Strangers on a Plane

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The first time I saw him was from across the proverbial crowded room.

The room was a gate actually, in the international terminal at JFK. I was returning to Paris on the red-eye after some meetings at a publishing company I was free-lancing for. He strode through the crowd with a quiet confidence carrying a leather satchel. Tall and striking, he had dark, curly hair swept back like he’d just been trekking on some Nepalese moutaintop. I noticed he was boarding with the first class passengers. So was I.

I next noticed him as I was settling into my seat in the forward cabin of the packed 747. He wore a tailored sport coat with faded jeans suggesting a man who valued comfort as much as quality. I watched him scan the cabin looking at the seat numbers, then looked away quickly so he wouldn’t catch me staring at him. When I next looked up, he was talking to the flight attendant and gesturing in my direction.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to move my seat over there,” he was saying charmingly, his dark brown eyes as sexy as any I’d seen in a while.

The next thing I knew he was walking towards me.

“Pardon me. Mind if I join you?” he asked.

His voice was deep yet playful. He had a warm, mischievous look in his eyes.

“Non, bien sur. Of course, not. Be my guest.” I was flustered but trying my best not to show it.

“Merci, mademoiselle. Tu es tres gentille.”

He flashed that movie star smile again, the one he used on the flight attendant. She’d granted his request for a new seat with a giddiness you don’t often see among the Air France crew. He was that good looking.

As he began to put his leather bag in the overhead bin, I took in the contours of his body-his flat stomach, his tight ass. Pas mal, I thought to myself. Not bad at all. I thought about giving him a hard time for using the familiar “tu” with me but he did it with such a charming insouciance, I didn’t really mind. He obviously wasn’t a native French speaker. English or American, I guessed.

“Can I help stow your bag?” he asked, kindly.

I had a large shoulder bag stuffed with manuscripts by my feet. It had been too heavy for me to lift over my head. Also, I had vaguely planned to do some reading if the flight was boring and I couldn’t sleep. Right now, that need felt a lot less urgent.

“Why, yes. Thank you.”

I went to help him lift it – it must have weighed 20 kilos – but he handled it like it was nothing. He placed it in the overhead carefully and I found myself imagining his strong arms and rippled chest under that cotton shirt. I glanced at his crotch, it was right next to my face after all, and was pleased to see a rather nice sized bulge. No, I wouldn’t be doing much reading on THIS fight.

The seats in first class were clustered in groups of two, with considerable distance between each cluster. Each was its own sel-contained pod, with room to recline the seat so it lay completely flat, for sleeping. It made for an intimate setting. Shortly after takeoff, he spoke to me again.

“Going home or away?” he asked, his voice light and friendly.

His head was laying on his pillow, facing me.

“Going home,” I answered. “Business trip. And you?”

“Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure.”

He said it with a roguish tone that made my heart skip a beat. I crossed my leg giving him a view of my thigh.

“Lucky you,” I smiled back and for a few seconds we regarded each other contemplating the idea of pure unadulturated pleasure.

“What kind of work do you do?” he asked.

I explained I was a free lance book editor, novels mainly, a little non-fiction. I learned he was a photographer and a journalist from Colorado, and had recently done spreads for National Geographic and Outside. His name was Derek. I told him to call me Nicole.

We talked and talked, first over champagne then over dinner. I learned he had moved to Boulder from Manhattan, was divorced, and had no children. I told him I was single and lived in a loft in the 9th. As sometimes happens with total strangers, I found myself sharing little intimacies with him that I almost never share. About my job, my parents divorce, my love life. (I, too, was recently single after a long relationship.) He had a way of listening, with those big, brown eyes, that seemed to say “you’re the only person in the world.”

All the while, the flight attendant kept our wine glasses full. First it was champagne, then red wine with dinner, then we just HAD to try the Barolo. (He was right, it was heavenly.) By the time they cleared the dinner service, I was feeling a little tipsy.

When they turned down the cabin lights, he offered to get me a blanket. I reclined my seat fully and he laid it over me, making sure I was comfortable. He did the same for himself and turned on the gooseneck reading light so it cast a soft glow between our beds.

“Are you tired?” he asked. “Would you like to sleep?”

“Well, I AM tired,” I admitted, “but I’m enjoying our conversation so much, I don’t feel canlı bahis like sleeping.”

“So am I,” he smiled. “I could listen to you all night. And it’s not just your charming accent.”

We were laying facing each other, our faces bathed in the soft light of the reading lamp. It felt like candlelight.

“What shall we talk about?” I asked.

“Tell me more what it was like growing up in Paris.”

He seemed to find me and my life endlessly fascinating. As I said, he was a great listener.

I told him about my neighborhood, the schools I went to, the summers my family and I spent at the beach. I told him about my parents, my brother Pierre, my mother’s career as a fashion model, my Dad’s alcoholism. Laying under my blanket, facing him, I seemed to forget where I was. We might as well been in my bed, face to face, telling each other our secrets.

“So, as a girl, did you and your family go to the beach a lot?” he asked.

“Every summer. In Vieux St. Giron. Do you know it?”

“It’s near Biarritz, isn’t it?”

“Oui. My family had a vacation home there. I loved it there.”

“I can tell,” he smiled. “Your face lights up when you talk about it. What did you love about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything. The ocean. How free and easy it was.”

I paused, wondering how much to tell him.

“The beach there is fantastic,” I continued. “C’est une plage naturiste. You call it, a nude beach, in English.”

“Really?” he answered, arching one eyebrow. “Did you go au naturel?”

“Yes, of course. That is the custom. And my family was very liberated when it came to nudity. And sexuality. “

He nodded and studied my face.

“Were you naked around each other a lot?” he asked.

“Tous le temps,” I replied. “All the time. My brother and I modeled a lot, and of course my mother too. Models tend to be comfortable in our own bodies.”

“I thought you might be a model,” he chuckled. “You’re exquisitely beautiful.”

“Merci. That was years ago. Now, my mother, SHE was the beautiful one. At the time, she had more Elle covers than anyone.”

“What was that like for you?”

I gave him a long look. How much should I tell him?

“Well, she liked attention, let me put it that way. My brother and I called her ‘la grande exhibitionniste.’ Tu comprends?”

“Oui, d’accord,” he nodded. “Was that hard for you?”

“C’etait normale,” I shrugged. “It was normal for me. It was all I knew.”

He nodded. There was a pregnant pause. I didn’t know whether to leave it there or to plunge ahead. I decided to plunge.

“You see, my mother was very proud of her beauty and yet, at the same time, she was insecure. She was a paradox, you see. She needed men to fill the void inside her.”

“Were you exposed to a lot as a girl?” he asked.

I laughed sardonically. “I guess you could say that.”

“Nudity?” he asked softly.

“That was the least of it,” I replied.


There was a long pause. Finally, he spoke.

“Listen, if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t need to talk about this. But if you want to, you can trust me.”

Deep inside, part of me wanted to tell him. Everything. I don’t know if it was the wine, or my fatigue, or the way I was drawn to him, but I was tempted to tell him things I had never told anyone.

“I remember I was a teenager. We were at our house in Vieux St. Giron. It was beautiful, very private, right on the beach. My mother and father both were totally nude everyday as were my brother and me. I was on the cusp of womanhood and my body was maturing faster than my mind, if you understand my meaning. I could see the effect I had on men. I had long legs and a firm ass. My breasts had developed by then; men would turn and stare at them. I felt sexy all the time.”

“What was it like seeing your father naked?”

“Confusing,” I replied. “I was fascinated but also repelled. I remember he had a big stomach.”

“And your brother?” he asked.

“My brother did not have a big stomach. Pas du tout. Pierre had the most beautiful body, and a face, mon Dieu. Il etait tres beau. My brother was…how would you say in English…hot.”

“Was he younger or older than you?” he asked.

“Older. Just one year. We were like twins. We came of age at the same time.”

“Including sex?” he asked, quietly.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I hadn’t talked about this with anyone, ever.

Derek reached over and placed his hand on mine.

“Nicole, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” he whispered.

I took his hand between my two hands and pulled it close.

“No, I want to talk about this. With you.”

I turned to face him, holding his hand pressed against my breast.

“I remember one afternoon I was off by myself, laying in the dunes, on my back, my eyes closed. I was nude, of course. We were always nude. The sun felt so wonderful, so warm, caressing me, and I was just … brushing my fingertips over my bahis siteleri skin absent-mindedly. I was touching my breasts, playing with my nipples, feeling the inside of my thighs, how silky smooth they were. I was probably imagining a boy touching me. I let my fingers find my sex. I was so wet inside. I started to rub myself, laying there in sand, in the warm sunshine, biting my lip, my eyes squeezed shut. I fingered myself until my body shook and I cried out loud. It was glorious. Finally, I opened my eyes, still breathing hard. My brother was standing there watching me, his hand gripping his cock.”

Suddenly, I became very aware I had put Derek’s hand squarely on my breast. I never wear a bra when I fly – it’s too constricting. I felt my nipples start to harden as I continued my story.

“My brother and I just stared at each other, without uttering a word. After the surprise of seeing him, I realized I liked the fact that he was watching me, it made me feel sexy. So, instead of stopping, I spread my legs so he could see how wet I was. I put finger in my mouth and reached down with the other hand and spread my lips. Slowly, I lowered my finger to my dripping wet sex and started to finger myself. Slowly. Staring at his cock the whole time.”

“Was he hard?” he asked. “Your brother, was his cock hard?”

My nipples were sticking out now, pressing through the fabric of my blouse. His hand was cupping my breast.

“Yes, his cock was standing straight up. It was the first time I had ever seen a hard on. I was mesmerized. He started stroking himself. Slowly, the same rhythm as my finger was fucking my pussy. And he was growing bigger and bigger, while he watched me. The more I touched myself, the bigger he became. He was looking at ME, his little sister, and getting thick and long. It made me so hot that I had this effect on him.”

Derek was rolling my nipple with his finger. My head was starting to spin.

“I got so turned on I started to touch myself with both hands, spreading my lips and rubbing my clit. I could tell he was getting hot cause the head of his cock was swollen like a ripe fruit. He moved closer, dropping to his knees between my legs. He was staring at my pussy and was pumping his cock. I couldn’t believe how big he was. It was like a club. I reached up with one hand to play with my nipples which were sticking out now. I gave them a squeeze, which gets me so hot.”

Derek took my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it.

“Mmmmmm, just like that. My heart was pounding. I was rubbing my clit and squeezing my nipple and I was about to cum. I could see precum oozing out of my brother’s cock. I knew he was about to cum too. Then, my brother groaned, ‘Let me put it in you’ and climbed on top of me.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the intensity of that moment, and relishing the feeling of this man’s strong hand caressing my breast. After a moment, I heard Derek’s voice.

“Did you let him fuck you?” he asked, simply.

I opened my eyes and turned to face him.

“No. I pushed him away. I wasn’t ready for that. Maybe I was afraid of getting pregnant, I don’t know.”

“What happened then?” he asked as he started to slowly unbutton my blouse.

“I told him he could rub it on my breasts. So he did. He took the head of his cock and gently rubbed it on my nipples. It felt incredible. His skin was so soft. I pushed my breasts together and enveloped him. His naked body was on top of me and he was thrusting his cock between my breasts. Oh my god, the head was practically at my chin he was so big. It was tres erotique.”

I lay on my back and felt Derek’s warm hand against the velvety skin of my breasts. He brushed his fingers over both nipples which were now fully erect with arousal. To feel his skin on mine took my breath away.

“What happened next?” he asked, his voice low and growly. “Did he cum on your breasts? On your face?”

“No,” I gasped. “I thought he would, but he didn’t. The head was so swollen. It looked like it would pop. After fucking my breasts for a while, he moved up to my mouth, gliding it over my lips. I was rubbing my clit furiously. It was so hot I could barely stand it. It felt so good – his hard cock against my warm, wet lips.”

As if on cue, Derek’s hand moved slowly over my neck, to my cheek, and finally to my lips. I felt I was directing his actions with my words.

“He stroked his cock over my lips, my full, fleshy lips. My instinct took over and I began to kiss the soft underside of his cock. He moaned with pleasure and I loved that. I loved the idea of it. So, I started to kiss him passionately, using my tongue, I guess what you’d call ‘french kissing’, but it’s just kissing to us. Kissing and making love are the same to us. Baiser. I was making love to his cock. With my mouth.”

Derek’s thumb moved slowly over my lower lip. It hovered there, as if contemplating whether or not to enter.

“Did you take him into your mouth?” he whispered.

“I started by kissing the tip. bahis şirketleri With my full soft lips. I could taste the salty precum and it made me hungry for more. I parted my lips and wrapped them around the head. Like this.”

With that, I took the tip of his thumb into my mouth and gently began to suck it, stopping only to continue my story.

“I began to suck him, letting my tongue explore every crevice of his gorgeous cock. I let it slide over the head and then tickle the tender underside. I could make him moan with a flick of my tongue. It was exciting to feel so powerful. I used my hands, both of them, to stroke him the way I’d seen him stroking himself. His whole body started to writhe with pleasure. He moaned he was going to cum, and begged me to swallow him. I took him deep into my throat and he exploded. I could feel him spraying against the back of my throat. I remember he kept cumming and cumming. I couldn’t believe how much he came, he filled my mouth. But I swallowed it. Most of it anyway. He told me it was the best orgasm he’d ever had, and that made me very, very happy.”

I kissed Derek’s thumb and gave him a wink. He looked a bit shellshocked.

“Wow!” he finally said. “That was… that was amazing.”

“It WAS amazing,” I replied. “I think about it all the time, but I’ve never spoken of it.”

He looked at me in silence. “I’m honored,” he said, simply.

I glanced around the darkened cabin. Most of the passengers were asleep; a few were watching their video screens. Even the flight attendants had settled down, sitting in their jumpseats reading magazines or chatting.

“It would be nice if we had more privacy,” I said, half to myself.

Without a word, Derek looked about the area, then stood and fetched another blanket from the overhead bin. He shook it open and laid it crossways, between our seats-turned-beds. He tucked one edge into the pod edge so it draped as a kind of blind. It look casually placed, inconspicuous even, yet it ingeniously blocked any prying eyes.

“Aren’t you the clever one,” I smiled. “Tres bien fait.”

I lifted my hips and slid my skirt over my legs and off, and laid them on the side console. I was left wearing only panties and the silk blouse that Derek had conveniently unbuttoned. Derek, meanwhile, pulled his shirt over his head in motion, revealing a taut, muscled form that made my heart thump. Then he unfastened his belt and stripped off his jeans, leaving only his boxers and me licking my lips.

I pulled my blanket over me and eyed his bed, signaling him to do the same. From where we lay we could see anyone around us, and no one could see us.

“I’d love to hear more of your story,” he said, leaning on one arm, his strong shoulders and chest on full display. I propped myself up against my pillow, letting my blouse fall open, the edges of the silky fabric barely covering my nipples. I could feel his eyes on me and it was intoxicating.

“Did you and your brother end up doing it?” he asked. His voice dripped with desire. “Did you guys finally fuck?”

“Not then. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready. Later, when we returned to Paris he pursued me constantly. He would tell me how great it was, what I had done to him in the dunes, that no other girl could bring him such pleasure. He would write me letters, passionate letters filled with all the things he wanted to do with me.”

“Did you reciprocate?” Derek asked.

I stared into space, remembering. My fingers tracing the edge of my blouse.

“I was confused… I was taught it was a sin, between brothers and sisters. A mortal sin… I wanted him… So badly… I thought about him… And his body… Doing things to me… Nasty things… Wonderfully nasty things… Things that would feel so good… We would both get so hot… So fucking hot …Like that day in the dunes…

I suddenly snapped out of my reverie. My fingers had found my nipples and were lightly rubbing them. Derek was watching intently, his stiffened cock pressing against the fabric of his shorts.

“But I didn’t let him. I said no. My parents were fighting all during this time. It was very unpleasant. After a while, Papa moved out and it was only my brother, my mother and me. Then my mother went a little wild and started having her parties.”

“What kind of parties?” Derek asked.

“She would have friends over-artists, actors, models. It was like a salon for beautiful people. They’d lounge in the living room, playing music and drinking. My brother and I would watch from the staircase and bet which one would get naked first. It was our little game.”

“When the parties ended, and my mother thought we were asleep, she’d go to her bedroom with one of her ‘friends’. Sometime I’d run into them in the apartment the next morning. Quelle horreur!”

“One night, my brother came into my bedroom late at night. He made a sign to keep quiet and led me outside onto the balcony. We tiptoed past the living room towards my mother’s bedroom. Through a crack in the curtains, we could see our mother with one of her friends. It was dark on the balcony so we knew they couldn’t see us. Her bed was just a few feet from the window and we could see everything. It was quite the education let me tell you.”

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