Sharing on a Plane

I was the advisor of the Model United Nations club at the elite Turkish high school where I was teaching English, and I was the chaperone on our big annual trip to Boston for the prestigious Harvard MUN conference. Some of the top students at our school were among the eight chosen to go, most of them seniors.

For me one student stood out. Her name was Aisha. I had not known her well before the trip, as I had never had her in class. I had known her only through the club, for which the seniors never seemed to have enough time. I knew that she had an American mother and a wealthy Turkish father and was on the science track at our school.

She celebrated her 18th birthday on our last night in Boston. I gave her a sort of present. I arranged for one of the Harvard students on the staff of the conference to put in an appearance at Aisha's little party in her hotel room. Aisha had told me she had a crush on this guy. He was tall, smart, and good-looking, but also not one to take advantage of the situation (I had tipped him off), by virtue of his official position at the conference. Aisha thanked me warmly the next day for arranging the visit. She did not say, "for pimping for me," though I confess that playing that role had given me a little thrill. I don't think she stole out of her room at night to visit her Harvard heartthrob. The halls were patrolled (by women as well as men), and she still had a longing look in the morning.

As it happened, Aisha and I were seated in the same row flying back to Istanbul on Turkish Air. The rest of the group was some distance away from us, but in any case, none of Aisha's close friends had come along. It was December and the plane was far from full. There was an empty seat between us and only an elderly Turkish couple in the middle section of our row. There was a tired-looking middle-aged Turkish businessman sitting behind me, and two women in headscarves in front of us. I had the window seat, Aisha the aisle, on the left hand side of the plane.

She and I chatted a bit about the conference and then we both watched the movie (this was back in the days when there was one movie for each section of the plane). I stole a few glances Aisha's way as the movie ran. She was a big girl, tall and full breasted, with warm Eastern skin and a thick mane of dark brown hair that sometimes fell over her eyes and let me have a good look at her dark red Turkish lips.

After the movie they lowered the lights in the cabin. I figured I might read a little, but Aisha was ready to get some sleep. She raised the arm to the middle seat and asked if I minded if she spread out a little. I did not mind. She turned away from me and tried to get comfortable, which wasn't easy for a girl her size. She placed her back to the seats and drew her legs up as best she could, but in no time her backside was lightly touching my right elbow above my armrest and grazing my thigh below. She just did it nonchalantly. Casual physical contact with others is much more common in the East, and after five days together we weren't strangers, and perhaps she was still feeling grateful to me for services rendered in the name of love the night before. She was wearing sweatpants; she had dressed for comfort. I felt the warmth of her body in contact with mine, just enough for electricity to flow. I began to get an erection.

I let it grow, I fed it by looking down at her big round ass out of the corner of my eye, fixing my angled gaze. I did not dare turn and stare at her. But I did glance over to check on her. Her eyes were closed, her arms and legs folded up in fetal position. But if she suddenly opened those eyes they could have caught me if I was openly staring at her body. My heart began to beat a little irregularly and I was forgetting to breathe. I inhaled and I looked right down at where our bodies were making contact and where her ass curved gently against my thigh. The two places of contact had gotten hotter; even the back of my forearm toward the elbow was feeling the heat.

After a while I overcame my fear of being caught and slowly turned my head, just enough to be able to stare at Aisha. I felt a pounding at the root of my erection, but I didn't dare reach in to free it up to an upright position. I could see the bulge in my pants and the straining and throbbing. My reading light directly illuminated my lap. I kept the area screened by my book, though I could still see what she was doing to me if I raised the cover.

I had to maintain control of myself. Touching her was out of the question. I sat there and suffered, on fire but frozen. Eventually the fever passed and my erection subsided a little. But the swimming in my head wouldn't stop, and I couldn't look away for long.

Aisha moved. With half-open eyes she changed position, or at least tried to, but there simply wasn't room for her to stretch out.

I ventured a suggestion.

"Here, let take up this arm and you can stretch a little further, I don't mind, I have the window to lean on."

She had already sat up a little, so it was easy to move the arm to my right up even before she could reply. I edged over in my seat toward the window, put out the reading light, and laid my head on a pillow against the wall of the cabin. I didn't close my eyes, though. I watched as she twisted into a more comfortable position flush against me, with my right thigh dividing the cheeks of her ass.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem," I replied, in Turkish. She smiled and said goodnight back to me in colloquial Turkish and shut her eyes.

I settled my head on my pillow, but I was conscious only of my right thigh and the cheeks of that ass. It felt like a blunt form of penetration. I could feel the heat of her flesh from inside her fleecy sweatpants. There was just that layer of loose cotton, and the tighter fabric of my own teacher's pants, between us there. And Aisha's panties, unless she was wearing a thong.

Needless to say, I couldn't sleep, though I closed my eyes and listened for Aisha's breathing against the hum of the engines. Aisha lay still, but I could catch her slightly heavy breaths, the breaths of someone trying to relax.

Now, in the semi-dark of the cabin, over which a general peacefulness had descended, I could stare at Aisha again. The fleece top she was wearing had ridden up her waistline and revealed a band of smooth flesh just above her hip. Turkish women are always revealing that flesh, and it drives me crazy (as it drove Bill Clinton crazy when Monica showed off her thong to him in the Oval Office that day). I took a moment to discreetly reposition my cock, swollen but not stiff, at attention in my pants.

The truth is that I wasn't that physically comfortable. I had given up too much seat room to Aisha. Even the warmth and pressure from her body could not prevent me from realizing that I was pinned awkwardly against the side of the plane. It gave me an idea.

I leaned a little Aisha's way and whispered to her, "Would you like a blanket?" When she murmured yes I spread the blanket over her, even though it covered that strip of naked flesh above her waist. With this protective layer in place, I said, "What if I lean over this way and use you, and my pillow, like a pillow? You can stretch out a little further too." And I twisted toward her, with my groin right behind her buttocks, spoon-style. "Sure," she said, unbending her legs a little more and pushing herself against me. I settled gently onto her, wedging myself a little against the seat backs. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but the position gave us both the maximum stretching space. My feet were braced again the side of the plane near the floor.

We were curled up like two - two what? Baby squirrels? Lovers after sex? Or perhaps before?

I knew I wouldn't be able to stop my cock from stiffening right against the crack of her ass. It twitched! I immediately shimmied my hips to pretend that the quick swelling movement had been some kind of adjustment of my position. Aisha hadn't moved her ass away. I settled in again. But the sexiness of our positions overwhelmed me and the involuntary stiffening pulse returned. There was nowhere for me, or her, to go. I'm sure she felt it and knew what was happening, but she lay still. She probably thought I was signaling to her with those throbbing pulses, but I was powerless to stop them, and I was alarmed and embarrassed at what she must be thinking. I tried to distract my mind with thoughts of the day ahead when we would be landing in the morning, and no doubt the parents, including Aisha's, would be there to greet us. It worked: the pulsing stopped.

That is when Aisha moved her ass so that it gave one firm half-stroke to my cock. Or was she just adjusting her position? She did it again. That was enough to give me an aching erection again. She must have felt the swelling. She must have wanted to feel it. It was my turn to move: very, very slowly I thrust myself against her, not lewdly, but with unmistakable intent. How would she respond? She might have said that we needed the armrest back. She said nothing. But I swear she pressed back against me. The only question was how far we would take it.

I had already transgressed, but I hadn't laid a hand on her. My right hand was buried in the seats under my body, but my left hand was free. I slipped in under the blanket and placed it on her hip. The tips of my fingers touched her where I knew her skin was bare. There was a sharp intake of breath, from her, from me, but she didn't flinch. I gave her another slow thrust from below, followed by another. I was hardly moving, only pressing my rock-hard cock, caged behind briefs and pants, against her tailbone between the soft cushions of her ass cheeks. My pelvis undulated in slow, rhythmical waves of pressure. I was worried I would come in my pants if I kept it up.

She was letting a teacher dry-hump her on an airplane. She was letting a teacher move his fingers along the smooth, warm skin at the top of her waistband in a public place. She was letting a teacher move his hand up her spine and unhook her bra with one squeeze of the clasps. She was letting a teacher slide his hand under her bra cups and fondle her left breast and drift his fingers across her nipple.

"Stop me if you want to," I said, in a desperate attempt to cover myself ("I asked her."). But I could feel that she didn't want me to stop. I was continuing those pulsing thrusts from behind, and now she was pushing back with her buttocks and opening her legs the little that our clothes and cramped positions allowed.

Her breast was so warm and heavy in my hand, I was drunk from the sensations. But I was not so drunk that I didn't know we were at a critical point, with both of us desiring what we knew was absolutely forbidden. I knew I could lose my job if we were found out, and it crossed my mind that her powerful Turkish father might hire thugs to work me over (or worse). A little friendly fondling was one thing, outright sex another.

I put off the question. I untied the knot that held her sweatpants on her waist. I slipped a finger under the top of her panties, which felt flimsy to me. She quivered - it must have tickled. I couldn't reach in from the front more than to brush against the top of her pubic hair, so I tried another approach. I thrust my hand down the back of her pants, over the curve of her ass and down to where the heat was hottest. Anybody who passed by on the aisle could have seen what I was doing, but no one was stirring in the quiet cabin. Most people had gone to sleep, including the old couple opposite us.

I moved the edges of her panties into the crack of her ass so that I could stroke those round polished parts at the base of her buttocks. So smooth, so firm! Then I hooked my fingers under her bunched panties and extended my middle finger until I met wet, slippery flesh. I didn't know where I was exactly, it was all so juicy. I kept probing until I found an opening. Aisha loosened her legs. I stuck my finger in tight as far as it would go. She gave a little sigh of satisfaction. There still wasn't much room for me to move.

I withdrew my finger a little and then extended it to its utmost, and as I did so I felt the little button of her clitoris on my fingertip. That was all the room I needed. I stroked her with that fingertip, rhythmically, relentlessly. I could hear Aisha's breathing getting louder, and I worried she would begin to make sounds. I stopped. And retreating, gently caressed the flesh below her slit with that same oozy fingertip, then slowly dragged it across her rosebud as I brought it back up. I could smell the tangy, swampy aroma of sex on it, with just a whiff from her anus, when I lifted it out of her sweatpants and passed it under my nose.

"I want to make love to you," I whispered huskily. "I have protection. But you must promise not to tell a soul. Not even your best friend, or I will lose my job, or if you tell your father, he will probably... have me thrown in a sack into the Bosphorus." I uttered that last phrase with matter-of-fact fatality, and Aisha giggled nervously. "Do you understand?" I said in a very serious tone.

She didn't say anything, but she nodded. Did she really understand? It was clear she was not a virgin. But she was only just 18 (but at least she was 18), and I was 20 years older. If she couldn't have that Harvard man, she could still have a man. An older man (but not so old!) who wanted to do a secret, forbidden thing to her.

I freed up my wallet under the blanket and dug out a condom. I undid my belt, unzipped my fly, and freed my aching phallus. It felt very strange to be sitting semi-naked with a full erection under the light airplane blanket, which it was poking like a tent pole. I rolled the condom on and prayed that it wouldn't rupture. Under the blanket I drew down Aisha's pants and panties to her knees.

It wasn't easy for two large people in our three seats with our straight-jacketed legs, but after some maneuvering I suddenly penetrated my 18-year-old Turkish-American Venus. She was so hot and tight that I almost came as I slid into her and pressed my belly up against that beautiful big ass. Deep inside of her, I held perfectly still, gripping her at the hip to immobilize her. Finally I was able to pulse my cock inside of her and press, or rather hump her without moving, thrusting without the in-and-out, as if I were repeatedly pinning her to the airplane seat. Somewhere over the North Atlantic, in a jet at 35,000 feet, we were one flesh.

After that Tantric interlude, it was time for some stroking. Of course we had to remain absolutely quiet. We still had to breathe, though, and anyone who could hear our breathing would have understood. And our breathing was getting heavier. I reached up under Aisha's sweatshirt to grab her left breast. I took a rubbery nipple firmly between thumb and forefinger and stroked it and pinched it as I fucked her as hard as space allowed. Sex on a plane, I had never done it. Sex with a student, ditto.

Something led me to turn and look around to make sure the coast was still clear. When I looked behind me my eyes met the eyes of the Turkish businessman, very much awake and leaning in at the little 'V' at the top of the crack between seats A and B. I didn't know how long he had been watching or what he would do. My cheeks flushed and my head swam in a bath of adrenaline. The man had bushy, almost furry eyebrows above fierce, glittering eyes and a nose like a beak. When our eyes met he quickly looked down again over my twisted lower torso. Fear seized me and broke my rhythm. But after the initial shock, it turned to excitement.

I don't know what made me do it, but I slowly drifted the blanket up over Aisha's ass to give the man a view. I don't think Aisha felt it happening. I let him see everything; I looked myself, and saw with his eyes. I even flattened my belly and tried to let him see the point of penetration. I looked back at him. This time he didn't meet my gaze. He was locked in. I noticed through the seat crack that he was masturbating.

Showing off Aisha's ass was more than I could take. And I felt that Aisha herself was ready to come. I held her hard by the waist. Two, three, four sharp, stabbing strokes and I thrust home, and an aching, shooting orgasm convulsed me, with showers of lights in some deep part of my being. Aisha made a low sound as she bucked back against me, and I stifled a groan, which only forced it inside of me and made me shake.

Suddenly I came to. Had we woken anybody up? We were suddenly as still as statues, but we were both breathing hard. I made sure we were covered by the blanket. I glanced through the crack in the seat and saw that the man was now sitting back and adjusting his pants. But someone was walking down the aisle in a uniform in front of us. It was a female flight attendant. My heart was beating wildly as she walked right past us.

"Let's get dressed," I whispered a little hoarsely. We hurriedly pulled up our pants. I checked the condom before I put it in my pocket. It had held!. Aisha sat up in seat C. I sat up in seat A. The blanket slid to the floor. I looked over at Aisha and she looked at me, each of us with a dazed little smile. I reached out a hand and took hold of hers. I squeezed it and released it. Eros had swept us away seven miles up in the stratosphere. I didn't mention that it had also swept away the businessman behind us. Sitting upright in our seats, we eventually fell asleep.

If she ever told the story, I never heard about it. I thought it was safe for me to tell it now (I left the school some years ago). I must have been crazy to do what I did: but I did it.