Gay Erotic Stories

I was kept very busy in Houston, and Thursday afternoon came quicker than I thought. As I stepped on the plane at Intercontinental Airport, I felt an anxious tingle between my legs. Things had went rather well, and on top of everything else, I’d been upgraded to first class, which meant that I’d be getting some sort of dinner as well. That was icing on the cake, since I’d managed to work through lunch, only having a small sandwich on the run, and hadn’t had enough time at check-in to eat anything in the airport.

As I sat in 4C, after the ceremonial pre-boarding, I was able to examine most of my fellow passengers at a convenient eye-to-crotch level, with a cautious look up to view the face attached to the body. I always find this little ritual inspection most fascinating, although nothing has ever happened as a result of my “window shopping.” And before you start thinking ill thoughts—just show me a healthy gay man that doesn’t look! It’s free; it’s fun…and no harm done! On occasion, it also makes for some good fantasy self gratification at a later time.

On this flight, my eyes weren’t disappointed either. I find it truly amazing how many airline passengers in the summertime bound on the plane looking like they’ve just come from the beach or pool. Maybe I’m hypocritical, but I find this objectionable on a fat or older man or woman, but an ogling treat on young attractive members of either species. There were four definite fantasy candidates that filed slowly past my view. Slowly—due to all the carry on luggage people bring aboard and stuff into every available crevice. It’s hell if you’re dealt a seat towards the rear of the plane, but is balanced by the sustained viewing time when pre-boarded and seated up front.

These guys were each attractive to me in their own ways…and all just made my crotch tingle joyously a bit more…then set me to thinking absentmindedly about what lay in store for me at the other end of the flight and for tomorrow’s partaking. My mind was floating pleasantly in that thought, while still staring (more like absently leering) at the procession in the aisle, when the fifth (and best) cutie leaned upward to stow his carry-on. My eyes were now staring at a mighty fine chiseled abdomen, nicely tanned with an “outy” belly button, which came smartly into view as he stretched to reach the overhead bins. His frame (body by Fisher) came to rest flatly on his feet again, and as he leaned down he smiled broadly and said, “That seat’s not taken is it?” pointing to the window marked 4A.

Having not spoken for some time, my throat was dry and I struggled to croak out, “No…no, of course not…” and I started to get up out of my seat.

He just said, “No need, I can slip by, no problem.”

I surely wasn’t going to argue. And what a close-up! Even though he was dressed in a pair of board shorts and the muscle shirt, he smelled fresh and clean—just like he’d exited the shower. My thoughts of Rodrigo summarily evaporated with this vision before me. He eased past me (all to quickly) and took his seat, and then buckled himself in—done like a seasoned traveler. “Sorry,” he apologized, “decided to hit the head before boarding. I assured him that everything was perfectly all right, no harm done. (Quite the contrary, I’d not had it any other way). “Heading to Fort Lauderdale on business?” he queried.

“Actually, I’m headed home…but it’s a relief to know I’m on the right plane.” I said with a chuckle.

“The name’s Carter,” he offered.

“Nice to meet you, Carter--that’s your first name, right?”

“Yeah, it’s one of those names that just doesn’t allow for any changes or nicknames.” He retorted. “So you live in Fort Lauderdale?”

“Yes, actually in one of the suburbs; it’s always nice to be heading home,” I said blandly. He was definitely one of those cheery type personalities—the type that if you weren’t in the mood for conversation—would prove irritating. However—with looks like this guy—irritation was the furthest from my mind. If he had a brain to go with the body, he could irritate me as much as he wanted! He must have sensed a lack of interest by the tone of my response, “Sorry, sometimes I just talk too much, sort of a chatter box,” he volunteered.

“Oh no, that’s not a problem. I’ve spent most of the week not talking to anyone (I lied) and it’s a relief to be able to be back among the living!” I thought I’d covered myself pretty good with that response. Actually as I looked at this 99.9% perfect male specimen next to me—I might actually wish to cover myself—but for another reason. I won’t bore you with a scintillating description…just suffice to say everything was sculpted perfectly, the right amount of sun-bleached hair in all the right places, the face of a model, and the apparent easy charm to match. Yes, this flight would most likely top off a truly fine day.

The flight attendant interrupted our initial conversation, “May I get you two gentlemen anything to drink before we take off?”

Now I’m not a lush or even a heavy drinker, but I do like a cocktail as much as the next guy…and right now, I’d say I deserved it, “Of course, may I have a scotch and water, please.” Knowing full well, this meant either Chivas, Black Label, or Dewar’s, and I always thought it easier to not specify.

To my surprise, Carter just added, “Perfect, I’ll have the same.” I don’t know just why I was surprised, I guess he looked more like the time that would order a white wine or possibly a designer beer if available. He again proved intuitive, as soon as the flight attendant threaded her way forward to the galley, he added, “Ah, a traveling man’s drink. Easy enough.”

I pulled out the book I was reading from my attaché case, (actually it’s three books on one and rather thick). Carter commented on it’s size, “You must really like to read!”

I countered, “Actually he’s one of my favorite authors, I’ve read most all of his recent books, and I got this one online—a special composite of three older titles.”

He glanced at the book’s cover and caught the name of the author, “Michael Connelly! So you’ve probably read ‘The Poet’ I imagine.”

“That and more,” I chuckled.

He reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out “The Poet” from his carry-on. The marker indicated he was ¾ the way through it. “Great book!”

“I won’t spoil it for you…just keep reading…it keeps getting better and better!” I said.

The flight attendant made her way to us, setting down each of our drinks conveniently pre-mixed in nice corporate glassware. We both thanked her and picked them up off the tray between the seats. “To surviving…Poet and all,” Carter offered. I nodded and took a sip. I made a bit of a wince. I like my scotch (preferable Chivas or Dewar’s) but not too strong. Airline glasses are small and when one pours a full miniature over ice, then fills with a splash of water, it’s a bit stronger than I like.

Carter noticed, “Yeah, I don’t like ‘em this strong, but what can you do? Can’t wait around for the ice to melt now.” He smiled and took another drink.

“Cheers!” I offered, and we clicked our glasses. As he turned to toast mine, his knee brushed against my left leg. The contact was electric…and he held its position. Maybe he didn’t know…just now aware of it. Then he pulled it away…what was I thinking?

We had nearly finished our drinks, when they closed the door. Hearing that, Carter toasted me again as we finished, “To smooth sailing,” he said. Again he leaned over and again his knee brushed my left leg in virtually the same place—and again he made no attempt to move it. We finished the glass as the flight attendant approached, gathering up the glasses prior to takeoff. Carter held his knee in position until he offered his glass back to the attendant. I thought his knee held its position a bit too long for my comfort following her departure. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the contact—but I was very glad I had Michael Connelly’s BIG book on my lap.

Carter just smiled again at me, and then straightened himself in his seat, action which removed his knee contact. I silently breathed a sigh of relief, hoping my slightly straining crotch companion would behave and cease its stirrings.

The plane pushed back and taxied to the runway. The pilot indicated we were number four for takeoff—not too bad for Houston on a Thursday late afternoon I thought, and smiled to myself. “I only hope tomorrow’s a continuation of today,” I thought.

My left leg got another “accidental” brief nudge, as Carter looked at me smiling, “Yeah, I think we’re going to enjoy the flight,” as he parroted the pilot’s admonishment.

Three minutes later, we were airborne and turning to the east…heading home…and with a great seat mate to boot.

To be continued…