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 I wake up to too much sunlight and my tongue as thick as a maxi pad plastered to the roof of my mouth. I blink my eyes, and almost hit snooze before I remember I'm supposed to be on a plane in two hours. I jump up and begin packing. I have an awful habit of leaving things to the last minute. Before I know it, the Airport Super Shuttle van is outside honking as I am still grabbing T-shirts and stuffing them into my backpack. There are two women in the shuttle talking about how funny the third-rate comedians who teach Comedy Traffic School are, and they mean it. I've been to that school twice for speeding tickets and I know how cheesy it is. I lean against the window and try to ignore them.  We stop to pick up our last passenger. It is a man, older, maybe mid-40s. His hair is peppered gray and he's dressed in that khaki-pants-collared-short-sleeve shirt look that all men somehow progress to. He slides in next to me and smiles. He has a nice smile.He reminds me of a professor I once had. When I was in college I fucked two of my professors. It was a power trip: I knew that I could get away with anything, and that I shared a secret with each of them. A secret that no one else could ever know. I dumped each of them after a few weeks then skipped most of their classes. I still got As. The man who looks like my professor elbows me as the two women start complaining about specific waitresses at various three to four star restaurants in the city. He elbows me because I am wearing a faded Harley Davidson T-shirt and worn-out jeans; because he thinks I am different than they are. I look up at and smile. I want to be different than them and his way of creating a club for just the two of us makes me feel sexy. We spend the rest of the ride with our legs touching more than they have to. It turns out he is on my flight. I check in first, as I am walking towards the security checkpoint I look behind me. He is talking to the flight attendant at the counter and motioning towards me. I place my bag on the security conveyor belt and wonder if he has requested to sit by me. This thought makes me excited. I'm happy to be going on this trip in general, but this new wrinkle of the man on the plane is making me ecstatic.  He is seated in the row behind me. I wish it was the other way around, and I could sit behind him, because I hate the feeling of people looking over my shoulder. I rack my brain for an excuse to talk to him but can only think of some lame comment about the women in the van. After the seat belt sign chimes off I get up and head to the bathroom for the sole purpose of walking by him.He has a magazine over his crotch with his hand hidden underneath. I stop and stare. His eyes are closed. It takes me a second to realize he's masturbating. A blush starts moving up my face, like I'm the one doing it. I've never seen anyone do anything sexual in public before, and I'm finding it extremely arousing. Before I realize what I'm doing, I cough. He looks up, not nearly as embarrassed as I am. I smile and tilt my head toward the bathroom. I enter one of the lavatory stalls and leave the latch open so the VACANT sign stays on. He knocks gently and I open the door. A stewardess passes, looking at us as if to let us know we're not getting away with anything. I move aside to let him in. It's very crowded with the two of us. Too crowded for sex and the turbulence doesn't help much either. "Jack off for me," I demand, lost in the power trip spell. He hesitates. I do not drop my eyes. He unzips his khaki pants and pulls out his cock. It's a nice cock (as far as that goes) and he slowly begins to stroke it. We are looking into each other's eyes and for a second it's kind of nice in an almost romantic sort of way.  We've managed to create a very intense, personal space in this pint-size bathroom. I reach one hand up my T-shirt and pinch my nipple. He moves his hand up and down rhythmically. Watching him is making me excited and I wish I had more room and my vibrator. He starts moving faster, his mouth drops open and his head tilts back."Does that feel good?" I ask, trying to sound stern. "Yeah," he groans. His dick is rock hard and his wrist is moving faster and faster. "Come for me," I tell him. He licks his lips and moans. He is stroking so hard and so fast that with one more groan he comes, shooting his load all over the tiny sink. He leans back against the door and looks at me. He seems perplexed and a little embarrassed. Without a word he buttons up his pants. I lean over and give him a kiss on the lips. We both smile, suddenly shy. I shrug my shoulders and nod towards the door. He turns and walks out; I'm right behind him. I do not turn around for the rest of the trip; instead I open a magazine and start reading an article about seafood in New Orleans. Before we've even left the state, I've fallen fast asleep.
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