Written by MG
04 May 2017
Mindfuck at 39 000 feet
- 5 Comments
- 1866 Views
3 minute read
We are on board an overnight flight from Paris to Johannesburg. We exchange pleasantries and engage in further conversation. She is attractive, in her early 40s, a South African, living in France and on her way back to visit her Mum. She is relaxed, smiles a lot and has a playful manner. The more we talk, the more engaged she becomes and at times we touch each other as conversational gestures. After our obligatory chicken or beef and some wine, she organises 4 tots of Cognac and some ice from the steward. We recline our seats and make a toast to good company and a pleasant flight.
We are getting along really well and she uses suggestive humour on a few occasions leading me to test the situation by putting my hand on her leg. I am not even sure why I do this. I don’t want anything from her but it just seems a natural extension of our social connection. She seems comfortable and we finish our drinks. By this time most of our fellow travellers have settled down for the night in an attempt at some sleep. Out of the blue she says “Nou wat dink jy maak jy? Ons is altwee getroud en het so pas van ons partners en kinders gepraat”. I remove my hand and tell her that she seemed perfectly open to and comfortable with it and I apologise for any assumption made or offense given.
In the silence that follows I decide to enlighten her more about me. I type the following on my phone and hand it to her. “So what do you think about swinging, polyamory and open marriages?”. She reads it at least 3 or 4 times before handing my phone back to me with a look of intrigue. I put my phone back in the seat pouch and as I settle back I notice that she is getting increasingly fidgety. “It’s a genuine question”, I tell her and leave the conversation there. I don’t look at her but can see her feet moving, her knees rubbing gently together and her hips rocking side to side in her seat. I keep my silence but notice the horniness swell up inside her as her movements become more and more pronounced. I glance at her. Her cheeks are flushed and she smiles at me. I lean in towards her and whisper. “Why don’t you just go and take care of that”, I say, suggesting she go to the loo and masturbate. Right then and there, she slips her hand into her stretch demin pants and starts rubbing herself. I watch, intrigued, as she brings herself to an obvious, yet silent, climax. I smile like a Cheshire cat. I don’t need more. I find inner satisfaction in moments like that. She pulls the blanket over herself and reaches to touch my arm, gently caressing it with her finger tips eventually falling asleep against my shoulder. I can’t help but think it’s an unusually intimate moment.
Morning dawns and we have a stodgy, tasteless excuse of an omelette. Talk turns to the lifestyle and experiences. This is all a bit of revelation to someone who tells me, has only had one other partner aside her husband. At some point she takes my hand and gestures it up between her legs. The conversation is clearly getting her all worked up again.
I have no intention of being arrested for indecent behaviour so teasingly whisper to her, “No, I’d much rather taste you”, knowing full well the impossibility of that, and the fact that we will probably never see one another again. To my absolute surprise she once again puts her hand down inside her pants, rubs herself very briefly, pulls her hand out and puts her fingers in my mouth. “There you go”, she says. We both smile at each other and burst into laughter. We both know we have but come to the end of a very rare and memorable encounter.