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Up in the air

How I loved taking a flight of fancy with a matuer, intelligent woman.
We joined the mile high club aboard a small DeHavailland Dash-8 turboprop commuter aircraft. No, we did NOT use the tiny loo. On a commuter flight the loo has more in common with the inside of an MRI scanner than it does any kind of a rest room.

Lucile and I met in an airport gate awaiting a 2-1/2 hour night flight to Minneapolis. We exchanged first names only. Lucile appeared to be in her mid fifties, a large framed but trim woman with chestnut colored hair. Her tanned bosom was a contrasting surface for a single strand of pearls. “Hefty” is the word that first struck me for her full, ripe breasts barely contained behind her single-breasted business suit jacket. A lace modesty panel limited Lucile’s cleavage to a modest, if enticing little cleft south of her pearls. Lucile’s legs were shapely for a woman her age and encased in hose that rose challengingly up and under her conservative gray tweed skirt. Walking across the tarmac, I noticed the enticing way Lucile carried herself and how modest three-inch pumps accentuated her curves. If real women indeed have curves, Lucile was VERY real.

The 39 passenger aircraft held only a dozen passengers, of whom most were sleeping and the lone flight attendant had settled into her jump-seat up front reading a book once her beverage service was completed and her ¾ ounce packets of airplane pretzels dutifully distributed. Although Lucile and I were seat assigned a couple of aisles apart, we originally opted to sit together aisle-across in unassigned seats in order to continue what had become an enjoyable conversation while we waited in the gate area.

Apparently the aircraft was nose-heavy because the flight attendant had asked if two volunteers would re-seat to the back of the plane for trim and balance purposes and Lucile and I immediately moved. We literally had the back half of the plane to ourselves and in that particular aircraft, the seat configuration was two seats, an aisle and two more seats for each row. The last row, however, had five seats straight across the back of the plane with the center seat looking straight down the aisle. Taking that last row and flipping up the armrests gave us more space than first-class seats would have in a full sized aircraft.

Outside our window, the nighttime winter sky was cold and black. Six miles below us the world either slept or struggled as the case may be, beneath a thick blanket of snow. In hushed whispers, we spoke of our lives, our children and of increasingly difficult marriages. It’s interesting how total strangers often share the most intimate details of their lives, almost as though anonymity offered them safety from unkind judgments. Lucile had held a job while her husband finished college and began his career as a landscape architect. She set her career in nursing for seventeen years as a stay-at-home Mom until their four kids were in school. Lucile returned to nursing, but took night classes for management courses and within five years had become a nursing supervisor and recently had received another promotion as Director of Inpatient services for a 480-bed hospital in a coastal community.

For Lucile this trip was to returning from a conference on infectious disease management. Lucile shared that hospitals across the country are struggling to eliminate or reduce instances of hospital acquired infectious disease such as Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus (MRSA) which sometimes causes tragic mortality among surgical patients who came through their operations with flying colors only to succumb to antibiotic defying infections that got inside their bodies when bacteria entered later on, via their incision site or other break in the skin.

A dangerous newcomer to this nettlesome problem is Clostridium Difficile, (C-Diff) a robust bacterium that causes chronic and very serious intestinal problems in patients who have been on long-term antibiotic treatment. Literally, the ‘good’ bacteria in their gut is killed off leaving them very sick. While I’m no doctor, enough of my family is in the healing arts that I speak the language and can hold my own convincingly in most medical conversations. Also, I worked in a hospital for a short time and know a thing or two about patient care.

Our whispered conversation in the night sky gathered intensity very quickly. The fact is, we were two lonely people who found fertile common ground for adult discussion. Lucile’s husband long ago had lost any interest in discussing anything with Lucile that didn’t relate to his career. Further, his weekends were spent with golf buddies. They literally had grown apart. My situation was no better. My wife is a teacher and so consummately focused on teaching that her prep time had become nearly every waking hour. Except for family scheduling, finances and our grown kids, all conversations were about school.

Somewhere in the conversation Lucile confided that she’d hurt her back some years before when a patient went into cardiac arrest and the woman’s bowels had emptied as the Code Blue team rolled her onto her side to place a chest compression board beneath her body so that a nurse could more effectively pump a lever attached to a rubber ball like piston that pressed into a patient’s breastbone providing CPR while another nurse forced-breathed for her with an Ambu bag. Lucile had slipped in the feces while lifting and the accident left her with lumbar disk problems and nearly constant pain. She reached into her carry-on bag and removed a couple of brownies and said, “I use medically prescribed Marijuana for pain management. Would you like to try some? Her grin was mischievous, a departure from her mature businesslike demeanor. Although I’d only tried pot once in my life and that was to smoke it, I accepted Lucile’s offer and together we enjoyed her home backed goods, becoming a little giddy, not so much from the cannabis but from the naughtiness of enjoying pot in the back of a plane.

Our intensifying discussion of infectious disease turned to sexually transmitted diseases, which in turn became an intimate discussion on how infrequent and unsatisfying sex had become with our partners. Lucile knew that her husband was having an affair with a coworker because she’d found two local motel receipts jammed down in the seat of his car. She’d used his car to go food shopping while hers was in the shop for maintenance and her pen had fallen into the seat next to the damning evidence. Lucile shared that she felt used when her husband wanted sex because it lacked closeness. At home, he was a sex partner only infrequently and even then he jumped on, fucked her mechanically until he came and then rolled off to sleep or turn the TV back on. The look on his face as he came lacked any scintilla of a loving feeling. He might as well have been using a Stairmaster at the gym and then straining to take a shit as experiencing an orgasm within her. Sad to say, I knew exactly how Lucile felt and together we marveled how lonely it can be while in bed with a distant partner.

I don’t remember where in the conversation we began holding hands. I do remember kissing away large, wet tears in Lucile’s brown eyes and perhaps a second or a minute or a lifetime later our lips found each other’s and we were kissing like reunited lovers. Our hands began exploring each other’s bodies and we must’ve looked like groping teenagers in the back of a movie theater except that our fellow passengers were asleep except for one guy watching a movie on his laptop computer and our flight attendant buried in her book. I began exploring Lucile’s legs and as my hand reached just beneath her skirt, she stopped me with a grab of my wrist and whispered, “Give me a minute.”

With that, Lucile got up and I let her past me and she went forward to the loo and returned a few minutes later. Lucile stopped and opened an overhead compartment and took down pillows and three blankets. She also reached into her carry-on bag and slipped something into her jacket pocket. As Lucile slipped past me and back into her seat, her leg brushed my hand and my cock literally shifted in my pants as I realized that her hosiery was gone and she was bare legged.

Even in the dim cabin lighting, the gleam in Lucile’s eyes told me that the only thing between her sweet vagina and me was that tweed skirt. Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket she withdrew her hand and slipped a packet of condoms into my hand. “Suppliers give them to us as samples and I bring them home to our nurses,” she said. Without saying so I wondered if Lucile should insist that her husband use them if he was screwing around but this wasn’t the time to discuss her cheating husband with her. Lucile and I placed a blanket each over ourselves and the third one between us in case anything slipped and we spooned together in the back of the plane, there in our own little world. Although we looked like a couple sleeping, we were like ducks in a pond, with only serene motion visible as we paddled like mad beneath the waters. My hand had found Lucile’s vagina and she quickly pulled her skirt up over her hips and shoved a pad of paper towels liberated from the loo, beneath her so that perfuse wetness wouldn’t stain her skirt or the aircraft seat. My hands found Lucile’s body as hers reached back and undid my belt and zipper. Unseen thanks to the blankets, my pants slipped to my knees and I took my hands from Lucile just long enough to open and slip on one of the condoms that Lucile had given me. I remember wondering if our fellow passengers would smell the distinctive odor of condom lubricant or our sex and I reached up and opened the three closest air vents full-on hoping that the downward air stream would carry the smells of our sex unnoticed to the aircraft filtration system.

In the close quarters of the aircraft and spooning against her, my cock was poking between Lucile’s cheeks and she reached back and guided me into her waiting vagina. Although I could only achieve about ¾ penetration of her with my cock from that angle, her heat was stunning! I’m not so sure the aircraft's twin Pratt and Whitney turboprop engines together could muster the power and the thermal energy of this stunning woman’s girl parts! “Easy,” she whispered, “Take me slowly.” With barely perceptible movements, my turgid cock moved within Lucile as my hands opened her jacket and blouse and found those gorgeous melons. To my good fortune, I found that Lucile’s bra was a front clasp. Soon those wonderfully heavy globes were in my hands with my fingers gently twisting her firm nipples as I held her from behind spooning and gently fucking her. Her breasts felt so natural there in my hands that I wondered if I was meant to be a bra in my next life. I whispered that to her and Lucile and she swatted my hand playfully and mockingly called me a pervert.

We picked up the pace a little but Lucile turned her head back, kissed me and said, “please – for me – please make this last as long as you can.” For a man’s first time inside a desirable woman, going slow is anything but intuitive; but I forced myself to savor every glacially minuscule deliberate stroke into her delicious body and how Lucile very deliberately pushed back. I savored her, like sipping expensive wine. We reveled in each others heat and I wondered if somehow we’d have something new to add to the Kama Sutra or a Tantric sex manual.

I ached to suckle Lucile's meaty nipples but there was no way to achieve that without taking my cock out of her and so my fingers did the licking. I moistened my fingers with saliva every couple of minutes so that my fingers felt like lips and also so I could pick up the subtle taste of Lucile’s perfumed skin. I don’t know how long we coupled like that but I felt the aircraft change attitude and propeller pitch and realized that the pilot had begun a slow descent. “It’s now or never Lucile,” I whispered softly into her ear.

“Now” she said, “do it” and with that her hips pushed hard against me, driving my cock a bit deeper into her. Quiet fucking is maybe the toughest thing in the world to do but in no time I was a silent piston inside Lucile’s body. I could hear my body slapping her ass but most of the sound was absorbed by blankets. Soon, I felt Lucile’s body stiffen and a soft gasp escape her lips and half a second (or was it an eternity?) later I felt that awesome chill race through my body like an explosive decompression and my cock erupted in spasms. Lucile and I shifted positions and held each other for long minutes until the captain announced that we were twenty minutes from an on-time landing. That meant we had about five minutes before the cabin lights came on and so we quickly dressed and folded the blankets. Lucile gathered the paper towels from beneath her. They were soaked and Lucile put them in an air sickness bag from the seat pocket, lest someone wonder why the bag smelled of bodily fluids. In a few minutes, we had ourselves back together and the lights came on. As the flight attendant made her final pass collecting trash, Lucile passed the air sickness bag to her and the woman looked concerned, said, “Oh I’m sorry, did you feel sick?”

“Well, “Lucile replied, “I feel MUCH better now. I suppressed a grin and the attendant told us to let her know if we needed anything. When our plane landed and we were in the terminal building, we kissed goodbye. Whether Lucile would remain in her sad marriage was anyone’s guess. I’m grateful for the brief time we shared and will never forget her. In fact every time I hear Kenny Roger’s Lucile song, I find myself longing to be in the back of that commuter flight over middle-America.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright (C) 2011 Mobius_NR

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