So there I was, stuck in SFO, hoping to get a flight in a jump-seat or as a dead-head or as a non-rev or any other means, to Seattle. I was even prepared to pay my full fare as a regular passenger, if worst came to worst. I was in deep shit, through no real fault of my own. I had flown into San Francisco's Oakland International 3 days earlier, knowing that I had a 72 hour layover before crewing on another flight back to the South Pacific.

I decided to use that time to visit some aging relatives in Concord, north-east of Oakland. I had never met this aunt and uncle before, and they were all over me, showing me around their little town and introducing me to their friends as their "Aussie nephew." They were very nice, but very smothering, and I was quite relieved when they dropped me back at Oakland International, just three hours before I was scheduled to fly out as a cabin steward on a a flight to Fiji via Hawaii.

My flight orders clearly said Flight Q 279 Departure OAK at 1400 hrs on July 14 2014, so imagine my surprise and horror to find there was no such flight or departure from Oakland. The girl on our operations desk was very helpful and quickly discovered that my flight orders were very wrong. They should have read Flight Q 279 Departure SFO at 1400 hrs on July 14 2014. I was supposed to be at San Francisco International, not Oakland International. The girl assured me that I had plenty of time to make the trip across the bridge and down to SFO, and even ordered me a cab at the company's expense. So far so good.

But why did I have to pick a day when the Oakland Bay Bridge went into gridlock? We sat in the middle of the bridge in heat-wave conditions for over two hours before traffic started to flow again. When I did reach SFO, my flight was long gone. Another trip to the the operations desk, but this time at SFO. Phone calls to central operations revealed that I was in deep shit. Even though it was not me who had fucked up the flight orders, I was being victimized because of it. To sum it up, if I was not in Seattle to take up my duties on a flight out of there to Hawaii at 800 hours tomorrow morning, I was fired.

No, they had no flights between SFO and SeaTac, and they would not help me find an empty jump-seat in a flight deck, or dead-head seat in a cabin, or even non-revenue seating on a flight on another airline. That was up to me.

I did the rounds to other airlines flying that route. Not one of the five or six airlines had available space anywhere on their remaining flights for the day. None of them would bump a paying passenger for a dead-head or a non-rev, either. There were not even any paid seats available, though all of them put me on wait-lists and would page me if any cancellations occurred. It looked as though I would be unemployed and stranded in the USA within a few hours.

So that's why I was sitting in the Flight Deck bar, a juice bar catering mostly to flight crews who were forbidden alcoholic drinks for 48 hours before a flight. This bar had mastered the art of making a non-alcoholic drink taste like it was really laced up with booze and potent as all get out. Liberal use of ingredients such as ginger, cayenne pepper, and tabasco had something to do with it. I was busy drowning my sorrows and destroying my taste buds with non-alcoholic stingers!

The bartender had heard all the sob stories and so showed no interest in listening to my tale of woe, so I sat there sucking on Virgin Marys until my tongue was burning from Tabasco, Worcestershire Sauce, cayenne, and tomato juice. I also needed to piss like a racehorse.

It was while I was in the washroom that my luck began to change for the first time that day. I was standing at the urinals, just starting to piss when a man stood at the urinal beside me. There were six urinals, but he had chosen the one right alongside me. I heard him unzip and glanced in his direction just as he flopped out a large uncut penis. I looked up, and sure enough, he was looking down at mine, sizing me up, so to speak. I'm not gay, and don't pick up guys in washrooms, but I did appreciate that he appreciated what he saw. He turned his head to look at me and our eyes met for a moment. He was a very handsome guy, much the same age as myself, and was wearing the white shirt and epaulets of Alpha Airlines, a company I had never heard of before. A pair of gold wings on his shirt indicated he was a flight captain.

He gave me a brief smile as I tucked my cock back in my pants. I returned the smile and went to wash my hands. I had had enough non-sexual experience with gay men to realize that he was one of their number. It didn't bother me that he was gay; in fact, it aroused me a little. I had never indulged in any homosexual activities (except for a childhood buddy and I exploring each other's tiny cocks), but I have to admit I was curious about what it would be like to be with a man – to suck his cock and have him suck mine; to have his dick in my ass, and to fuck his ass. Just curious, nothing more!

Yes, I know the all-male stewards of the international airline company I work for have a world-wide reputation for being gay, and yes, there is a lot of truth in the rumour. However, many of us are actually straight. I had never found myself attracted to the gay ones – or at least they ones I could label as gay. They were all too swishy for me. But thinking about it now, maybe some of the guys who weren't swishy were also gay – and I have to admit I was attracted to a couple of them.

I headed back to my place at the bar, still considering the young pilot who had sized up my cock. I was unusually aroused. It didn't help matters when I heard a voice at my side.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked. I glanced at him. It was the airline pilot I had been thinking about, the man from the urinals.

"Not at all," I replied. "I was getting bored with my own company."

"I'm Dave Duncan," he informed me. "I fly for Alpha Airline."

"Yes," he said. "I've been watching you for a while. I could see you aren't too happy. What's the problem?" He waved a finger at the bartender. "Another ginger ale for me, Charlie," he called. "and whatever Tom here is drinking."

I had had my fill of Virgin Marys, so I settled for a ginger ale too. And then I proceeded to pour out my tale of woe to my new companion.

He interrupted me when I got to the part about having to be in Seattle by 800 hours tomorrow.

"Seattle, eh?" he stated. "Well. Maybe the fates are smiling on you at last. My First Officer and I are shuttling a Boeing 747-400 on an empty leg flight to Boeing Field tonight. We're taking the plane in to Boeing for some refitting. We're due to fly out at 1800 hours tonight. We'll be in Seattle by 2100. If we can get you through security OK, you're welcome to ride along. It's only about 10 miles by road from BFI to SeaTac. You'll have about 8 hours to go the distance," he laughed.

"You're serious?" I asked in disbelief. I couldn't believe my luck.

"Yes, I'm serious," he assured me. "We may have to lie a little to get you aboard, but I'm sure we can do it. If you've got your uniform with you, it'll help." I was still in my civvies.

"Yes, they're in my crew-bag," I told him. I had my little, wheeled, pull-along style suitcase you see airline crew dragging behind them in airports all over the world right beside my bar-stool.

"Then maybe you'd better go back to the washroom and put it on," he told me, with a cheeky grin on his face.

I was sure he was going to follow me into the washrooms and hit on me while I was half-dressed, but he didn't. I was almost disappointed about that.

"Hmm," he stated when I returned. "It doesn't look much like an Alpha uniform, but if we get you through boarding, we'll fix that up on the bird."

At that point, I confessed to him that I'd never heard of Alpha Airlines, but that it sounded like a cheap imitation of Delta.

"Quiet the contrary," he objected. "We were there first, but we never branched out as much as Delta. We mostly serve the south-eastern states and into Mexico and the Caribbean. The only reason I'm this far west is that I'm city-hopping the plane to Boeing one leg at a time. In fact, Delta tried to sue us once for copyright and trademark infringements and such, but we proved we were here first."

"Sorry if I offended you," I apologized.

"No offence taken," Dave assured me. "Now we'd better get moving."

There was very little problem getting me through security. Dave's lie was to tell them that I was on an exchange program to Alpha, getting experience on the 747-400. He didn't specify what kind of experience or what kind of position. Of course, I did have my necessary papers and passport to show that I was legitimately in the US, and that I was, indeed, an airline employee.

As we mounted the portable stairway from the tarmac to the 747-400, Dave observed:

"That was easier that I expected," he said. "But I think we might have a little more trouble at the Boeing end. They're very conscious of industrial espionage, especially since they do have military contracts. We'll have to pass you off as an Alpha employee, I think. But we'll figure that out in-flight."

We entered the plane from the doorway right behind the wing, in the center of the fuselage, and Dave led me forward through the empty plane. It was not so different to many other planes I had flown. Just the colour scheme was changed. Alpha went in for blue and gold.

In the Business Class area right behind the cockpit, Dave's First Officer was already waiting for us. He was lounging in one of the comfortable seats. Dave introduced me to Mel, his co-pilot for this flight, and briefly explained my predicament. Mel shook my hand and welcomed me aboard.

"Im sure we'll get you to Seatac with plenty of time to spare," he told me. "And if you're willing to hang around Boeing Field for an hour or so you can stay with us. The company just booked us a suite at the Hilton Seattle Airport … if that's OK with you, Dave."

Dave gave Mel a wink that I couldn't fail to miss, even though I'm sure I was not meant to see it. "I'm pretty sure it will be just fine," he told Mel.

"You just make yourself comfortable back here in Business," Dave told me. "I'll come back and keep you company for a bit when we're in the air. The flight will take us two hours or so. We're not a priority flight, so we may be delayed in take-off taxi-ing patterns and holding patterns over Seattle."

"I'll be just fine" I assured him. "I'm a veteran at this."

"We're not stocked up," Mel told me, "but you can probably find some chips or nuts or pretzels to eat and something wet to drink in the galley. There's bound to be some pop in one of the coolers."

When captain and co-pilot had departed to the flight deck, I made myself at home. Alpha's Business Class was the same as what my airline called First Class, with better appointed, wider seats, and plenty of leg-room and more space to move around. The built-in screens in the back of each seat were much larger than those on Tourist Class, and there was what I guessed to be a 50" screen on the bulkhead between Business Class and the washrooms and the Flight Deck beyond them.

I fond myself a couple of bags of peanuts and a bottle of Canada Dry, and settled back with a copy of the flight magazine to fill the time.

Mel scurried by once, to secure the door amidships when the staircase was removed. On the way back to the cockpit he told me, "I'll stick a movie on for you as soon as we're airborne."

There was a couple of bumps as a tractor was hooked up to pull us into position for taxi-ing, a sense of slow movement, then the sound of the engines whirring up. Then we were under our own power and taxied around the runways, jockeying into position for take-off. Then came Dave's voice over the intercom:

"Buckle up, boy! We're next." Time and again I had seen the evidence of the value of seat-belts, and followed Dave's advice without even thinking about it. Then the roar of the engines, and slow movement, then faster and faster, the tires roaring below us. Then they were silent as we left the ground and climbed slowly, then faster and more steeply. In just a couple of minutes we were high in the sky above the late afternoon California coast and heading north to Seattle.

The video screens on the seat backs and the 50" screen forward in the cabin fluttered and flashed a couple of times before settling down to a picture. It was movie aptly named "Flying High" and seemed to start right in the middle: People boarding a plane; two young men and a girl taking a row of three seats, the girl in the middle; one boy rubbing his crotch suggestively. At first I thought it was for the girl's benefit, but the next shot showed her to be asleep already. That's when I realized it was a gay porn movie. Mel had put it on for my benefit, but why? To get me horny? To seduce me?

I lay back in the seat and watched the show. It was pretty badly done. Soon the two young guys are giving each other hand jobs across the sleeping girl, then swapping blow-jobs. Without any explanation, the girl is gone, the two boys are naked and doing a stand-up butt-fuck in the empty seats. An accidental glimpse of the rest of the cabin reveals the other passengers have disappeared also. No, not a science fiction story; just a gay porn with very bad writing, editing, and continuity.

But I did enjoy looking at the impressive cocks on the young guys – and watching them suck and fuck!

I had just slipped my hand into my pants to fondle my stiff cock when Dave appeared from up front. He didn't seem to notice my hand in my pants or the porn movie still rolling.

"I thought it was time to make you look more like an Alpha staffer," he said. "I'm sure there's some spare uniforms here somewhere." He disappeared into a curtained area by the galley for a minute. He returned with a hanger with pants, shirt and banana-skin style cap.

"Here, try these on," he ordered. I went into one of the lavatories to change. I don't know why. We were just two men – even if one of them was probably gay. Maybe it was because I didn't want him to see the woody the movie had given me. Maybe it was just to frustrate him.

The uniform was way too small, and I suspected that was deliberate on Dave's part. He wanted to see me naked, I'm sure. The only item that fit me was the flight cap, so wearing just my undies and the banana-skin cap, I stepped out into the aisle, expecting to surprise Dave, but it was me who was surprised!

While I was gone, Dave had stripped naked!

"Nothing fits," I said lamely.

"Those undies fit you perfectly," Dave observed, coming toward me, "but I'm sure you'd look even better without them."

In a moment he was a upon me, nuzzling my neck, grasping my semi-hard cock through the cloth of my undies, then his hand slipped inside and he clenched my dick and it jumped into life. I didn't object or pull away. I wasn't sure how to respond so I let Dave lead the way.

Noting that my only response was further swelling of my prick, Dave asked, "What's wrong? Don't you like me?"

The roaring in my ears was not the jet engines outside the fuselage, nor the air-circulation system inside the cabin, but the blood in my veins.

"It's not that," I muttered. "I like you well enough. It's just that … I've never been with a man before now …"

"You're kidding," he told me, kissing me on the neck. "Do you like what I'm doing to you now?" He was pulling my foreskin back and forth, making me even harder.

"Well, yes …" I murmured.

Dave slid down my body, licking my nipples and my navel as he went, and finally, on his knees in the airplane aisle, licked the underside of my exposed knob.

"And this?" he asked.

"Oh, God, yes!" I cried.

Before I knew it, he had my whole knob in his mouth. He pushed forward onto my shaft and took me further into his mouth. I thought he would surely choke, but he took my shaft further and further until I felt my sensitive dick-tip touch the back of his throat. He withdrew, and then did it again – and again, and again! While he gobbled on my dick he expertly slipped my underwear down, tapping my feet one after the other to tell me to lift while he slipped them off completely. Now we were both naked thousands of feet in the air!

I had never had a girl suck my cock like this. They were usually very tentative about it, if they didn't gag at first try. But Dave not only went at it eagerly; he knew all the right spots to tooth or tongue. But then, he was a man with a cock of his own, and knew what pleases a man – too much so, maybe. Soon I was about to cum.

"If you keep that up, I'll shoot my load," I warned him.

Dave took his mouth from my rigid pole long enough to ask, "How quickly do you get hard a second time?"

"In about ten minutes if I'm really horny," I told him. "I can often cum three times in about an hour."

"Mmmm, good," he replied. "So go ahead and cum if you really want to. As long as you won't be finished for the day once you cum."

"I can go again and again," I assured him, as he went back to ministering to my rock-hard monster. It did not take long for him to bring me back to the boil, and in a couple of minutes I was ejaculating into his mouth. Spasm after spasm ripped through me, forcing more cum out of my balls and into his mouth. I thought he would spit it out as most women who had sucked my dick did, but Dave swallowed it down and sucked the last dregs from my shaft.

I collapsed naked into the seat nearest to me, shaking from the experience. I never knew I could be so turned on by sex with a man. It was new and exciting, and I longed to experience more.

Dave clambered over my outstretched legs and sat in the seat alongside me. He reclined the seat so he was laying back, then folded away the armrest between us. His cock stood up invitingly. I eyed it up as I recovered my breath.

"Can I touch it?" I asked.

"You can do whatever you want with it," he told me. "It's yours for the taking."

His cock was no bigger than mine. In fact, they looked much the same. I had rarely seen an erect male penis, but I did know that mine was a bit larger than average. Girlfriends had told me that. So I guess Dave's was also a bit larger than average. Like me, he was uncircumcised. I reached out tentatively and grasped his rod. I ran my hand up and down it. I masturbated it as I would my own, pulling back the foreskin as far as it would go. My fondling made Dave's cock harder than ever. It was stretched to the limit, and his foreskin stayed retracted, making him look like he had been circumcised.

I had an urge to lick his cock, to suck it as he had done to mine. As I stared at it and fondled it, a drop of pre-cum oozed out of the lips of his cock and formed a bead. I had to taste it! I leaned forward and licked the pre-cum from his knob. It was salty and sweet at the same time. I put my mouth over his cock-bulb and sucked, hoping to get more of that nectar.

I tried to take Dave's dick way down my throat like he had done with mine, but I gagged on the massive object. I coughed and spluttered and withdrew from his dick.

"You'll get the hang of it," he consoled me. "You don't have to do it any more if you don't want to."

"I want to," I assured him, and resumed sucking and tonguing and chewing and sucking on his penis. It was all new to me, and I was amazed how much it turned him on – and turned me on. Even though I had just cum, my cock was swelling and rising once more. I put my hand to my crotch and masturbated slowly as I sucked on Dave until I was fully erect again.

Dave noticed it.

"Good boy!" he said and patted my woody, making it bounce. "Have you ever fucked anyone in the ass?" he asked.

"No," I confessed, "but I have thought about it. But don't you get shit all over your cock?" I asked, doubtfully.

"Not if your partner has cleaned out," he told me. "And I have," he assured me. "Want to try?"

"You want me to fuck you?" I asked, amazed.

"Yes," he replied.

"Won't I hurt you?" I asked.

Dave grinned

"Well, you do have a pretty decent-sized cock, I must admit, but I have had bigger in me. No, you won't hurt me. So do you want to?"

"Yes," I agreed breathlessly.

"These seats were not built for butt-fucking," he told me. "Come with me." He led me forward to the bulkhead the large screen was mounted on. Below the screen was what appeared to be a large bench with a padded seat. It might be used as a bench at times, but I knew it contained life-jackets.

Dave popped into the galley for a moment and returned with something small in one hand. He must have retrieved it from his pants pockets. He handed it to me. It was a small tube with a break-off top. It appeared to be filled with some sort of liquid. I examined it and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"It's lube" he told me. "Use it on your cock and my ass," he instructed me.

Dave bent over the bench-seat, exposing his asshole to me. It was obvious that he shaved down there. His asshole winked at me, puckered nicely. I wanted to put my cock into it!

I broke the top off the plastic tube and poured the contents into my palm and slathered it along my shaft. My hand was still slippery and wet with the stuff, and I did what Dave had said and rubbed some onto his ass.

"Put a little in my hole," he instructed me.

"How?" I asked. I had never touched anyone's asshole but my own before this.

"With your finger," he told me. I put my lubed finger to his asshole and pushed it in. It opened to allow me in then closed tight around my finger. I rubbed a little on the lube into his tight hole.

"Now your cock!" Dave ordered me.

I spread my legs a little to lower myself to his asshole which was nicely exposed, because Dave was holding his butt-cheeks spread while he bent forward. I guided my cock-head to the inviting asshole, placed it at the opening, and pushed gently. His hole opened to receive me, and as I pressed forward my whole dick gradually disappeared inside him.

It was a fantastic feeling, one I had never experienced before. His asshole was warm and slippery and tight around my cock. As I pushed in and pulled back, I could feel his ass muscles clenching me, dragging me in, then releasing me to let me slide out, then drawing me in again.

"Holy shit" I cried. "This feels so fucking fantastic!"

Dave was now propping himself up on the bench, bracing himself on his arms.

"It feels just as great to me, too," he told me. "Your cock and my ass are a perfect match. Fuck me good." I began to pound him, driving me cock into his hole again and again. At times he cried out, and I offered to stop, thinking I was hurting him, but he told me, "It's great. Just fuck me! Cum inside me!"

I did as the Captain ordered me to do, and fucked his ass to the best of my ability. It was the best fuck I had ever had to that time. His ass was hotter and tighter than any pussy I had ever fucked. If fucking men was always this good, I wanted more of it, and wanted too, to feel what Dave was feeling, to have a dick inside me, fucking me.

I came before too long, shooting what cum I had left deep into Dave.

As we dressed, he asked, "Have you ever fucked on a plane before?" I hadn't.

"Then welcome to the Mile-high Club," he said. I knew that was the term for those who had fucked on airplanes, usually in the cramped quarters of the lavatories.

"We'll be descending shortly. Let's see if we can find a uniform that makes you look like an Alpha Airlines crew member. We'll get you through Boeing security and do a little paper-work, then the three of us will head for the Hilton Seatlle Airport for the night. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great to me," I told him. And it sure did. I had already gathered that Mel was gay too, and that an interesting night lay in store for me.

"I promise that we'll get you to your assignment on time," Dave told me, "but I can't promise that your balls, your cock, and your asshole won't be a little sore," he laughed. And I laughed too, savouring the thought.

Please leave me your comments: