I saw him as soon as I stepped into the concourse. He was perfect Hollywood eye-candy; mid-twenties, tall, muscular, piercing blue eyes, craggy good looks, immaculately cut bottle-blond hair . . . the guy standing next to the stars in ten thousand medium close-ups. His costume was equally perfect; short-sleeved khaki shirt, matching shorts, aviator sunglasses hanging from a shirt pocket, shiny low-cut hiking boots, fake Rolex . . . the Great White Hunter magically transported from the Serengeti set to LAX.
"Yummy," I thought, looking him over carefully. "Empty calories, but still tasty." I wondered who he was waiting for. Wife? No. Girlfriend? Wanna-be starlet from the Midwest?
He was looking me over, too. I'm tall for a woman, 5' 10", and slender, with long legs. My breasts are small, so I rarely wear a bra. I inherited my Norwegian Mom's face, rough-hewn and striking, with green eyes. I have slightly curled shoulder-length brown hair and lightly tanned skin.
I was wearing a light gray raw silk blouse, tight enough to outline my nipples beneath the sheer fabric, with a neckline deep enough to show the tiny gold ankh suspended between my breasts, a dark gray skirt ending several inches above my knees, shiny black walking shoes, and a tiny hot pink thong.
I was buzzing from the flight and my thong was still wet. The dazzlingly cute Hispanic guy sitting beside me had invited me to join the Mile-High club. It was an early morning flight and the plane was almost empty, so I decided it was a good time to renew my membership.
He'd gotten up first and moved to the back of the plane. I waited a minute, then followed him. No one was watching, so we slipped into the restroom. The space was too small for us to stand together comfortably. After a quick kiss, I sat on the toilet with my knees between his spread legs. I unzipped his pants and took out his cock and balls while he unbuttoned and opened my blouse.
My nipples were hardening before he touched them. He was already stiff when I wrapped my hand around his swollen shaft. "Joseph, your cock is really beautiful," I whispered. "I haven't been with many uncut men." I took him in my mouth, gripping his shaft with my lips and probing the inside of his foreskin with my tongue. I was really enjoying playing with his hooded dick, but his head was swelling relentlessly, pushing out into my mouth.
He was already slick with my saliva and pre-cum. The flow increased as I tongued his slit and ran my lips up and down his shaft. My mouth was getting tired, so I switched to licking his balls and shaft.
"I'm going to cum if you do that much longer," Joseph finally said. "Do you want me to fuck you now?"
"Oh yeah," I answered. It was awkward changing places in the confined space, but Joseph was soon sitting on the toilet with his pants and shorts around his ankles and his legs together. I took a second to admire his cock again. It was so tall, dark-skinned and pretty. His foreskin had retracted and it was hard to tell he was uncut. I lifted my skirt, pushed my thong to one side, and lowered myself onto him. His cock slid smoothly into my hot dripping snatch. "Oh, that feels good," I gasped. "Give it to me as hard and fast as you like."
Joseph was glad to oblige. He worked his hips, driving into me with all the speed and power the limited leverage of our position allowed. I was doing a lot of the work, holding myself over him and moving my pelvis to match his cock thrusts. I had to support myself by pressing both hands against the restroom walls, but I was able to angle my crotch so the base of Joseph's cock was rubbing my clit.
I was really close when I felt his cock throbbing. I clamped my pussy muscles as he began spurting inside me. I grabbed his head and pulled his face between my breasts as I came . . . and came.
"That was really good," I whispered as I clung to him, finally spent. "Do you think we made too much noise."
"Do you mean all the gasping and screaming and thumping?" Joseph replied. "Don't worry about it. If anybody noticed, they'd just think the airplane was going down."
We adjusted our clothes. Joseph left first. I stayed for a moment to comb my hair and put on fresh lipstick. When I opened the door, a flight attendant was standing in the alcove beside the restroom, ogling Joseph's butt as he walked back to his seat. "He's really cute," she commented. "I'll bet he's a good ride."
When I was sixteen, the preacher's son took me up into the steeple to show me The Holy Ghost. When we came down the ladder, his dad was standing there, waiting for us. That's the last time I ever blushed. I looked her straight in the eye and answered, "Yeah!"
She was standing by the exit, saying "Goodbye" to the passengers after we landed. When I passed her, she smiled and said, "I hope you had a pleasant flight," as she unobtrusively slipped a card into my hand. I glanced at it before slipping it into my purse as I walked up the ramp to the concourse. Her name was Tawny. She'd also given me her phone number and email address. I'm not usually into women, but she was blonde and pretty. I thought it would be a lot of fun to share Ken with her.
I already had Joseph's number. I had to remind myself I was on a business trip. I'm so easily distracted and the blonde man in the terminal was such an excellent distraction. Let's see . . . someone is supposed to meet me and . . .
That's when I noticed the name written on the little piece of cardboard in star-boy's hand. "Ginger Matthews." It had started out as a fun trip and I knew it was just going to get better.
I walked up to him and watched his eyes widen and his crotch stir as I said "I'm yours" in a breathy voice.
"Hi Ginger," he said. "I'm Jim Lutenberg." He took a second to sweep his eyes over my body again, lingering on my right ankle. "Nice tattoo." I preened slightly. It is exotic. A rambling rose, a long green vine with thorns and red rose buds, climbing around my ankle. "You're younger than I expected," he continued, reaching for my suitcase and computer briefcase.
"Thanks," I answered. In my mid-twenties, it's a thrill to still get carded in bars.
My lover Ken was the reason I was in L. A. You might recognize his name. He's co-producer and principal writer of the HBO series "Lovers, Friends and Other Strangers," the R-rated one about the bisexual couple and their eccentric friends with all the nudity and simulated sex.
Ken and his old film-maker friend Bill Stone wrote a science fiction-themed soft-core sex parody, like Flesh Gordon, and got the financing to make it.
Sex-Sphere is about a mysterious force which drags unsuspecting humans into a sexual fantasy world. Of course, it's really the beginning of an alien invasion, although not exactly, and . . . Actually, I don't want to tell you too much about it. Just go see the movie.
The backgrounds for the fantasy world were going to look like stained glass. I'm a very successful stained glass artist with a lot of commissions and I was the set designer. I was in Hollywood to work out the details with the digital team.
I called Ken while we were walking to Jim's car. He sounded sleepy. He'd gone back to bed after getting up before dawn to take me to the airport. "Hi Baby. I've landed okay and I'm leaving the airport. I had a really interesting flight."
Ken picked up on that instantly. "Oh. Interesting like in sexual? Can you tell me about it?"
"That's right. I can't do that right now."
"You nasty little slut! You got fucked in the bathroom. I'm already hard thinking about it. You're going to call and tell me all the details the next time you're alone."
"Of course." My nipples hardened as I imagined Ken in bed with a huge erection. "They sent a really wonderful guy to pick me up."
"Great!" Ken said. "Are you going to get fucked twice before noon?"
"It's possible. I'm going to work on it."
"Okay. Good luck. Dawn's coming over later. I'll kiss her for you."
"Good. Please do, you know where. That should help with the hard problem you're having. I'll call you with the details later. Bye."
Jim's car was a red Corvette convertible. It was a beautiful day, so I asked him to put the top down. We talked during the drive. I discovered he was much more intelligent and well-rounded than I'd expected. I like guy candy, but smart men really turn me on. Of course, Jim was an actor and had a part in Sex-Sphere, but he was also one of the production assistants. That's why he'd been sent to pick me up.
I was a little surprised when we exited the freeway and drove into an old industrial area. "Mr. Bolens' group is remodeling some old factory buildings into luxury lofts," Jim explained. Dave Bolens was the principal Sex-Sphere backer. "The development is called 'The Iron Age.' He keeps a couple of apartments there for business guests. It's close to the production office and more comfortable than a hotel."
There wasn't much traffic. A big truck pulled up beside us while we were stopped at a light. I glanced over and noticed the driver was staring down at me. After a split second, I realized my skirt had ridden up during the drive. Way up. I thought about tugging it back down, but instantly changed my mind. I began opening and closing my legs, very slowly. The truck began pulling forward. I couldn't believe the driver was leaving. He stopped a moment later. He wanted a better angle so he could see more. I smiled and gave him an air kiss as the light changed.
"Don't accelerate too fast," I told Jim. I could tell from the bulge in his khaki shorts that he'd been enjoying the show, too. "I want to catch another red light." I was flushed with excitement. The truck driver wasn't really cute, but his naked lust and the thrill of showing off were turning me on. Not to mention the effect the whole scene was having on Jim.
I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it open as we glided to a stop at the next light. The truck driver stared as I caressed my bare breasts and rolled my already-swollen nipples between my thumbs and index fingers. I glanced over at Jim. He had an amazing pole in his tent.
A horn honked behind us. The light had changed to green and none of us had noticed. "Go slow," I warned Jim. I was really loving this game. The car that had been behind us rocketed past, crossing the center line to do it. The driver flipped us off as he pulled away, but we didn't care. Another red light was coming up.
This time, I lifted my skirt, pulled my tiny hot pink thong to one side, and jammed a finger into my dripping snatch. The truck driver's head was out the window and his mouth was open. I was sure he was unzipping his pants and taking his cock out as he watched me masturbate. "Take it out," I ordered Jim. He looked startled. "Now!" I commanded. "I want to see it."
Jim was spared by the light change, but I wasn't letting him off. As we moved slowly to the next light, I unbuckled his belt, unfastened the snap on his shorts and pulled his zipper down. "Open those briefs," I ordered as we stopped at the next light.
I thought about the view we were giving the truck driver. Me, bare-breasted, with my skirt up around my waist and a finger sliding in and out of my cunt. My left hand was wrapped around Jim's swollen cock, stroking his shaft and rubbing his head. I continued stimulating us as we crawled to the next red light.
Jim put his hand between my legs and began rubbing my clit, taking care not to block the driver's view of the two fingers I was jamming into my snatch. The driver opened his door and I gasped in astonishment at the sight of his nine-inch cock. Seconds later, he sprayed cum all over his shirt and pants. I was cumming, too.
Spent, I sank back in the seat, my head leaning back against the headrest. The driver closed his door. I blew him a kiss. "Green light," I gasped. "Punch it!" Within seconds, we'd left the truck far behind.
My hand was still on Jim's cock, but it was awkward stroking him with my arm positioned to avoid interfering with the gear shift. I really wanted to make him cum, but not with my hand. "Find us an alley," I commanded. Jim drove two more blocks, then made a sudden left turn. We glided to a stop next to a big Dumpster in a cul-de-sac.
Jim was out and around the car before I'd finished climbing out of the passenger seat. After we'd kissed hungrily for a few seconds, he picked me up and laid me on my back on the trunk. "I'm ready," I whispered as he positioned himself between my legs. "Do it now." His cock-head was already at the entrance to my snatch, slowly opening me.
I was kneading my breasts and pinching and twisting my elongated nipples as Jim slid his cock smoothly into my cunt. He began fucking me with long slow strokes. "You can fuck me a lot harder," I said. "I like it sort of rough."
"Don't worry Babe," Jim answered. "You're going to get it as hard and rough as you want. But if I start fast I'm going to pop right away and we don't want that." He gradually began speeding up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and adjusted my pelvis so he was penetrating me as deeply as possible. I came as he began thrusting roughly into me. He looked startled but didn't slow down. I came several more times as he hammered me over and over and had my most spectacular orgasm when I felt him spurting inside me.
Finally spent, Jim collapsed on top of me. We kissed fiercely. There was a slight noise from a few yards away. Startled, Jim jumped up. A pimply-faced teenage boy was staring open-mouthed at us from an open door. His pants were unzipped and his hand was wrapped around his stiff cock. When Jim took a step toward him, he jumped back into the building and slammed the door.
"I think we should go," Jim said as he lifted me to my feet. He tucked his cock and balls back into his briefs and fastened his khaki shorts as I buttoned my blouse and adjusted my skirt.
"You're right," I agreed, "although I think he's too busy jacking off to tell anyone." As we were pulling out of the alley, I said, "I was really scared doing that. How about you?"
"Yeah, I was scared," Jim admitted, "but really turned on, too."
Copyright © 2004 by Ken James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, organizations, or events is entirely coincidental.
Many thanks to Wayde for his constant love and support.
Copyright © 2017 by Ken James