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A young girl asked her mother “Mommy, do you get into heaven feet first?”

“I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“Because the maid’s upstairs with her feet in the air, shouting `God, I’m
coming, God, I’m coming,’ but dad’s on top and won’t let her go.”

–

Section One – The Early Years
Chapter I – Baby Bimbo

Everyone in Larchmont knew that Chance was a tramp the day she came home
from the the hospital. At that point in her life it wasn’t the rubber pants
that gave her away, or even the fact that when someone picked her up for
burping, she blew in his ear. Let me put it this way: She did things with her
pacifier that most women still haven’t done with their husbands. Is that a
tramp, or what?
It was almost unthinkable that we would ever become friends, especially
to my mother. She considered anyone who wore open-toed shoes an exhibitionist.
Chance and I were SO unalike. I mean, when I had diaper rash, she had
herpes. I’d fuss about going to bed; she’d hit the mattress the minute
someone unzipped her bunting. I slept with stuffed animals; she slept with
real ones. You get the picture.
Chance stayed different from the rest of us. She never went through a NO
phase (her first words were “Sure, sailor!”), never sucked her thumb if she
could suck someone else’s, and when she waved “bye-bye,” it was with her
panties.
Even before she was toilet-trained, that tramp’s name was on bathroom
walls!

Chapter II – Toddler Tramp

Before we even entered kindergarten, Chance was raising eyebrows as often
as her skirt. Think I’m exaggerating?? Well, how many four-year-olds do
you know who’ve had their birthday parties raided by the police? I’m serious!
She jumped out of her own birthday cake!
My mother never let me go to any of Chance’s parties after I told her
about the one where we played Simon Says with a whip. (Simon says, “DO THIS!
DO THAT!”) She’d probably never have let me see Chance again if I’d told where
that preschooler poptart had hidden the marshmallows for the treasure hunt!
Like men in later years, Chance’s toys said a lot about her; all of it
unprintable. Her dollhouse had a red light on it! Her coloring books had dirty
pictures! She was the only kid in the neighborhood who had an anatomically
correct G.I. Joe doll – and it was battery operated!!
She also had an advanced Erector set. What she did with that is better
left unmentioned.

–

It was hot and steamy as we arrived at the airport in Bris-
bane for the long journey home to Boston. This was the end of a
month-long campervan vacation in Australia, and I, for one, was
overjoyed to be heading back to some normalcy. For an entire
month my wife Anne (I call her “the queen”) had avoided sex in
the campervan, or anywhere else for that matter, since “the
children are nearby.” – The irony of her way of thinking will be
evident shortly.
Actually, she is not very interested in sex anytime, since
she was taught by her mother that sex was “dirty.” The only time
she ever saw her parents making love, they were fully clothed
(hike up the skirt, dear – I’ll just quickly unzip.) Sometimes I
wonder how we ever ended up with three children; one is grown and
on her own, the two boys (Ralph, 17 and Trevor, 14) were with us
on holiday. Because I travel regularly, I have opportunity for
other sexual outlets during the year, but four plus weeks within
close quarters with a demanding uptight woman does not give you
much opportunity to develop alternatives.
I had some first class upgrade coupons, but at check-in time
was told there was only one seat available. Anne immediately
volunteered because of her “potential for a bad back,” and was
seated in 3A. The boys and I were given 21K/L and 22L. This was
aisle and window seating in the 2-5-2 configuration, and the last
two rows in the second section. I took the single seat, and let
Ralph and Trevor sit together for the first ten-hour segment of
the flight.
An attractive woman dressed in a loose sweater and very tight
blue jeans took the seat next to me. I could see that Ralph was
uncomfortable and maybe even a little jealous, since he kept
turning around to talk to me, but she was too old (29) to be
interested in him. She introduced herself as Christine, “You can
call me Chrissy.” She was about five foot eight, light brown
(almost blond) long hair, a nice ass – firm and high, breasts
with an impact even through her shapeless sweater, and obviously
in good physical condition.
Chrissy was headed for Miami to pick up her belongings from a
recent divorce; she and her husband had been working together on
private yachts for eight years, and he had developed a cocaine
habit. When he would not seek help to end his drug addiction,
and more immediately after a close call with customs in Australia
last year, she decided then and there to split from him, filed
for divorce, stayed in Brisbane, and had just been notified the
divorce was final. In the meantime, she had met another guy she
wanted to stay with, and was going to Miami to settle up the
property and return to her new lover. This I discovered during
dinner conversation and over a few shared glasses of wine.
Looking into my eyes, she confided she was “now free and ready
for some excitement.”
The movie started, the flight attendants went around the
cabin to lower all the shades, and Chrissy said, “I’d rather
talk, if it’s OK with you; this movie is terrible.” I had also
seen the movie and agreed. We spent the next two hours getting
to know each other better. Chrissy at one point said, “You have
terrific eyes, I get really turned on by eyes.” We talked about
the kids, and when she asked if I was married and learned about
Anne in the front cabin, she thought it displayed selfish behav-
ior and then never mentioned my marital status again.
By now, the boys had fallen asleep, and just before the end
of the movie, Chrissy excused herself for a few minutes, reached
into the overhead bin for her carry-on (stretched long enough to
get my mind focused on her hips and legs in those wonderful tight
jeans,) and headed to the lavatory in the back. When she re-
turned, she was wearing loose-fitting sweatpants, and when she
asked if I minded if she lifted the arm dividing the seats, I
replied “Of course not!” By now I had an idea of what she had in
mind, because she had confided during the movie that one of her
greatest turn-ons was the risk of discovery while having sex.
“My husband was not a great lover, but in the close confines of
the boat it was always exciting to fuck without anyone nearby
knowing about it; I had more orgasms from fucking near other
people than from the sex act itself.” As she shared this with
me, she was already visibly breathing more quickly.
Chrissy and I arranged the blankets over both of us, now no
longer separated, and curled up like spoons in the otherwise
crowded seats. I started to give her a back rub, slowly working
over her muscles by now cramped from the first five hours of the
flight. She purred quietly, and after a while squirmed her
shapely ass on the seat, pushing it back into my
growing erection. With both hands I reached around under her
loose sweater, and fondled her globes, her nipples growing firmer
under my gentle stroking.
Chrissy reached back and with one hand released my belt, then
unbuckled and unbuttoned my pants. I whispered in her ear, “How
do you do that? I can’t even do that with one hand, and they’re
my pants.”
She laughed, and said, “Years of practice; don’t worry, it
gets better.” My hard-on sprang out of my tight bikini briefs as
she pulled the waistband forward, and she whispered, “I’m glad
you’re not wearing boxer shorts, I can’t stand them.”
Chrissy began to stroke my cock, now slightly oozing with its
own lubrication. She used the pre-come to help rotate her fin-
gers gently around the head, stroking it with ever firmer pres-
sure. I withdrew my hands from under her sweater to push my
pants down further, allowing me to slip the briefs down below my
swollen balls, which she now explored with her questing hand.
Lubricating her fingers even more with her saliva, she alternate-
ly rubbed my balls and massaged the head of my dick.
My hands were now free, and I hungrily reached forward for
her erect nipples, shortly afterward sliding my right hand down
her belly and slipping it under the waistband of her sweatpants.
She was wearing no panties underneath, and the inside of the
cotton sweats was already wet with her juices. As I stroked her
mound, her lubrication welcomed my fingers into her warm wet
cunt. Rubbing the juices on my fingers, I began to circle her
clitoris and then used my fingers to stroke in and out of her
pussy while my thumb pushed against her swollen clit. She was
breathing harder now, and could not stop moving her ass around on
the seat, first bucking her soaking cunt against my right hand,
then pushing her ass back against my cock through the sweatpants.
Just then, the stewardess came down the aisle, paused notice-
ably as she came up to our row, glared at me (me? why me? there
are two of us here, you know!), almost said something, then
apparently decided that since we were bothering nobody else, she
would keep moving. Thank God! While we were both close to fully
clothed at that time, there was little chance she could do any-
thing legally disastrous, but who needs the embarrassment, or the
hassle from the kids for that matter.
As the stewardess left, Chrissy whispered. “She knows exact-
ly what we are doing, and she’s jealous! Now I want to have your
prick inside me. I’ll keep quiet, but I need you to fuck me
now.” With this, she lifted her ass off the seat and slid her
sweats down below her knees, then separated her legs slightly and
moved back so I could slide into her dripping pussy from behind.
I moved slowly in and out as she purred and pushed back onto my
cock quietly so we would not wake our neighbors.
At the same time, I reached back around to stroke her clito-
ris easily but steadily. The appearance of the stewardess had
startled me, and most of the urgency for release that had built
up from her stroking my hard-on had subsided, so it was a nice,
long, easy fuck, punctuated by her spasming in orgasm three times
before my cock pressure built up to the point of no return. I
came with the most excruciating pleasure I had felt in my life
(actually for the last month, but you know how easy it is to lose
perspective at the moment.) I felt like I unleashed at least a
pint of come into her already dripping cunt. I sighed, and
whispered’ “Chrissy, it must have been heaven that sent you to
this seat. You don’t know how much I needed that.”
She then turned around in the seat to sit normally, and
kissed me for the first time. “I needed it just as much as you
did; you’re a terrific fuck, but on top of that it’s the danger
that makes me come so much. Thanks for being here, I dreamed
that I’d be fucked silly on this trip. As we kissed, I told her
about my favorite turn-on. “What I like best is eating pussy,
but there is no room here for that. Would you like to go to the
back of the plane with me?”
“What do you mean? In the lavatory?” she asked.
“Yes. If we are reasonably cautious we can get in there
without causing an uproar,” I replied.
“I’ve never done that before,” Chrissy explained.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, and moved to
pull up my pants and buckle my belt. She thought about it for a
minute, and then said, “why not, let’s try it!” She drew up the
sweatpants and tied the drawstring (I hadn’t noticed there was
one before – must not have been tied.) Then she got up and
headed for the back of the plane, with me following directly
behind.
She entered the first lavatory, which was vacant (good thing
the flight was long, and everybody was still asleep.) I slipped
right in behind her before the flight attendants noticed we were
even there. As I closed the door, she turned and we started to
kiss passionately. She broke for a quick query, “how do you do
anything in this little space?” As I untied the drawstring on
her sweatpants, I said, “Just lift up and sit on the sink, and
let me taste your cunt.”
Chrissy lifted, spread her legs, and I could see her cunt
lips were still swollen from her last orgasm. I gently tongued
her outer lips, occasionally swiveling my head to nip the insides
of her thighs, but always returning to circle her clit, and as it
swelled up, suck on it gently. There was no end to the wetness;
her own lubrication, supplemented by the enormous load of come I
had left in her pussy, dripped down both sides of my chin onto
the stainless steel sink surface and trailed down her thighs.
After tonguing her into a few more orgasms, I realized how
hard I was getting again, and finally stood up, sliding her ass
slightly off the surface, and drove my cock into her again while
we exchanged extremely wet but tasty kisses, flavored by both of
our juices. Such a short time after the last fuck, and she was
sooo wet; this time it lasted at least twenty minutes, both of us
sighing and savoring the overwhelming sensations coursing through
our bodies. Finally, after a slow buildup that I never wanted to
end, I came again, not as much this time, but she sensed it and
started bucking hard just at the same moment. The pleasure was
so intense it was almost painful.
The light came on to return to the cabin, and after a few
minutes we were able to adjust ourselves to some degree of
presentability to return to our seats. Just as we opened the
door, the same stewardess was looking right into my eyes. She
said angrily, “Please return to your seats and stay there. We
have some turbulence and the captain has turned on the seat
belt sign.” I couldn’t help but think that maybe we were the
cause of the turbulence, but then that’s just my imagination
running away with me again.
As we settled in to the seats, Chrissy pushed the seat divid-
er down, saying, “I think everyone is waking up, let’s not embar-
rass your boys.” The breakfast service was beginning, the cabin
lights were turned on, and we were again two strangers who hap-
pened to be sitting next to each other on the plane. The secret
of our mile-high lovemaking was secure.
We exchanged addresses, but with her in Brisbane and me in
Boston it’s not likely we’ll ever meet again. Both of us prom-
ised to use caution in contacting each other should the opportu-
nity arise, so our current SO would not be disturbed, but also
promised to get together if possible again.
I said goodbye to Chrissy at the seat, and went forward with
the unsuspecting boys to deplane.
As we got to the end of the ramp in the terminal, I asked
Anne, “How was your flight?”
“Great,” she replied, “one of the most relaxing ever.”
“Me too!”

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