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Sorry for the break there, folks. I’m feeling much better today. Remarkable what getting a full eight hours in a real bed will do for one’s mental facilities.

So, without further ado, I give you The Mile High Club Has a Secret Knock, Part 2. It’s one of my favorite memories. And it’s a long post.

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Shelley is quiet for several seconds, and I continue to massage the back of her head and neck. Then she tilts her head and leans back a bit to look at me quizzically. “Did you just ask me to sleep with you?”

I shrug, keeping my demeanor as casual as possible, though my insides are now excitedly dancing somewhere between a samba and a mosh pit. “I wouldn’t call it ‘sleeping’. Those bathrooms are barely large enough to stand in, much less what I have in mind.”

I can’t read the expression on Shelley’s face. It may be surprise at the nonchalant way I proposed taking our relationship to a whole new place. Or it may be resentment that I would ever propose changing something that has worked so well for us for so long. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”

“Consider it an experiment,” I reply coolly. “You state that attendants don’t interrupt bathroom lovemaking. I propose that we proceed to the bathroom and test your hypothesis.” I look up, again feigning deep thought. “I suppose we could even publish our findings in a social sciences journal, if we could obtain a large enough sample size. That or Penthouse Forum.”

I would continue, but my resolve wilts under the intensity of Shelley’s stare. Her face is stern, and any doubt I had about her emotional state has evaporated. She is looking at me with unrestrained, obvious anger. I want to backpedal, retract everything I said, tell her I couldn’t help myself and apologize, keep everything from changing between us.

Then she surprises the hell out of me by rushing forward and kissing me. One long kiss, her eyes closed tightly, her whole body committed to holding herself there as long as possible. Then she breaks contact and jabs me in the ribs with her knuckles, still glaring at me as she asks, “What the hell took you so long?”

“Ummmm……… what?” Witty retort of the year, I know. “I thought you were pissed.”

“I AM pissed,” she assures me as she throws off her blanket. “We could have been fucking our brains out for five weeks and NOW you ask me?”

Holy hell. “Wait… wait, hold on. You mean you’ve been wanting us to… you know…” I’m suddenly hyperaware of the dozens of people sleeping in the darkened plane. I check and make sure no one’s listening, then look back at her. “I thought you weren’t interested in me.”

Shelley shakes her head and sighs. “Christ, for someone so smart, you’re so fucking dense sometimes.” She stands up and crosses over me, overwhelming me in the competing aromas of lemongrass and a subtly sweet perfume, then whispers into my ear, “Wait five minutes, then follow me.”

“Wait!” My voice is louder than I intended, but no one wakes. Shelley stops and turns back to me, her pursed lips and raised eyebrows conveying her impatience as clearly as anything she could have said. I put my hands up in defeat. She walks to the restroom and closes the door behind her.

I sit in stunned silence and take stock of the situation. A woman that I have practically pined for the last several weeks, a woman I had long relegated to the Just Friends bin, is now in the airplane bathroom, waiting for me to join her. And she’s annoyed with me for not catching on sooner. Her reaction completely threw me off my game, reducing me to a bumbling, ineloquent fool. I can’t let that stand. I have to take control.

Maybe two minutes have passed at best. I don’t care. I unbuckle and make my way toward the women’s bathroom. I keep expecting to see a flight attendant appear beside me and chastise me for something I haven’t even done yet, but no one stops me. I knock twice on the left side of the folding door and once on the right, hopefully identifying myself. The door slides open and Shelley looks either way down the aisle. “I told you to wait five minutes!”

“Fuck that,” I respond flatly and step into the bathroom, pushing her back and locking the door behind me.

We kiss like two people starving for affection, hard and wet, desperate to finally possess what we’ve been wanting for so long. I clutch her slight frame against mine, lifting her and depositing her on the bathroom sink. Our lips never break contact, excepting to turn our heads to new angles and give our tongues new avenues of exploration, as I struggle with the tight button of her jeans, silently cursing women’s fashion for making everything backwards and so tight. With a little persistence I finally release the catch.

I want to simply fall to my knees and take her jeans and panties down with me, but my back is already against the wall of the bathroom, and my knees are against the sink. Instead, I have to turn toward the outer wall of the plane and drop to my knees that way. I have to turn my body 90 degrees to the left at the waist to face her, and she lifts herself up off the sink with what little purchase her hands can get while I take the shimmy approach to pulling her jeans off of her hips and down to her ankles. I slam my elbows into the wall and sink no less than four times in the process, and she bangs her head on the mirror.

It dawns on me that there’s a good reason so many people talk about joining the Mile High Club but so few actually try it. It is fucking difficult.

With her clothing finally out of the way, I grab Shelley’s hips, pull her to the very edge of the sink, and maneuver my shoulders between her legs. I am greeted with a truly lovely pussy, the hair neatly groomed to a manageable short length but unshaven, the lips swollen and open, moisture glistening against her flesh. I waste no time in leaning in and running my tongue from one end of her to the other, slowly, tasting and smelling and experiencing her, and her hips jerk in what I assume to be approval. I briefly tease her hood with the tip of my tongue before drawing it into my mouth and applying gentle suction, my tongue flickering across her clit, and I hear her struggling to breathe normally, to not moan, the sound ragged and laboured. I can’t believe how quickly she finishes, her fists clenching my hair, pulling hard against my scalp but not permitting me to move away until her hips begin to quiver uncontrollably, and she turns her body to the side, away from me.

I stand and Shelley gets to her feet, pushing me back against the sink, kissing me again with no regard for the remaining moisture on my lips and chin. She helps me unclasp my jeans and pushes them down as far as she can without breaking our kiss. Her hands are cold, but I respond as she did when she takes my length into her hand and strokes encouragingly. She tries to straddle me, but she is too short without her shoes, so I heft her up as high as I can without hitting her head against the ceiling. She puts her feet on the sink beside me, her knees almost beside my head, and braces her back against the wall opposite the sink. Keeping my hands on her hips, I guide her pelvis toward mine, and she guides my member into her, eliciting a groan from me and a gasp from her. Again, no time is wasted, and she grinds her pelvis against me hard and fast, her mouth slightly open, staring straight into my eyes, breathing in perfect time with each of her thrusts. Neither of us has much left in us at this point, and in a few short minutes, she has climaxed again, and the sudden tightening of her muscles against me brings me over the edge with her. Then we just pause, catch our breath, and look at each other, her body limp but supported by my hands and the wall, legs splayed in a diamond shape, my torso rigid, feet braced against the wall instead of the floor. I don’t know when that happened.

It is the single most awkward sexual position I have ever experienced. And it is glorious.

It takes us another five minutes to clean ourselves up, and we return to our seats, exhausted and likely reeking of sex. If anyone noticed us, no one says a word. The other passengers continue to slumber peacefully, and after wrapping ourselves in the grey blanket, Shelley and I soon join them.

We are both roused by the pilot’s announcement that we’ll be landing in a few moments. We busy ourselves with getting our bags organized and chat about what we will do when we get back home. Nothing passes between us about the bathroom, almost as though it never happened. We soon disembark, and I think I notice one elderly flight attendant smirking at me, but I just nod and move on.

Ashley is waiting at baggage claim, along with What’s-His-Name. Shelley and I both drop our carry-ons and embrace our spouses, laugh with them, yes I missed you too, yes the flight was okay, no I didn’t have any problems getting through security. I want to tell her goodbye, to at least thank her for everything, for keeping me company, for being a wonderful woman. But she’s swept up in greeting her husband, and her young son, who she now carries in her arms while What’s-His-Name removes her bags from the conveyor. The three of them hurry to the exit, and Shelley looks over her shoulder only for a moment, back at me, and smiles sweetly. I want to see a bit of sadness at our separation, but if it’s there, I can’t find it. Then the doors close and she’s gone.

Ashley suddenly nudges me. “Baby, I think those are your bags.” I agree and hoist them off and onto the ground. Ashley smiles and hugs me tightly around the neck, kissing me on the cheek. “I missed you so, so much. Don’t ever leave again.”

I can’t help but smile, and I kiss her neck. “I’ll try, baby.”

She suddenly bites my earlobe. The sensation makes me jump, more from surprise than actual pain, because she never does that anymore. It means only one thing. I grin and nip her neck, and she giggles and whispers into my ear, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

A part of me wants to feel guilty. But the only thought my brain can muster is, “Two in one day. I’m on a roll.”

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5 Comments

  1. i have unfortunately never achieved this status. you make it sound difficult but fun just the same. sigh. every time i board a flight i think of this, but again, have never been able to make it happen.
    thanks for the lesson.
    great post!
    cheers

    • It WAS a lot of fun, but it was also so uncomfortable that I don’t know if I would ever do it again. I don’t think I can ever fully capture just how cramped the whole thing felt. It would have been claustrophobic had it not been for, you know, the whole sex thing.

      Of course, I say that now, but if Ashley ever gets her old drive back, or I go on another trip with Shelley… who the hell knows?

    • Additionally, free advice from the male in the bathroom. If you, or any other of my female readers, ever intends to give this a shot, please, for the love of all that is holy, wear a skirt.

  2. This sounds really hard! Do you have to be in the bathroom or can you just sit on someone’s lap like on an overnight to europe?

    • Well, I suppose you could sit in someone’s lap in the seat, but I can’t see anyone not noticing the bouncing and grinding. …Yeah, that might be a little obvious.

      ….although, with proper application of blanket and poker face, a handjob or blowjob could be feasible….


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