In the late-nineties, I took my junior year abroad in Zurich. I could hardly contain my excitement. At twenty years old, I’d never traveled out of the country, I’d hardly ever been on a plane. Of course I was nervous. I had no idea what lay ahead. I was a sheltered, suburban kid making my first truly independent decision. With a wallet full of traveler's cheques from all the money I’d earned with multiple jobs to save up, I took the train from my parents’ home in Philly and met up with a friend in D.C. who’d drive me to the airport.

“Here’s my going away present to you. They might come in handy with all the foreign girls,” my friend said as he presented me with a box of condoms.

“Give me a break. I’ve got a serious girlfriend. Jenny and I promised we’d make the long-distance thing work.”

“Look, man, just in case. You’re about to experience a world you’ve never seen before, women like you’ve never met before. Don’t sell yourself short. All I’m saying is be prepared.”

I stuffed the condoms in my backpack just to shut him up. 

Starry-eyed, I bounded through the terminal, riding the bus to the gate and finally, boarding the 747, taking my aisle seat toward the back of the plane. A few minutes later, I met the person sitting in the window seat - a petite, nerdy, blonde woman who reminded me of Annie Potts from Ghostbusters. She looked like she was in her mid-forties. She couldn’t have been more than 4’11” and maybe ninety-five pounds. She had cascades of blonde curls down to her shoulders framing an angular face which she hid behind big, owl-eyed glasses. Her skin was pale. She wore plain clothes from a wardrobe straight out of the 1980’s: white cotton stirrup pants, a long-sleeved black cotton shirt and an embroidered vest. She was plain to see.

Of course, I’m a pretty average guy myself, 5’10” and slender with a runner’s build. Sinewy with brown hair and brown eyes. I was equal parts insecure with my averageness, shyness and equal parts cocky because I had a girlfriend way hotter than me and, well, I was twenty years old, so arrogance comes with the territory.

She introduced herself as Betsy, and I noticed a twang in her voice.

We had an empty middle seat between us. Betsy couldn’t contain herself, just like me. She started bending my ear straight away. I was happy for the company.

We talked straight through dinner. Pre-9/11, on an international, Swiss Air flight, we had pretty nice service with plenty of wine for Betsy and a couple of vodka/sodas for me. 

She was from Kentucky - born and raised as part of a multi-generational family with a tiny farm. This was her first international trip, too. When her dad died, she gave up the farm and took a traditional job as a receptionist in a doctor’s office in the big city across the river, Cincinnati. She had a couple of kids who were about my age. But mostly she talked about her boyfriend, Hans. She was on her way to visit him for the first time in months. She’d met him when he was in the city for work and he had a medical emergency that brought him to her office. They dated for a few weeks and kept up the romance long-distance through letters and phone calls. No emails or video chats in those days.

I told her about my life, my girlfriend, my plans for the year in Zurich. She asked a surprising number of questions about our sex life and shared an uncomfortable level of detail about her sex with Hans. I have to admit I was starting to get pretty turned on when she talked about the horny things she planned to do to him when she saw him in a few hours. Given my situation and her infatuation with Hans, I didn’t figure anything would progress past our friendly chat. 

After dinner, the flight attendants came by to offer extra blankets and pillows. Betsy took a couple of each and suggested we could turn our row into a makeshift bed. She’d sit back against the window and I could lay with my head toward the aisle. We could squeeze together, feet facing each other, each wrapped in our own blanket as a buffer. Within a few minutes of the lights going out and our bodies pressed together, I felt Betsy’s foot start to rub my leg through the force field of our two blankets. At first, I thought she was just getting comfortable until I could feel her searching for my upper thigh. Her toes started to tickle my crotch a bit. Now, this was an unexpected and pleasant surprise.

I took the invitation and started rubbing her feet with my hands, sliding my hands down her legs over the blanket. Then she adjusted the blankets so we were both under one shared blanket. She shifted her legs and hips to meet my stroking hands. She gave me the first and best footjob I’d ever had. 

Trying to find a way to progress the situation, I sat up. Betsy followed suit. Here we were, in the dark, under a blanket, the hum of the airplane soothing us, my hand now down her pants, her hand now on my rock-hard cock. Except for the guy across the aisle from us, the guy who couldn’t sleep and kept his light on for reading, was giving us the side-eye with disapproving looks. We were giggling and having a grand time but I still felt too restricted. So I whispered we should continue this in the lavatory.

Betsy gracefully straightened her pants and led the way. I took a pause to grab a few of those condoms my friend had given me. Not even he would believe I would be using them so soon.

As soon as we shut the lav door, we were locked in a deep, passionate, breathless kiss. The quarters were cramped. I wrestled her top off and was welcomed with the most adorable, tiniest little breasts with the longest, hardest, firmest nipples I’ve ever seen. They must have been close to an inch long. She squealed when I pulled and pinched them, sucked them into my mouth, lavished them with twirls of my tongue. Her hands were roving all over my body. Her fingers ran through my hair and massaged my head.

I pulled down her pants and panties in a quick swoop and lifted her onto the sink. She whelped at the cold metal on her bare ass. Somehow I contorted my body to plant my mouth over her wet, swelling pussy. Oh. My. God. She tasted like drops of dew from a honeysuckle. Her legs braced against the wall behind me so she could buck her hips to meet my undulating tongue. I spread the folds of her pussy, flicked over her clitty and feasted on her flesh until her juices oozed down her ass and over my chin.

Her hands planted on the back of my head and pressed my face into her as hard as she could. When I hit her clit just right, she’d bite down on one hand to muffle her screams. Then she yanked me by my hair and pulled me up to her face to kiss her again. I could see her thighs quivering. “Enough. Enough,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Fuck me, now, goddamit,” she commanded. I didn’t expect that kind of forcefulness from someone so diminutive. It turned me on to follow her every demand. 

She pushed me back and slid off the sink. She unbuckled my banks and yanked down my boxers. “Wait,” I said, reaching for a condom.

She looked a bit cross at having to wait, but nodded, “Good idea,” she said, helping me roll the condom over my engorged seven inches. She turned around and presented herself to me. I teased her with just the head, poking it in an inch and popping it out, sliding it over her juicy lips. In and out with these teasing strokes until she cocked her head and told me “Go deep, god damn you.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. She pushed her hips down onto my cock, her arms pressed for balance against the mirror, my hardness all the way inside her now. Betsy didn’t mess around. She gripped me with her muscles and locked me inside her, her pussy clenched around my dick like a vise. She was so strong yet so wet, I had a hard time stroking. We mostly rotated our hips so the tip of my cock massaged her g-spot. I moved my hands from her hips to her belly, feeling how taut her stomach muscles as they activated her pelvic thrusts. I tugged on those long nipples, then slid my hands back down until one of my fingers found her clit. I pressed against her clitty like a morse code messenger, grinding my cock inside her with her pulsating pussy practically lifting me off my feet.

Sweat beaded down our faces. I watched her face in the mirror. She stared into my eyes. Then she bit her lip, her eyes closed, she made some guttural, whining sounds and her body collapsed. I caught her as every part of her went limp. My cock slipped out. “Hang on,” she said, trying to compose herself. She squirmed to face me. We kissed as I held her up. “Honey, we got to finish you off,” she said. She kissed me again, her hand tugging the condom off. I could feel her recovering her strength. Her breath eased as she pushed me down onto the toilet and kneeled in front of me, sucking my cock. Her tongue played with the glans, her lips swallowed me whole, her hands pressed into my thighs. I tried to find a way to touch her, but she gripped my wrist and pushed it back over my head. She took a break, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Honey, you gotta learn when it’s your turn.”

With that, I sat back and gave myself to her. She didn’t rush things. She stroked me, licked me, paid homage to my cock until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I came, she swallowed every drop. My body slumped against the wall. She rested her head in my lap for a few moments. Then we picked ourselves up, washed as best we could in close quarters, put on our rumpled clothes and embraced. Her head buried in my shoulder. Our arms locked around each other. She looked up at me and we kissed again. I could taste my cum on her lips. She could taste herself on mine. Our hands started to roam again but she stopped: “That was amazing, but once inside this bathroom is enough for one night, honey.”

We returned to our seats and spooned until the lights came up. My hard cock pressed into her all night. My fingers couldn’t resist slipping under her panties and finding her wet slit. She came at least once more.

Throughout breakfast, we laughed and talked. She gave me her number and address. When it came time to disembark, we filed out of the plane, I rubbed her ass affectionately and we whispered compliments to each other. Just before we got to the passport control, she pulled me aside into a little nook of the airport and gave me a deep kiss, her hand rubbing my cock until I pushed her away. I didn’t want to cum in my pants. “You better fucking come visit me, you hear me, Ryan?” All I could stammer was a feeble “Yes.”

“Now, you wait here for two minutes and let me go on ahead.”

I spotted her again at baggage claim but kept my distance. She came over to introduce Hans. We shook hands. He gripped me hard enough to try to let me know who’s boss. “Thank you for keeping Betsy company,” he said in his heavy Swiss accent. “Perhaps we can assist if you need help getting settled in Zurich.”

But that’s a story for another time.