NIGHT FLIGHT
by LiloWhatever happened to the WG story about the big college girl and the FA on the backseat of the overnight flight back to the West Coast after the Christmas break? The poor kid kept getting herself wedged in seats, in doors and on the can and naturally they ended up banging away like rabbits after all the fumbling around they'd done in her fat.
It was one of my favourites because it starts off just like a real experience of mine, though I didn't get as far in as that guy. Because the story appears deleted from the list, I offer you here what happened on my real overnight night flight.
It was way back in the late sixties, on a long haul from Mauritius, way out in the Indian Ocean to Europe, departing mid afternoon local time, due into Rome about 8 am. I was already established in the last seat against the toilet cubicle when the girl I'd already noted back in the departure lounge: short, bouncy, round, no more than four foot, seven inches tall, weighing I'd say, 220 pounds, arrived struggling down the aisle with an array of coats, handbags, baskets, and polythene bags. I realised she was targeting the window seat next to me. Oh boy!
But there was no way she was going to reach the overhead racks. So I enjoyed energetically stowing all her gear up in the back racks while she squeezed herself across under me into the window seat; there were just a pair of seats because of the way that old first generation jet tapered. Then I sat down alongside her, rather squashed against her because she was so ruffled.
She was wearing an outfit obviously run up especially for the journey. It was three piece: a jacket over a skirt and top all in the same goldeny brown large-scale floral cotton print. She was perspiring; the cabin air conditioning had not yet started and the effort of fighting her way down the aisle had been great. She started wrestling to take the jacket off, and I had to help when her soft damp upper arms got completely stuck. The top was square cut low, like an old fashioned schoolgirl's gymslip. Revealed now to me in profile, I saw the convex roll of an ample double chin, soft rounded shoulders running off into a deep cleavage and lusciously plump upper arms.
“Are you OK?” I asked nerdishly, because she so obviously wasn't.
“It is my first time in an airplane and I'm rather nervous.”
I looked across again at her and at close quarters was surprised that she was really very young. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, black hair gathered loosely back in a single long braid, beautiful brown eyes scared wide open in a deliciously soft brown face.
“Don't worry, I'll look after you,” I heard myself say like an oily old lecher, “first you have to fasten your seat belt.”
“How?”
“I think you're sitting on it.”
She reached about unsuccessfully; it was too a tight fit between her and the seat arm.
“Look, the seat arm goes up like this.”
Her plump arms being a bit short and unwieldy; she was still ineffective in her probing.
“Can you help me find it?”
The lecher needed no second prompting; my hand pushed under her; she scarcely lifted her haunch as I probed - it was a wondrously soft exploration.
Eventually I pulled the end out and handed it to her.
“There's another bit the other side.”
“Oh, please can you do it too?”
I had to stand and lean over her to push down around down her hip to get the other half, rather conscious that I was finding the maneuver embarrassingly arousing, only inches away from her face.
I drew the two parts together across the soft rolls of her midriff and we had to adjust it out and get her to breath in before I could get it to click.
“You can let it loose once we are well up in the air,”
She didn't look any happier at this.
“Look you've done everything now, just sit back. Relax!”
“Oh I am so worried, I am sure I can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am going off to meet my husband.”
“Oh!”
“You look surprised - you don't think I look old enough?”
I had been trapped; it had not been what I expected! My face must have registered too much; I stammered some response.
“I am eighteen,” she said, “we got married on my birthday six months ago,” and added proudly: “my husband is an engineer.”
“Are you going to London?”
“No, to Rome.”
“So am I. Are you going to stay there?” I asked.
“No, he has a job in Canada. Rome will be like a honeymoon for us.”
“It is a very romantic place you will love it.”
“Do you think Rome is where the word 'romantic' comes from?” she asked.
By now we were into the safety checks, and I felt her body stiffen as the lifejackets were demonstrated.
At the kick in the back as the engines opened up for take off, she found my hand. I tried to fold my hand comfortingly round hers. She gripped my hand tight as we roared down the runway to flying speed. I noticed her soft body fat bouncing as the wheels bumped across the runway's imperfections. Once we were unstuck and looking down on the sharply receding coconut palms, she let go of me and began peering out like an animated child.
When the seat belts (and in those days the smoking) signs pinged off, I pointed out that she could undo her seat belt now if she wanted to feel more comfortable. She squirmed back into her seat still playing the elated child. Her eyes were still wide but now they sparkled and she checked around her seat excitedly. She found the reclining button and then all the stuff down the seat back about what to buy on the plane and started computing money in her head. We started talking again once the drinks came round; she only took a Coke, but I explained that I was having a gin to celebrate having completed my assignment in Mauritius without being found out. I sold school textbooks and she was delighted to hear that I had visited her old secondary school and had met the headteacher.
In return she told me more about herself. Meena, as she was called, had only met her husband for a short time before their marriage. He had come back specially from Canada and had left almost immediately afterwards. It was the custom with her people she explained. He is a fine man, very handsome and even taller than I am, I learned. I thought inwardly about them together, the long and the short of it. I had also decided by now that, though she might be short, Meena packed one hell of a lot of punch with a quick wit.
We stopped twice: briefly at Dar es Salaam where more passengers joined, and an hour later at Nairobi. At Nairobi we got out, I noted with admiration the complex swing bounce and extra jiggle to her hip motion as Meena walked. Somehow it awarded her bulk an added gravitas; you completely forgot her short stature. While the plane was fettled and the crew changed over, we had soft drinks in the transit lounge and she downed both the ice creams I'd also managed to find. She had already enjoyed my dessert, and my two Philly cheeses, in addition to her own, when we'd eaten the evening meal on the plane. In eating together we had bonded. Now we were like old friends, we could probably answer quite a few questions on one of those quiz shows about each other's lives by now. It was nearly midnight and we looked forward to settling back in our cosy nest at the back of the plane. As we walked back, I allowed (what I justified to myself as) a protective guiding hand to ride atop the shelf of her hip, enjoying the loose, sensuous rhythm as she moved.
Blankets and pillows were on our seats on our return. Once again we had fun fixing her seat belt, Meena now positively offered herself to me for the ritual, and we joked about it.
The lights dimmed, and she asked if I would mind if we put the armrest up between us; it would give her more room and be more comfortable. We arranged our pillows and blankets, with her being quite organising about it all, and settled down. Her head was leant against the outside wall, her plump round body folded, her feet up on the seat pushing against me. Considering all the extravagant pillows of flesh only inches further up, her lower calves and ankles tapered down so delicately to these small beautiful soft plump feet. She stirred several times, settling further into her foetal position. I didn't sleep; I was conscious of this little butterball of energy close up to me. Then suddenly after about 40 minutes or so she wriggled around, changing positions and came to lie right up against me! Oh! Wow!
Meena's head was on me this time and one arm laid across my middle. I arranged the blanket around her shoulder and put my arm comfortingly round the blanketed plump form. I was aware of the delightful contours of her body rolls as my hand slipped across the smooth blanket fleece. Once more I was aroused. I lay back trying to calm down. But I could visualise clearly in my mind an exact and detailed soft sculpture of her delicious brown unclad form. My breathing was uneven and I could feel my body tense. To calm down, I even tried holding my breath for what seemed like long freeze frame interludes.
Then her hand moved slightly. It went down …… and then down some more. Unbelievably I felt her softly checking my erection. Then she turned her head towards me and murmured that it was the second time today that she had noticed me being excited. She whispered that she thought I liked fat girls. My heart was pounding now, and I could scarcely get the words out that she was damn right!
She seemed to purr with pleasure as she settled down into me, caressing and playing gently with my erection through my pants. My arms went down inside the blanket in response, motoring around those wonderful rolls of soft flesh. We went into some kind of trance, she seemingly capable of minute, almost imperceptible, adjustments in the flow of her glorious body against my exploring fingers. It was all about lightness of touch and so gloriously sensuous. We stayed like this a long while - time had ceased it seemed.
At long last she stirred. She moved up and kissed me softly, rolling herself round onto me. I clutched hold of her in return and we kissed again, long enough for me to run out of breath. I ran my hands around her more intimately and she whispered back. “Hang on a minute.. even big girls need to go sometimes.” She slipped over me, giving my boner a squeeze as she passed and quietly vanished round the corner into the toilet cubicle.
I re-arranged myself and thought to myself, Can I believe this is happening to me?
She reappeared, slid onto me, a leg on either side of me, and said, “Now where were we?”
I felt round the back of her and down round her soft plump hanging haunches, her skirt was all loose and her panties had gone.
“Ah Ha! It didn't take big boy long to find that out did it?” she said seductively. I checked up her back, over the body rolls: no bra, no nothing under that cotton top also unbuttoned. She rolled back over me, her great loose breasts flopping over my chest. My hand slipped between her voluminous thighs, the soft pressure of enveloping flesh preventing withdrawal. Delving in further was the only option.
So compact yet so voluptuous, I thought. I murmured, “Everything about you is perfect, Meena, you couldn't have been better designed for doing this in an air …… “ She lost the rest of this in her wondrously soft mouth as she pulled my head down to place her open lips around mine.
We groped and gasped and held one another for another long deliciously extended session. I luxuriated in and around her abundance - lazy great water balloon bosoms, the rolls of flesh under her arms, the rubbery doming of haunches and the furry exciting cleft separating them. She, in return, was displaying subtle, infinite virtuosity in manipulating me. What was interesting about this, I realised, was that neither of us were pushing to develop further. We seemed content to have levelled out at our cruising altitude, as it were. We cruised dreamily on, just on the cusp of orgasm, stretching countless air miles high over the Sahara.
Eventually I murmured to Meena that perhaps we ought to try to get some sleep otherwise we would useless the next day. She wriggled around, arranging her body across me and the left over bits of seats into an exaggerated sleeping pose and laid her head against me. As she shut her eyes, she slid soft fat fingers down over my lids to close them too. But I didn't sleep; I couldn't, even though the whole cabin was dark and still. I lay there sometimes with my eyes open looking down at this plump golden pocket goddess, at other times with my eyes shut, relishing her against me. I may have dozed; I stirred and surreptitiously manipulated my watch to check the time 3.30.
“What time was it?” she said, wide-awake. Like me she said she hadn't slept, she said she was too excited.
I partially buttoned myself up, went to the can next door and finished the job, then helped myself to orange juice for us from the galley, reaching around the sleeping forms of the cabin crew. She was hungry and asked if there was anything back there for a growing girl. I came back with a plate of sandwiches under clingfilm.
Meena curled up against me under the blankets once again, only this time we talked as I fed her the chilled sandwiches. We got into our fears and weaknesses. Mostly she spoke of her anxieties about the husband she hardly knew and seemed fearful of meeting up with again. I told her that she had quickly demonstrated to me that she was more than match for anyone, and that he would have already recognised what a prize he had.
But from early schooldays onwards she had always been fat and dumpy. Long ago she had given up all hope of a transformation into the tall model girl figure she thought all men lusted after. She said she was certain my wife was tall and thin. I had to admit that was true; my beanpole wife taught physical education and was a fitness freak. She laughed, sketching a scenario of me, the overweight and over six foot pear, being scolded endlessly as I mooched around daydreaming of big soft round women lying in wait to pleasure me. Thus we got into my problems: how I'd got into all the responsibilities of 3 kids with another on the way far too quickly. How I feared the job would fold and I'd be unable to provide for my young family. She was scornful about this saying I just wanted to escape, to curl up forever in a big soft womb.
She said she imagined that my mum was really fat and I was missing big fat mama's cuddles. I heard myself admitting to this little round bombshell that I'd been notorious and teased at school. My great Amazon of a mum was famed among all the kids for stacking the biggest tits in the district. Because I didn't like games and hated running, they said it was obvious how my lumbering pear shape had come about - I just lay around at home all day sucking tits. Meena playfully tweaked one of my well-developed tits, remarking that they must run in the family.
There was a bleak miserable interlude when she cried at recounting how she always had to describe herself as “half caste” on official forms in Mauritius. She said she was worried about race in Europe and North America because her husband had warned her. I very inadequately suggested she might call herself “mixed race” if she felt it necessary to label herself.
Apart from Meena's sobbing episode, we had been compensating for confiding these intimacies to one another by tracing lingering caresses across each other's body contours under the blankets as we talked. And there were long dreamy interludes where we just concentrated on the caresses……
Suddenly we were awakened by the cabin lights turned on full and some blaring music over the intercom. It was 6.00am Rome time. The sun streaked in horizontally at Meena's shoulder, accentuating her golden colours. We'd been sound asleep across one another for nearly two hours. We yawned and stretched and this marked the point at which we began moving away from intimacy.
By breakfast, we'd both washed up. Meena was perfectly groomed again, jacket back on, her long braided hair sleek once more. But she still raided my breakfast tray relieving it of the more desirable titbits. When the seatbelt sign pinged she just looked at me and I went into our familiar routine, this time giving her upper rolls of paunch an affectionate little squeeze after the catch snapped shut. Still bent towards her, I looked into her face. She touched my lips gently with her soft plump finger in acknowledgement.
“You looked after me so beautifully,” she said softly, “I will always remember my first flight thanks to you. You have given me so much confidence.”
"I'll never forget you either, Meena,” I managed to reply, despite the lump in my throat. “Good Luck.”
I came through arrivals nursing acute groin ache from having stood to attention all night without relief. I had one last glimpse of Meena, well ahead of me. She was propelling a laden luggage trolley towards the wide-open arms of her tall engineer. Swing, bounce and an extra jiggle; swing, bounce and an extra jiggle.
Over 30 years later, I can still recall the thrill of sensing that particular hip movement under my hand, as we crossed the warm tarmac at midnight.