Air Travel Lust

I finally got frisked at the airport in a way I enjoyed. A very macho guy was conducting my frisk and he reached with both hands toward my belt buckle as if he was going to undo my belt buckle. His hands sort of lingered, and I found it momentarily exciting. Then he reached around to pat my backside, but when he did he was in front of me, so he reached around like he was hugging me. It was all strangely erotic.

I've been frisked numerous times, but this was the first time I actually enjoyed it. I wasn't, however, thrilled with the way he handled my laptop, but oh well, you can't have everything.

Now I'm on the plane in business class and I'm so fat it feels like coach, and the guy sitting next to me is so hot, so my type. He's on a cell phone discussing a construction job he's doing in Detroit tomorrow. He keeps calling the guy on the other line "buddy." "Hey, buddy." "Okay, buddy." I don't believe I've ever called anyone buddy, not even the "buddies" I use to meet at Blow Buddies, a sex club in San Francisco.

Anyway, this construction man next to me has enormous fingers. I'm falling in love with his fingers. I fear this is going to be a very long flight as I try to sneak peaks at his very manly, very sexy, enormous fingers.

He watches me type before takeoff. I type with one finger. As I close my laptop he says, "Wow, that's amazing how fast you can go with one finger." I think to myself, "You have no idea. And how ironic that you were contemplating my fingers at the same time I was contemplating
yours."

Flash forward two hours, I now know everything about his life. Everything. The man never shuts up. I know about his affairs, his three children, his crazy wife, his visits to strip clubs, the death of his father, his legal problem, his wife's C-section, his pool, his John Deere lawnmower he bought from a friend for $300. I could pass a test on this man. I feel like his girlfriend. He tells me about the one time he hit his kid at a barbecue because the boy crashed the family three-wheeler into a tree.

I have a gift. Well, I'm not sure if it's a gift or as curse, but people will tell me anything. Anything and everything.

I would have turned away and ignored him if he wasn't so fucking sexy. I couldn't stop staring at his fingers. He goes to the gym every morning at 6 am, and it shows. It's amazing what we tolerate from people we want to have sex with. Had he been ugly, I would have cut the conversation off after 10 minutes, but for two "straight" hours I listened and fantasized and listened and fantasized.

He's gone now. I miss his manliness. I feel sad knowing I will never see his dick and relieved knowing I will never have to act interested in his words again.

I know where he is though, the name of his company, where he lives, where he works, his last name, his first name. Maybe I will look him up someday. He made a few homophobic comments followed by the phrase, "I got nothing against anybody; people can do what they want but..."

I believe he can be had.