find yourself biting your lower lip somewhat seductively. The thought comes tumbling through your mind like a steam train. 'What am I doing? I won't start chatting this guy up; my family is six rows back.'
The burning desire between your legs grows, forcing a crimson flush across your face. "I am sorry I was on my way to the restroom. It's been lovely talking to you." the reasonable adult in you finding an excuse to do the right thing.
"Nice talking to you too. Maybe we can talk again later?" he responds and adds." If you sneak forward, there is a full-sized toilet near the front of the plane. I don't think anyone will notice or even care if you use it at this time of the night."
"Thank you," you say as you smile. Turning, you move into the dark aisle, then hand over hand on the back of the seats, and you move up the aeroplane. It takes you a moment to realise that you have moved up the plane away from your cabin. Glancing back, you notice him watching you go before he ducks back into the gally. You smile at the thought of him checking you out as you go. However, rather than turn around and admit you went the wrong way, you continue towards the front of the plane.
As you get to the next gally, you open the door to the restroom and, glancing back down the aisle, see him watching you again. This time he does not hide. This time he watches you, and as your eyes connect, you smile. Moving through the door and sliding the bolt back and forth, triggering the lights to flicker, you finally feel safe locked in the bathroom. He was right; the restrooms at the front are twice the size of those at the back of the plane, lovely big sink, a little shelf and a larger toilet. Mental note for next time 'Go to the restrooms at the front of the plane', you think to yourself.
You lift your dress and slide down your knickers before sitting down to relieve yourself. As you sit there, you can't help but imagine all the witty responses you could have given him if you had happened to stay and chat some more. Hindsight is a beautiful thing you think to yourself.
The thoughts lead you to sit back, and slowly your hand drifts down to caress your mound. Your private is still a little tingly from all the beautiful ideas you had playing in your head. Your fingertips move along your labia, feeling your heat. Your lips are puffy and warm, and as your fingertips caress the ridge of your lips, you feel the heat rise up through your spine and your labia moisten. Your fingers move between your labia, and they part like butter to a hot knife. Moving up your lips, you reach your clitoris, and as your fingertips circle its prey, you feel your mound pulse and the ripples extend over your body.
The air around you is thick, and it takes your breath away. The thought of someone catching you sends your hand to your neck, where you squeeze it gently before your hands cup your breast over your dress. A sensation of naughty adventure comes over you. You have never done this before. Imagining what it would be like if he was with you, his hand under your dress, and his fingers playing with you. The fantasy of his fingers on your clitoris sends shockwaves up your body, and as you imagine what it would feel like if his fingers were your own, you imagine what it would be like if they were his. A full-body shiver shoots up your body, and your breathing becomes more profound as your clit pulses under your fingertips.
As the thought of him standing over you in the bathroom enters your head, your breathing deepens, and your pussy throbs as you imagine how it would feel to be straddling his cock. Sitting there, you move your hips in time with his imagined fingers. As you rock back and forth, the fingers in your head become the fingers of your gally stranger. Your imagination is turning this touch into his. Your finger speed picks up as you feel yourself approaching climax. You push your hip on the seat and grind on your hand. You can't help but think it feels slightly better than it should. The tingles building up in your body feel more robust than ever, and your moans and panting breaths echo around the room. You squeeze your breast hard through your dress as you reach the point of no return. You unbutton your dress and reach under the material to feel the skin of your breast. Fingertips move over your bra as you imagine his touch on your tits.
The sensations flooding over you feel wonderful as you strum your clitoris faster in the room's light. Your hand moves your dress straps over your shoulders and bunches around your waist. Reaching behind you, you unclasp your bra releasing your breasts. It feels so good as you circle your areola dreaming of his touch. Your eyes closed, and you tilt your head back as you finger your clitoris faster and faster, as your other hand pinches your nipple. The sensation builds and then crests as you imagine him standing behind you with your dress around your waist. The image in your head makes you cry out as you reach your climax and thrust your hips into the air. You can feel your pussy pulsating as your body responds to your touch. As you finish and catch your breath, you hear the white noise of the plane flying the in the sky outside. It reminds you that you're on a plane and that it's unsafe to play or feel like this.
Your eyes open, and you look around at the strange, unfamiliar surroundings. Realising what you just did, you look down at your tits, now fully exposed and nipples erect. They have a pink glow from being pinched and touched. Still seated, you look up into the mirror and check yourself. Your make-up is slightly smudged from where you've been rubbing your eyes, and your skin is glowing a little. Looking down, you see your pussy is visibly damp to the naked eye. "it's been a long time since we've done that," you say, dabbing your pussy.
Just as your breathing normalises, you hear the door of the bathroom rattle and open. You panic quickly, trying to grab your knickers and attempting to put them back on. Your hands and thighs are wet, making it hard to pull them on, so you fumble with your dress, desperately trying to cover your exposed body.
Your stranger's face rounds the door and peeks in. His smile is intoxicating as his beautiful eyes widen at seeing you 'all out of sorts'. His voice whispers, "Did you leave it unlocked for a reason?"
