Date: Thu, 1 Jan 2009 20:29:51 -0500 From: Captain Swing Subject: Window Seat You don't want to read about our trip to Japan. Nothing happened that you'd be interested in. No sex stuff, I mean. Actually, my "sex life" there was pretty much the same as at home. Like any normal twelve-year-old I jerked off any chance I got--usually two or three times a day, usually in the bathroom. At my age, it only took a few minutes for me to cum, so my parents never wondered why I took so long or suspected what I was up to. ( At least that's what I thought. They weren't stupid. ) We were in Japan for two weeks--my dad had to go for his work and he took the rest of us using his frequent-flier miles--me, Mom, and my little sister Shelley. I thought Japan was pretty cool, but a lot of the food was disgusting. But you don't care about that. You might be interested in what happened on the way home. Dad made a sort of sour face as he turned away from the counter with our boarding passes. Mom noticed. "Don't tell me you couldn't get four seats together." "Oh no, don't worry. They're together. It's just that it's three seats in the middle section and one across the aisle. Eddie won't get to have a window seat.." He turned to me. "Sorry, champ--that was the best I could do. The plane's full. It's not that bad. At least you had a window all the way here." "Aww, Dad. That sucks. It's so boring if I can't look out the window. Can't you switch with somebody or something?" Actually I wasn't all that upset. After a half hour or so I knew we'd be over the Pacific, and I'd seen enough of that on the way there to last a lifetime. Plus, I knew we'd be flying mostly in the dark. Still, I was almost a teenager and I had to complain about something--it was practically my duty. Dad sighed. "We'll see. Come on, all of you. There's probably a line at security." We were among the first ones on the plane: Mom and Dad always took advantage of the "families with small children" bit to go to the front of the line even though Shelley was almost seven and I was twelve. The seats were set up 2-3-2, so the other three took the center section and I sat alone, across the aisle from Dad. I was fine with that, but just to be a brat I said to Dad "Don't forget. Ask whoever sits next to me if we can switch." He just clucked his tongue impatiently. The plane was almost full when a young Japanese guy came down the aisle, checking his boarding pass with the seat numbers overhead, and stopped next to me. He gestured to the empty seat next to me, indicating it was his and began to reach up to put his bag in the overhead compartment. I leaned around him and whispered urgently "Dad..." Before my new seatmate could sit down, my father spoke. "Excuse me, sir." He had to repeat it before the guy realized Dad was talking to him. He seemed surprised but answered. "Yes?" "Excuse me, but is important to you to have a window seat?" The only response was a look of sheer confusion. I'm not good at guessing ages, but I'd say the guy was in his early twenties, 22 or 23 maybe. He looked to me like a college student, or maybe just a little older than that. A grad student maybe. And while I say he was Japanese, that's just an assumption because we were in Japan. For all I knew he could have been Chinese, or Korean even. He had straight spiky black hair, sticking up in what I thought was a stylish haircut, but not nearly as exaggerated as some we'd seen in Tokyo. He was dressed like many of the young guys we'd seen in Japan, with expensive- looking sneakers and blue jeans, a white shirt, and a thin shiny black jacket, with the sleeves pushed up almost to his elbows. He wore small fashionable glasses too, which probably helped make me think he was a student; on him they looked cool, not nerdy. Dad realized the guy didn't understand what he had asked. "I'm sorry. Do you speak English?" The response was a simple, puzzled "Yes." Dad waited for a few more stragglers to pass in the aisle, then stood up and held out his hand. For whatever reason he had decided to turn on his charm, the fake but seemingly sincere personality that Mom told me was largely responsible for Dad's success at work. Mom and I were both amused when he used it around us, and Dad was amused too that we recognized it for what it was. It was sort of a family inside joke, but it often got results. "Hi. I'm Todd Foster. Your name?" Seemingly still baffled the young Japanese shook Dad's hand briefly and muttered "Andy." At least that's what it sounded like to me. Dad smiled broadly (if fakely) and made his pitch. "Great! Andy, this is my son Eddie. We're flying back to California and Eddie would love to sit by the window, but I wasn't able to get a window seat for him. I was just wondering if you would mind switching seats with him. If that's a problem for you, I understand perfectly, and I won't say another word. But if it doesn't make a difference to you, he'd really appreciate it, and so would I. Heck, maybe you'd even prefer to sit on the aisle. I know I do. Kids, you know, they like to look out the window. What do you say?" During this spiel Andy looked back and forth almost helplessly, glancing at me when Dad mentioned me, looking at his empty seat, back at Dad, back at the window. He even looked up the aisle, probably hoping an attendant would come along to rescue him from this crazy American. I guess it finally sank in what Dad was asking, and either he really didn't care or he just wanted to sit down and end the conversation. "OK." Dad shook his hand again, and overdid his thanks, while I scooted over next to the window and Andy sat down by the aisle. A few minutes later we began to taxi away from the gate. I really did like to look out the window while we were over land, and not too high. I occupied myself with doing that while Andy--and my family--did the usual things people do while settling in for a long flight--adjusting the fan, checking out the entertainment channels, leafing through the magazine. I was glad my seatmate didn't feel obligated to make conversation with me; Dad talked to him a little bit across the aisle, but Andy mostly gave single-word answers and I think he was relieved when Dad began to nod off. He had an iPod and settled back with that. He didn't ignore me to the point of rudeness--when the attendants came around with drinks he made sure I got what I wanted first--Coke-- before he got his fruit juice. When I got up to use the bathroom I apologized for disturbing him, but he graciously said there was no need to apologize and that I shouldn't hesitate to ask whenever I wanted to get up. He had a surprisingly deep voice, and it soon became clear why he had trouble understanding Dad: he was fairly fluent in English but it obviously wasn't his first language. We were served dinner after an hour or two. I had the "Western" meal, which was edible, while Andy had the "Asian" option, which to me looked as bad as anything I'd had in Japan. Shortly after the trays were cleared the lights were dimmed and an attendant asked me to lower the window shade--they were going to start the movie. We were over the ocean by now and there was nothing to see, so I didn't mind. For the life of me, I can't remember what the movie was. I think I liked it OK, but after about a half hour I began to be distracted by something else. There had been a pillow and a blanket on each of our seats when we boarded the plane. I had put my blanket aside at first, as had Andy. When the movie started he had picked his up and spread it across his lap. Mostly just because he had, I did the same thing a few minutes later; I wasn't really cold, but it was cool enough that I felt comfortable under the blanket. After a few minutes, I felt Andy's leg bump up against mine. I didn't think anything of it, but shifted my leg over to give him more room. A minute or two later I felt his leg again. I looked down and was slightly annoyed to see that my leg was clearly on my side of the space we shared: Andy was definitely infringing on "my" territory. He wasn't a big guy, so it wasn't like he was unduly cramped in. Nevertheless, I moved my leg over again. After all, he'd been nice enough to let me have his seat. When I felt him a third time I was really puzzled--he had to be doing it deliberately. I couldn't imagine why--he hadn't been anything but polite to me so far. Suddenly I felt my face flush as something occurred to me. There was a parental block on my computer at home, but like any normal horny kid I'd found lots of juicy stuff despite it. One site I'd stumbled on had dirty stories as well as dirty pictures. A lot of the stories I couldn't really understand-- the stuff they talked about didn't make any sense to me and I'd quickly become bored. In one story though, a guy had described being in a movie theater as a kid and an older guy sitting next to him. They had eventually gone back to the older guy's house and done some kind of sex stuff ( I wasn't sure just what), but it had begun by the older guy pushing his leg up against the kid's, just like Andy was doing to me. No sooner had this thought occurred to me than I had to dismiss it. Andy wasn't some dirty old man: he was young, good looking in a way, and (though I wouldn't have thought in those terms then) kind of hot. We weren't alone in an almost-empty theater, but in an airplane crammed with people. My parents were sitting just a few feet away, for God's sake! Above all, I couldn't conceive that he--or anybody-- would want to do any kind of sex thing with ME. I was just a kid! An ordinary, short, skinny clueless twelve year old kid. I'd spent a lot of time in recent months studying myself in the mirror. Though I wasn't completely sure, I'd pretty much decided that I was reasonably good-looking. I had dark curly hair that I spent a lot of time on and drove my barber nuts specifying exactly how I wanted it cut. My facial features...well, I couldn't really describe them,beyond saying my eyes were brown, but I also couldn't think of any particular way I wanted to change them. A few people had described me as cute, and some of them I wasn't even related to. I was happy that my skin was smooth and zit-free, though I lived in fear that that would change. I wished that I'd start to have to shave, just because that would make me more grown up, but so far the only hair that had sprouted was a little patch above my dick. My dick. Well, I loved my dick. Worshipped it even. But I couldn't imagine that any other guy would be especially interested in it, considering he no doubt had one himself and--if he was Andy's age--it was probably bigger than mine. I'd gotten glimpses of a few other dicks--in restrooms and changing rooms mostly--and knew that mine, at almost five inches, was at least average for my age, but was smaller than the ones most older guys had. So, while I thought about sex all the time--loved thinking about it--I couldn't possibly think of myself as sexy. I thought I knew all there was to know about sex, but up to that point my sexual experiences involving another person totaled exactly one. When I was ten I'd been over at my friend Kenny's house while his cousin was there. Kenny was also ten, but his cousin, named Drew if I recall correctly, was fourteen. Drew said he'd show us his dick if we showed him ours. I didn't really see the point, but after some negotiating back and forth we agreed. I was utterly stunned to see what popped out when Drew dropped his pants. It was four times the size of mine or Kenny's, surrounded by coarse black hair, hard and shiny-wet. Pleased with the reaction he'd gotten, Drew upped the game to touching each other. I remembered the touch of his damp fingers as he fiddled with my little dinky even more than my brief feel of his now-dripping spike. He completed the show by boldly masturbating himself while Kenny and I watched, goggle-eyed, astonished as the thick jets of creamy goo spurted out onto his stomach. I never saw Drew again, and Kenny and I never did anything like that again in the few months before we drifted apart as friends. Drew's lesson came back to me a year or so ago when my own hormones apparently began to stir. I quickly became a full time, world-class, professional masturbator but, for whatever reason, it was as an individual sport, not a team event. I cautiously broached the subject with a few of my friends, but they didn't pick up on any of my hints that we try a little experimenting together. I'm sure they all did it as much as me (or almost), but somehow it was uncool to admit to it. I quickly learned to be as close-mouthed about it as the rest of the guys. I didn't really care--jerking off by myself was so great that I didn't miss doing it--or something else--with a partner. I had some vague idea that in the distant future I'd figure out what girls were all about--what the big attraction was supposed to be--and I'd get a girlfriend and graduate to fucking (I was sure I knew ALL about fucking). For now, I was more than satisfied with jerking off. But if there was something else that I didn't know about, something that Andy was just possibly hinting at with his leg, impossible as it seemed, I wanted to know about it. If I hadn't read that internet story the thought would never have entered my head. I was a little bit scared though. I wasn't entirely sure what I was scared of. Nothing really bad could happen to me with my Dad not four feet away. I guess I was just afraid of the unknown and, probably, even more afraid of making a fool of myself. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, how I was supposed to respond. My only safe course of action was to do nothing and let Andy indicate what I should do. Assuming, of course, that I wasn't just imagining the whole thing, that Andy wasn't just stretching or touching me unconsciously. His leg touched mine again. I didn't move mine away. We sat there like that for a few minutes. It seemed as if he increased the pressure a little bit, pushing against me a little harder; I didn't exactly push back, but I met his pressure and didn't pull away. Slowly Andy raised and lowered his heel a little bit rubbing his leg up and down against mine. I didn't know how to respond. Was he just exercising? Or was this some sort of signal? Was I supposed to answer it in some way? I had no clue. I glanced over at his face: he was looking straight ahead at the movie, no particular expression on his face. He did it again. I took a deep breath and rubbed my leg up and down against his--lightly and just once. I hoped that if he was signaling I had made the right response, and, if he wasn't, he wouldn't even notice. It seems I had guessed right. Andy drew his leg back and reached down to adjust the blankets. We had both had our blankets draped over our own laps, the edges falling between us, separating our legs. Andy arranged them so they overlapped across up, leaving our legs free to touch each other directly. He immediately moved his leg back against mine and I, reassured that I wasn't mistaken, pressed back against him. I had no idea what would happen next; I glanced at his face again but again he didn't look back. Casually, Andy stuck his arm under the blanket and rested his hand on his knee. With agonizing slowness he slid the hand to the side, so that the side of his hand grazed against my knee. It must have taken him ten minutes before his hand had left his own knee entirely and rested only on mine. Ever-so-gradually he kept it moving, to the inside of my knee and then--slowly, slowly-up my inner thigh. I was so excited, so mystified and anxious, that my stomach hurt. I still had no clue what Andy had in mind. All I had to go on was the story I'd read on the net, and that was no help. The guys in the story had left the theater and gone to a house to do whatever they did. Andy and I weren't going anywhere. ( Well, we were going to America at 600 miles an hour, but you know what I mean.) Whatever was going to happen was going to happen right there in our seats. I looked over at my family: Dad was sound asleep, as I expected, and Mom and Shelley were engrossed in the movie. Andy still didn't look at me. When his hand was halfway up my thigh he stopped, then began to rub back and forth, his strokes gradually getting longer, reaching down to my knee and almost up to my crotch. Almost. At twelve I could get a hard-on instantly with the slightest provocation, or no provocation at all. I had started to stiffen when Andy put his hand on my knee and was fully hard by the time he was part way up my leg. As he rubbed my thigh my dick was straining against the tight confines of my bluejeans. It had been a long day and I hadn't cum since I had jerked off in our hotel, early that morning. I had gotten involved playing games in an arcade at the airport, so didn't get around to doing it there. I had briefly considered doing in when I'd been in the toilet earlier but had decided to wait. ( I had jerked off three times in the toilet on our way to Japan.) By the time Andy started to play with me I was overdue; even I didn't realize how close I was. Since I made no objections to Andy's stroking, I guess he took that as permission to go further. He stopped rubbing with his hand at my groin, his little finger just barely grazing my bulge. With one sudden move he reached his hand over and cupped my whole package, giving my denim-covered cock and balls a firm squeeze. That was all it took. Helplessly, I felt my dick give a heavy throb and send three or four strong jets of cum into my pants. I always came quickly, but I hadn't expected that to happen so soon--I'd never cum like that before, without directly rubbing up and down on my dick. I'd never cum in my pants before either. I lay back for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden unexpected intensity of my orgasm. Andy must have realized that I'd cum: he withdrew his hand and looked over at me in surprise. It was one of the few times he'd looked directly at me, and the first time with any real expression. I looked back at him blankly, and he turned his head away. I was able to savor the pleasure of a great cum only briefly before I realized I needed to do something about the mess in my pants. I pushed the blanket away and felt my crotch. It wasn't wet--my cum hadn't soaked through yet. I stood up and pushed past Andy without looking at him and hustled to the toilet--luckily there was a vacant one. Pushing down my pants and undershorts, I looked at the sloppy wet mess with dismay, and then almost had to laugh: this was certainly a problem I'd never expected to have to deal with on the flight. It actually wasn't that big a problem: I was able to clean up fairly well with toilet paper and paper towels. My shorts were wet but there wasn't anything I could do about that except wait for them to dry. Nobody else would notice anything amiss. I sat down on the toilet and thought about what had just happened. To my surprise, I realized that I felt good about it. I didn't really understand Andy's motives, but they didn't matter. What he'd done had felt great! I hadn't made a fool of myself, as far as I knew. It was maybe a little embarrassing to have cum so quickly, but Andy must have been expecting that --he had a dick and that's what dicks did. I didn't know that shooting so quickly was considered kid-stuff, that grown-ups tried to make it last. To me, cumming was the whole point, the quicker the better. My only regret in cumming so soon was that it had ended what Andy and I were doing: I didn't get to see what he might do next. The movie was over as I headed back to my seat. Dad was still asleep, but Mom looked up and caught my eye. "Everything all right, honey?" I nodded. "Sure, Mom." She smiled back at me. "Okay. The movie's over. Why don't you try to sleep for a while. We still have a long way to go." I hardly ever was able to sleep on a plane, and Mom knew that, but I just said "Okay." Andy was sleeping--at least he had his eyes closed--as I slipped back into my seat. I pushed up the window shade and looked out. There was nothing to see except the dark empty sky and a blinking light at the tip of the wing. I closed the shade again and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Andy's seat was empty. I realized that I must have actually slept for a little while. The cabin was still dark and as I glanced around I saw almost everybody was asleep; only a few had their overhead light on. Mom and Shelley were as fast asleep as Dad. Andy came back up the aisle and sat down. I looked up at him and, surprisingly, he looked back and almost--almost--smiled. He settled in and then turned to me. Very quietly he spoke.."You're awake." I nodded. He looked at me for a moment and then reached down to rearrange the blankets like they'd been before, Instantly I started to get hard. When he reached his hand over I didn't hesitate: I spread my legs as wide as I could and moved over to be as close to him as possible. Andy didn't bother with the slow dance up my thigh: he immediately cupped my genitals and gave a squeeze, then proceeded to rub and fondle me vigorously. I was hard as I could be and squirmed a little bit, loving the feelings he was sending through me, but I wasn't afraid I would cum as quickly as before. Andy continued his massage for a few minutes, then moved his hand upward and began to fumble with my belt buckle. I guess he couldn't manage it one-handed (and didn't dare bring his left hand into play, lest someone should pass by in the aisle and notice his actions.) He leaned toward me and whispered directly into my ear, so quietly I barely heard him. "Push your pants down." I turned to him in alarm. I had expected to pull down my zipper, or have him do it, and pull out my dick, but not to practically strip naked there on the plane. If the blanket should suddenly fall or be torn away I could hide my dick with my hand, but not my whole exposed midsection. What if I got caught! Andy must have understood my concern. He whispered again. "It'll be okay. Nobody can see." I was unconvinced, but I felt a sudden surge of bravery. I wanted to do it! I wanted to be naughty and dirty and daring! I wanted to be practically naked on an airplane with hundreds of people, including my parents just a few yards away! I wasn't sure if Andy meant for me to push my undershorts down too,: they were still damp. and while Andy would probably understand why, I didn't want to take the chance that he'd think I'd peed myself. I opened my pants and pushed them and my shorts down to just above my knees, lifting up to avoid my throbbing boner. I felt brazen and brave. Nevertheless, I made sure to pull the blanket up a little higher and tuck it in tight. Once I was exposed (under the blanket), Andy didn't waste any time. He reached over and let his hand roam freely over my bare body. He rubbed up and down my inner thigh, his touch infinitely more stimulating than when he'd done the same thing over my pants. Using just his fingertips, he gently toyed with my soft hairless scrotum; I shivered--nobody had ever touched that most sensitive part of my body since my mother had stopped giving me a bath when I was what? Five? He reached up and stroked my naked abdomen, then homed in on my thin fringe of pubic hair. He seemed fascinated with that, spending several minutes running through it with his fingertips, lightly rubbing the fine wisps between his fingers and thumb. For the most part, Andy avoided my dick, only occasionally giving it a tug or two. He probably wanted to avoid a premature eruption. I was in heaven. Except for Kenny's cousin Drew, two years earlier, nobody had ever shown the slightest interest in my sex parts, and that brief fiddle couldn't begin to compare with Andy's thorough exploration. I loved it! Almost unconsciously, I pushed my pants down further, below my knees, so I could spread my legs further apart. Andy responded by returning his attention to my balls and probing further back, to that mysterious area between my scrotum and my butt. By this point I was so turned on that I desperately need Andy to pay more attention to my dick, or I'd have to take care of it myself. Without thinking, I turned on my hip and thrust out toward him. Instead of focussing on my cock, however, Andy reached around me to stroke my now-exposed ass cheek. That wasn't what I'd had in mind, but it felt unexpectedly exciting. Even more unexpectedly. he reached further and stuck his fingertips into my crack. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that until that moment I had had no idea that there was a sexual aspect to the human behind. To me, it was just something to sit on and poop out of, Everybody had one. But Andy seemed to love mine; he alternated rubbing it and venturing deeper and deeper into the cleft. Eventually he found what he was searching for. To my astonishment I felt him touching my asshole, then circling his finger around it and finally slowly inserting his fingertip inside. I was horrified, in a way. It seemed so strange, so unlikely, so...well,so dirty! It didn't really hurt though--it just felt weird. From the way my dick felt, I'd have to say it also felt sexy. I was a little bit worried that I might not be as clean as I should be down there. I almost had to smile, though, when the thought hit me that if you're going to go poking around in people's assholes you shouldn't be surprised by what you might find there. Andy probed me until I couldn't stand it: I had to jerk myself off if he wasn't going to do it. He realized what I was doing and leaned over to whisper "Stop. Don't." He pulled his hand out of my ass and I sat back. I was appalled to see him wipe his fingers off on his blanket, but forgot about it when he reached over again and began to play with my dick. That was what I needed. Whenever I jerked off I never tried to make it last; the only goal was to cum. I'd simply grab hold and flog away, hell-for-leather, until I squirted out my load. That wasn't Andy's approach, though. He jerked me for a few moments, then stopped to fondle my balls, then jerked again , then rubbed my thighs, jerked, played with my pubes, jerked. Sometimes he used his fingertips, like I always did, sometimes his thumb, first finger and the knuckle of his middle finger, sometime his whole fist. Sometimes he went fast, sometimes slow. It was exquisite torture. I wanted to cum desperately, but wanted him to go on forever. It had been maybe ten minutes (though it seemed like hours), when he looked around the cabin carefully then lifted up my blanket and began to lean down toward me. I thought he was just trying to watch his handiwork; looking back, I think maybe he was trying to get up his nerve to go down on me. Just then, however an attendant came down the aisle with a tray of beverages for those few passengers who weren't asleep and might want something. Andy quickly straightened up and dropped the blanket. He withdrew his hand, to my dismay, until the attendant passed, but quickly returned it, after fumbling briefly with something under his own blanket. When he began his elaborate masturbation of me again I couldn't stand it. I put my hand on top of his and turned to whisper in his ear. "Finish!" He looked at me in surprise (it was the first time I'd spoken) but nodded. He took hold of my hand and unexpectedly drew it toward him, under the blanket--I was stunned to find that he'd pulled his own cock out of his pants and it stuck up there, hot, wet and rock-hard. Andy wrapped my hand around it and gave a few jerks, showing me what he wanted. I was as overwhelmed as I'd been the first time he put his hand on my leg. This was the first adult cock I'd ever touched--except for my few seconds with Drew, the first cock of any kind. I gave it a few tugs like he wanted but had to stop to feel it all over, to get a sense of its size, to appreciate the...I don't know...the "cockness" of it. It was so exciting I could barely stand it. Andy's cock was definitely bigger than mine, but not by a whole lot. He hadn't opened his pants--his cock was sticking out of his fly--so I couldn't be sure of its length, but it was maybe an inch longer than mine, and noticeably thicker. Feeling the end of it, I realized he had a foreskin (I didn't); I forget how I knew about uncircumcised dicks, but I did. What I didn't really know about was pre-cum, so I didn't understand why the end of his cock was so wet. It didn't seem like pee, though, and it didn't make sense for it to be cum--I didn't know what it was. I didn't care though, because Andy had begun to masturbate me again, and in earnest this time. I leaned back and tried to jerk Andy off in synch with what he was doing to me. It was awkward, though, because I was using the "wrong" hand--my left--and was distracted my the intense sensations shooting up from my groin. I'd been on the brink so many times it was less than a minute after Andy stopped playing around and started to seriously jerk me that I shot. And shot and shot and shot. It was far and away the most intense and prolonged orgasm of my life; it felt like my balls were dissolving. The idea briefly shot through my head that this was it--I'd never be able to cum again. My whole midsection seemed to be drenched with cum, and I knew Andy's hand was too, not to mention my blanket. As soon as I could (in reality I'm sure it was only a few seconds) I resumed my duties with Andy's cock. I gripped it firmly and jerked away intently. I guess he'd been on the brink too; only moments later he grabbed my wrist and took a sharp intake of breath through his clenched teeth. I felt his cock swell and then throb, then I felt a torrent of hot goo ooze down over my hand. I kept on jerking until he gasped and grabbed my hand to stop me. He sat back, breathing hard, then finally turned to me and smiled--actually smiled!--for a brief instant. He then looked around the cabin and began a quick clean up. He fished a pack of tissues from somewhere and handed me a few. I was grossed out again as I saw him mop up the bulk of his cum with his blanket, finishing up with the Kleenex, but when I realized the quantity of scum I had on my belly I did the same thing. I gave a silent prayer that the airline washed those blankets between flights. We straightened our clothes and then went-- separately-- to the toilets. I was happy to see that I had no cum spots on my clothes--if I hadn't pushed my pants down I'd be drenched. When I got back to my seat Andy was already in his, with his eyes closed. I glanced at his crotch and was sure I detected a few wet spots. I sat down and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew the lights were on, the sun shining through the open shades, and I smelled the breakfast the crew was heating up. Andy still seemed to be asleep, but across the aisle Dad was wide awake. He smiled at me. "Morning, sport. I guess you can sleep on a plane after all-- you were out like a log. That's great." he reached his arms up to stretch. "Wish I could sleep like that." I turned away so he couldn't see me stifle a laugh. After we ate, the cabin bustled with activity as everyone prepared for arrival. Dad tried again to engage Andy in conversation, with little result. I felt a little guilty, though I must confess that I saw a bit of sick humor in Dad trying so hard to be charming to the guy who had just molested his twelve-year-old son while Dad snored, not an arm's length away. I did gather that Andy was in fact a student of some sort who was on his way back to school in Boston. He ignored me as he had at the start of the flight; I was a little bit annoyed that he didn't talk to me. There were a lot of things I would have liked to ask him, but not the kind of things we could have discussed with Dad sitting right next to us. Once we came to a stop at the gate, Andy stood up to take his bag out of the overhead bin. His groin was right in front of me: I couldn't help but stare at it with a surge of excitement. I knew what was in there, hidden behind the blue denim. I'd felt his cock, played with it, jerked it off. I'd made it cum! And he'd made me cum! That had to qualify as "having sex." I'd had sex! With another person! An adult, no less. And not a creepy adult. A good-looking (probably), sexy young adult, the kind of person other people--girls, even--would like to have sex with. At least, that's what it seemed like to me. In any event, I felt proud of what had happened. I'd liked it, Andy had liked it, it hadn't bothered anybody else--nobody even knew about it. I'd never been in any danger and I hadn't made a fool of myself. I didn't have anything to feel guilty about. Well, I DID feel a little guilty about the mess we'd made of the blankets. I kicked mine under the seat. Dad made a point of shaking Andy's hand goodbye as we waited to shuffle up the aisle. Andy turned to me and said a simple, bland, "Goodbye." As we left the plane and started down the jetway he turned to me, gave me a slight smile and nodded. That was it, but it was enough; I knew for Andy that was a lot. I smiled back. I lost sight of him at Immigration, when we went in the line for U.S. citizens and he joined the row for "Holders of Other Passports." I caught a glimpse again at the baggage carousel, but that was it. I never saw Andy again. We had to wait almost two hours for our flight to Sacramento, and I considered trying to find Andy's gate, but I couldn't understand the flight board. I thought he probably wouldn't have wanted to see me anyway. We couldn't have done anything, except--conceivably--in the bathroom. That gave me an idea. I went into the Men's Room, found a vacant stall, sat down and merrily jerked away. THE END Comments welcome: grubsnort@comcast.net