Date: Tue, 04 Apr 2023 03:27:44 +0000 From: vandraren Subject: Charles and the Long Haul Flight Charles and the Long Haul FlightMb, reluc, contemporary A man (30s), returning from vacation, is seated next to a curious young boy (12) on a long flight. Chapter 1 I waited in one line only to wait in the next. I waited behind some asshole that forgot to dump water from his water bottle. I waited behind a Karen who thought she should be able to go through security without taking her shoes off. I mean, she probably should, but someone's gotta earn that fat federal paycheck, right? Sigh. I hate flying. I'm in my 30s and traveling - this time, at least - just for pleasure. I had spent a great week on the other side of the world and now had to make my way home. What better way to do that than obnoxiously long flights? I walk past the Starbucks charging $8 per sip with a line around the block. I walk past the duty free with barely a glance. Who the fuck would spend so much to take back a huge box of... cologne? Or thirty-six chocolate bars? Diabeetus, indeed. I get to the gate, find a good seat in the corner with a view of the whole waiting area, and pretend to read on my phone while watching cuties go by. And averting my gaze when their parents glance my way. Whoops. I see a few cute boys (and girls) walk by, but none seem to be on my flight. I keep reading. I eventually notice a timid young-looking Black mother with a rather cute boy in tow - her son looked to be about twelve, maybe just thirteen. They take a seat across the aisle from me in the waiting area. The mom seems nervous and keeps shifting in her seat, and more than once she walks off and leaves him there. She doesn't seem to return with any drinks or snacks - maybe she's going to the bathroom? Whatever. Doesn't matter to me. I do notice a rather prominent cross necklace on both her and the son. Pity. Boarding call goes off without a hitch. I don't rush to get on the plane, knowing it will be my prison for the next many hours. When I finally arrive at my seating row, what surprise awaits me? The Black mother and her young son are sharing my row! Chapter 2 I settle into the window seat, throw my bag under the seat in front of me, and make feeble and ultimately pointless attempts to get comfortable. I splurged for extra legroom, but it never seems like enough, and we were crammed shoulder to shoulder. The boy asks his mom to switch seats so he could be in the middle - he's thinnest and wants to see out the window anyway. The mom looks at me with a judging gaze that only a parent can wield, and decides I'm an upstanding citizen and not any kind of... well, y'know. I giggle. Internally. Preparations are finally complete and the plane starts to taxi. I make awkward conversation with the mom - "oh, traveling for business or pleasure? First time to this area?" etc. All the usual travel questions that are about as fascinating as bringing up the weather. She tells me her name is Wanda, and it's their first time going to this particular destination. She adds that she rarely flies and I could tell from her tone that it sounds like there's a story there, but I don't prod. These conversations aren't supposed to be intellectually stimulating, they're just supposed to pass the time. The boy pipes up and introduces himself as Charles. "I'm pleased to meet you!" he asserts with an unexpected level of confidence and sophistication. I smile and think to myself... yes, I am also pleased. This might not be a miserable flight after all. I turn on my noise-canceling headphones, pick some jams, and arrange my around-the-neck pillow so it doesn't crush my headphones while I lean against the window. I don't mind the actual physics of flying, really. The ear popping, the turbulence, the general discomfort. It's whatever. I just hate the greed that seems to dominate the industry. Forcing us into a sardine can in the sky. Letting money drive plane seating design instead of any sense of humanity. I smile as I recall the CGP Grey video about better boarding methods that airlines won't use, and almost drift off to sleep. The second we're up in the air and the seatbelt sign turns off, Wanda extricates herself from her chair and rushes off to the bathroom a few rows ahead of us. Hm. Charles sees me pondering and informs me, "She's not comfortable on planes. Makes her nauseous. Her grandma died in one of those bad crashes in the 50s and she insists that bad luck with planes passes down through the family. We don't... get to travel very much. She's been able to avoid planes so far, but when you're crossing oceans it's about the only option." "Ah, sorry to hear that," I say. "Are you excited to fly?" "Absolutely! We've never gone this far before. I don't mind planes, I've read all about them, and they're safer than cars! Mom always sighs and changes the subject when I try to bring that up, though." "Yeah, some people are just dead-set in their ways. I guess you were able to convince her in the end, right? How else would you be flying?" "Oh, she won tickets at a work raffle. Pretty much the only thing she's ever won. We'd never be able to afford it ourselves, not since... not since Dad..." His voice wavered and I saw some tears start to form. I rubbed his arm as innocently as I could and gave the usual reassurances. This kid was doing pretty well, all things considered, without much in the way of money and a messy parent situation. I was curious about specifics, but decided it would be best not to pry. He went quiet and just stared off into space for a while. I decided to leave him alone and get some rest. Chapter 3 I woke up an hour, or possibly 5 centuries, later. You ever get that weird feeling where time just doesn't seem to move at all while in the air? I shook my head to fight away the grogginess, and Charles poked me in the arm again. "Hey, did you want any food? The cart's here." I look over and see that Wanda is back in her seat. "Oh, uh, sure, I guess. What are the options?" I barely manage to form the words. I hate plane naps. "We've got meatballs or pasta." Wanda pipes up, "Is there a gluten-free option? I looked at the menu and it seems even the meatball sauce has gluten. Sorry to be a bother." "No, it's no worry, ma'am. Honestly, your best bet is to contact the airline in advance and let them know of any dietary restrictions, that way they can prepare a meal especially for you. I'll check in the back and see if we've got anything, okay hun?" "Sure, thank you. This is my first time flying in years. I didn't know." I decided I like Wanda. Doesn't make her dietary restrictions the end of the world, but is polite every step of the way. "What about you, hun?" "I'll take the pasta," I manage to grunt. "Did I miss the drink cart?" "They just rolled through but I can get you anything you want," replies the helpful stewardess. "Gin and tonic, thank you." We eat in silence, and I offer Wanda a candy bar in case there's no other food available. Is a candy bar gluten-free? I don't know. She waves it away, and reassures me, "No thank you, dear. I bring my own just in case I get into these situations." I put my headphones back on and drift into and out of uneasy sleep. I feel Charles shifting in his seat, so I glance over - he seems to be bored and restless. Wanda is nowhere in sight. It's cruel and unusual punishment to keep young, active boys locked up for hours in the air. I figure I'd be safe with a little prying. "Do you have a phone or anything to play games on?" "Huh? Oh, no, it's old and shitt... uh, I mean it's old. Sorry. It can't play some of the newer games. We didn't know that WiFi would be an extra charge on this flight, so I can't play even the free games I usually do." "Is that all you get to play at home? The free stuff?" He shrugs. "Yeah. Mom gets me a game or two that I want if I bring home a good report card, but since Dad... I mean, I haven't gotten anything new in a while." "Oh, man, I'm sorry to hear that. Here, let me give you my account info so you can get WiFi. I'm probably going to sleep most of the flight anyway." Or try to. Sigh. "Really? Are you sure?" he chirps enthusiastically. "Of course, it's no problem." As I help him get on the plane WiFi, I try to seem innocent as I inquire about the whereabouts of his mom. "Hey, uh, is your mom okay?" "Yeah, she's just in the washroom. The lav... lavatory. Why do they call it lavatory?" "Oh, old military jargon, probably. I don't know. Maybe it's where you shat out the lava after eating all the awful plane food." Charles gasped then let out a short laugh. "Sorry about my language, it's a little foul," I admit with a smirk. "I know... I swear at school and with friends. Just not around mom or at church. They'd kill me." "I bet. Well, I'm gonna try to get more sleep - have fun with your online games." "Sure! Thank you again, really!" His eyes light up when he's excited. Man, what a cutie. I take the time to look him over now - he'd taken his jacket off and just had a skin-tight shirt and some kind of rain-resistant workout shorts. His skin was was a rich, creamy chocolate - a little more on the peanut butter side than the dark chocolate side - and his curly hair was kept neat and short. What a treat. I surreptitiously glance down a few times to see if I can see... anything. An outline. No luck. Ah well, can't have everything. I drift off again, daydreaming about what we might do if we met under different circumstances. Chapter 4 Another century later, I wake to the feeling of Charles shifting uncomfortably. I looked around and noticed the cabin lights were dimmed. Wanda was nowhere to be found. Just to reassure myself that we were actually moving through both time and space, I flipped on the flight tracker on the screen. Fuck me; still 6 hours to go. Ugh. Sometimes it's better not to know. I notice Charles shift again and look over; he's got a blanket covering his lap and his hands are clasped in prayer. I give him a small nudge, not wanting to be disrespectful but wanting to make contact, and he about jumped out of his chair. "Hey, sorry man, I didn't mean to scare you - everything okay?" I float out as blithely as possible. "Hey... sorry... mom is gonna kill me..." He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Dude, Charles, what's wrong? Seriously? You don't have to tell me, but I'm all ears if you need someone." "I was..." *sniff* "playing some of the games when... ads came on, right? But these ads had women showing their breasts! Mom says I'm going to hell if my... my... penis gets hard. I'm trying to pray it back down but it isn't working. Every time I play I see the same ad." He seemed seriously despondent. God, I hated the effect religion has on developing kids. "Charles... I'm not your dad or trying to replace your mom, but honestly, it's not a big deal. At all. Everyone gets hard sometimes. At your age, it happens pretty much by itself. Haven't you ever woken up with a hard-on?" "Um... yes... lately, it's been happening a lot. I keep trying to pray harder but nothing seems to stop it." "You know there's a better way to make it go away, right? One that actually works and is a lot of fun." "Really? Is it a sin?" he inquired with a timid voice, torn between faith and curiosity. "Shit, probably. Isn't everything?" I try to keep the conversation as lighthearted as possible. I didn't want to deconvert him (right now, anyway) but he was seriously conflicted. He shifts in his seat, silently pondering my advice. "What... what do I do?" His voice is barely a whisper. I look around the cabin to assess the situation; most people are sleeping. His mom's empty seat is providing some additional cover from prying eyes. Wanda herself is still in the bathroom, and I say a little prayer myself in the hopes that she stays there. I take my blanket out of the package and hang it between our seats, blocking the view from any rows behind us. "So, basically, you rub it," I whisper back. "When it's hard, give it a feel. Rub your fingers and hands all around it. You'll figure out what feels best pretty quick. There are some methods that feel better than others. But you just keep rubbing, until..." I let my voice drift off mysteriously. "...Until what?" asks Charles. Way to kill the drama, little man. "Until you feel super good. Super tingly. If you're old enough, semen will come out - little globs of white goo. But you can feel good even if you don't make semen. I say good, but I really mean amazing. It's one of the best feelings you'll ever have. And you can do it to yourself whenever you're alone. Once you start, you will never want to quit." "...Wow," says Charles. He lifts up the blanket on his lap and I immediately notice the outline of his fully-erect penis. It's hard to judge the size, but I'd guess somewhere in the ballpark of four inches. He timidly puts a finger on it and pushes it around in his pants. He toys with it meekly, not seeming to commit to any particular plan of action. "Do you... want some help? I can show you a few tricks. Only if you want, though. No pressure." My quiet whisper carries the sum total of my hopes and dreams. I hope beyond hope that he will acquiesce and let me fiddle around, but, thinking about it, it's already pretty amazing that I got to sit next to a twelve-year-old experimenting with his hard penis for the first time. Charles absentmindedly twiddles with his youthful erection a while longer; not ignoring me, but pondering what answer he should give. "Are you going to hurt me?" he whispers pointedly. A little miffed even at the accusation, I quickly reassured him. "No, Charles. I want to do the exact opposite. I want to give you the most pleasure possible. I would never do anything to hurt you. You've struggled with this for a while, don't you want some relief?" Finally convinced, he lifts up his blanket in an apparent invitation to start feeling around. I gently rub his lower stomach, his thighs, and around his youthful groin. My efforts are impeded by the ridiculously cramped seats, but he seems to be enjoying the attention regardless. I particularly relish the smooth skin covering his hard, developing muscles, particularly in his legs and stomach. My hands slowly drift toward his pants and the forbidden prize therein. I tenderly grab the outline of his hard, four-inch penis and give it a few rubs. Charles sighs and leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder. "Shit", I think - I'm at a really awkward angle now. I realign his blanket so I can wrap my right arm around him and continue rubbing his throbbing cocklet. He shifts forward slightly with each rub, trying to increase the pressure, obviously feeling it. I glance at his face and his eyes are closed while his head is tilted backwards. I pick up the pace of my rubbing, but I notice the pant material is making a lot of noise. Not wanting to attract attention, I whisper in his ear, "Charles... can I touch it directly? Under your pants?" He nods vigorously and says nothing. My hand snakes into his pants and underwear, taking the scenic route. I rub his pubis, find a few short, soft, curly hairs, and continue my exploration. I feel a little dampness on the back of my hand - it seems this horny kid has already been leaking precum. I cup his hairless balls and gently massage them, causing him to gasp. I quietly "shush" him; this would be a little hard to explain if anyone caught us at this point. Finally, I make it. My prize is within reach. My fingers encircle his tumescent tween love pole and rub it up and down, exploring his body to the fullest extent possible while also bringing him incredible pleasure. Charles' breath picks up in pace, and he's thrusting his entire lower body now with every jerk of my hand. He starts to twitch, losing control of his muscles as unexpected waves of pleasure overpower his senses. "It tingles... it tingles super big!" he gasps, as I continue piston-pumping his twelve-year-old penis. "It... I can't... uhnnn!" His chest muscles twitch and he jerks forward, his legs straighten and go rigid; his body is completely overwhelmed by his first orgasm. I feel his penis throb and twitch; small spurts of goo erupt from his boyhood, smearing my hand and the inside of his underwear. I keep rubbing, going more slowly now, until his orgasm subsides and his shivering stops. He leans back into me and I hug him tightly; I notice tears forming in his eyes. Suddenly worried, I ask, "Hey, man, how was it? Are you okay?" "Thank you... I mean... that was... the best thing ever..." Charles pants, still trying to catch his breath. I carefully extract my hand from his pants, giving his penis a goodbye tug, and surreptitiously taste his fresh boy batter. I rearrange the blankets so that the tween handjob scene isn't immediately recognizable, and he leans against me again. I drift off into a fitful sleep. Chapter 5 I'm awoken at last by the hustle and bustle of people putting away their big items and getting ready for landing. Wanda reaches over and touches my arm - and my heart stops. I glance her way, trying to put on my best "I definitely didn't just jerk off your kid" face, and notice she's got a warm smile. "Thank you for looking after Charles. I was feeling really sick and didn't want to leave the washroom. When I got back, he was sleeping peacefully. I hope he didn't bother you too much!" "He didn't bother me at all, ma'am. You've raised him well; he's got manners and a quick mind. Keep stoking his curiosity. He might be an engineer or scientist one day!" Charles smiled brightly and I sighed, knowing that I'd probably never get to see him again. We deplaned and went our separate ways, but not before Charles ran over to give me one last goodbye hug. Sometimes flying ain't so bad after all.