Handjob at 35,000 Feet

I’ll probably only do this once in a blue moon, but I have a guest blogger today. Many moons ago I had something published under a different name at Cleansheets. C. emailed me (my first fan) and we started corresponding. She’s also the first online friend I told about this blog. I love getting emails from her. They’re so descriptive. I keep telling her she should try her hand at fiction and she finally did.

Handjob at 35,000 Feet by C

The airplane cabin was quiet and dark. The stewards had already passed out the pillows and blankets and turned down the lights, and all around us people were getting settled in to try and catch a few hours of sleep. It had been a great flight so far. The plane wasn't anywhere near full capacity and nobody was sitting behind us. No kid feet kicking the back of our seats, and we could push our seats back as far as they'd go without fear of pinning someone down in their chair. It was the perfect start to our second honeymoon. R was already under his blanket, and when I leaned my seat back he scooted his pillow closer to mine so we could whisper to each other. He leaned in, and I felt his lips brush the side of my neck, then the warm wetness of his tongue as he licked my earlobe. Oooh, that made me shiver! He was smiling, I could feel his moustache tickling me and his teeth were pressed against my skin, and he then took a little nibble. My breath caught, GOD he knows I love it when he does that, and my nipples were instantly hard. He moaned just a little, very quietly right into my ear, and then he smiled again, slipping his hand under my blanket and sliding it across my shirt to cup the weight of my left breast. "Mmmm, I love that you don't wear a bra when we're flying", he said into my ear. I got that tickly feeling all the way down into my butt when he murmured in my ear like that. It made me squirm, and his hand tightened over my breast, working the nipple between his fingers. "Sshhhhh, don't move around like that or you're going to wake up the people across the aisle", he whispered. "Just stay still". I made myself relax, but it wasn't easy. He was working my nipples like a pro, moving from one to the other, flicking and kneading, squeezing and tugging, all the while moving very slowly and stealthily. I could feel my labia swelling, could feel how wet I was getting and I moved a little to rub the seam of my jeans back and forth against my clit. He pinched my nipple, hard, and said "I told you not to move, what are you doing that for?" Then he slid his hand down over my pants and pushed his fingers between my thighs. "What's this? Your pants are all wet, bad girl. Why are your pants wet? Only a slut would enjoy it if she was being felt up in an airplane, you're not a slut, are you?" He rubbed hard against my mound through my jeans and my legs opened involuntarily. "Oooh, maybe you are a slut after all. Are you my slut, C?" he purred into my ear. His fingers were busy rubbing and pushing against my pussy, using the fabric seam to tease my clit while he kissed my neck and breathed heavily into my ear. He probed and tickled, all the while telling me how he was going to make me masturbate for him when we got to the hotel, that since I was his slut I'd do what he said and I'd enjoy it too. Abruptly he stopped. I almost made a sound of protest but remembered where we were, and I bit my lip. R was very quiet and serious as he said to me, "I had to stop, you move around and make a lot of noise when you cum. I don't think you could be quiet enough to climax in public without everyone else knowing about it." Yes, dammit, he was right! He knew it, and so did I. He could be as quiet as a mouse during orgasm, but I'd never been able to hold still or keep from making some sort of pleasure sound when I came. I felt a ridiculous urge to pout because I wasn't going to get to cum and that made me mad at myself, and a little mad at him too for getting me so turned on in the first place. Then R whispered to me, "I've got a rock hard, throbbing erection that I'd love to show you right now, but since I can't do that I guess you'll just have to feel it for yourself." His hand reached for mine under the blanket and guided me to his lap. I couldn't help smiling then because I knew what I'd find. His cock would be straining against his jeans, and I'd caress it through the denim and drive him crazy for a while just like he had done to me, and by the time we landed and got to our hotel we'd hardly be able to make it in the door of the room before we were fucking. Oh dear god -- Instead of tightly stretched denim, my hand met with hot, bare skin. R was unbuttoned, unzipped, and the elastic of his briefs was pushed down under his scrotum. The man was completely exposed under that blanket!! And he was very, very hard. If I'd been able to see, I know just what he would have looked like. His cock would be a dark dusky pink, skin taut and shiny, cockhead swollen, and the cumhole open so wide that I'd almost have been able to push the tip of my little finger into it. I looked over my shoulder around the cabin, and when I was satisfied that nobody could see what was going on, I put my hand around him and squeezed, and was rewarded with a throb. R leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, and I began to massage and manipulate his penis, squeezing and releasing, reaching down occasionally to cup his balls and hold them tightly against the base of his cock. I could feel his heart pounding, every beat of it was making his erection pulsate in my hand. He let me work him for several minutes, then he started to sit up and reached under the blanket to tuck himself away. He knew I wouldn't give him a handjob at 35,000 feet, but he did love to be teased, so this was more like a very hot and heavy extended foreplay session than anything. But I remembered how he'd stopped fondling me so suddenly, and I reached down and got a death grip on his nuts. He stopped moving, held very still, and I leaned in close to him and said, "Not so fast, sweetheart. I want to see just how quiet you can be." I let go of his sac just long enough to guide his own hand down to his balls, and I whispered into his ear, "I want you to take care of those for me, ok?" and then then I started working the head of his cock. There was just the tiniest bead of precum starting to seep from the opening, and I cupped my hand over him and rubbed it around and around his cap. He squirmed, and I leaned in again to whisper, "What's the matter, baby? Wasn't this what you wanted? You shouldn't have got me started if this wasn't what you wanted. You know how sluts get when they're all hot and bothered." I made firm, fast little strokes right under the ridge, my fingers bumping up against the head. R swallowed hard, looked at me and started to open his mouth to protest. But before he could speak I kissed him, a warm, wet, deep kiss, and when I felt his tongue moving as eagerly as mine was, I knew I had him. I broke the kiss and leaned against my pillow as I milked him, watching his face. I love this man and there is nothing sweeter to me than seeing his face as he knows that moment of exquisite pleasure. It wouldn't take very long now, in fact I could feel his thighs tensing, could feel how hard it was for him to sit still when he wanted to fuck my hand. I watched, and smiled, and said very quietly, "Catch it with your other hand, I want to lick it out of your palm", and I knew by the way he held his breath that he had just given his balls a good squeeze, wanting to push the cum up his tube and into his hand. I felt his penis start to jump, and buck, and I knew that in a matter of seconds R would have a palm full of warm, thick cum, milky and white like liquid pearls. I worked that sensitive spot unmercifully, all the while watching his face. Oh he was good all right -- the only outward sign that he was pumping a load into his hand was a slight frown, more a look of intense concentration than anything than anything else. Suddenly he relaxed, and very slowly and shakily he exhaled. I could feel the last few echoes of his orgasm pumping themselves out, and as he lay back in his chair I carefully ran my fingers up the underside of his tube, working that last little bit of cum out so he wouldn't make a mess in his underwear later. One more look over my shoulder at the rest of the cabin. All clear, so I pulled the blanket back to expose his hand, cupped to hold its precious liquid. I put my hand beneath his and raised it to my mouth, and I drank him. I lapped up sweet slippery sticky cum, and licked his palm clean. Then I helped him tuck his penis away and between the two of us we got his jeans zipped up. I rearranged his blanket for him, and then I laid there and watched him as his breathing slowed and deepened, and he was asleep.

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Half-Nekkid Arm Pit

When we first started exploring my cross-dressing, ♀ had only one firm request. That I keep my facial hair and body hair. But women are always allowed to change their minds. Now she seems to like my smooth legs and when we were at the beach the other day she mentioned that maybe I should start shaving up past the knees. I guess it doesn’t matter where I stop, there’s always going to be a hair line.

My arm pit hair was getting caught in my sports bra’s so a while ago ♀ started clipping it with the clippers when she did my head. Last night when we were in the shower she did this:

It feels great. Oh yeah, that’s my new favourite bra.

HHNT

SSS

Pretty Boys

A couple of weeks ago there was a small jazz festival here. I think there might have been 6 or 8 bands on two outdoor stages during the day and early evening. We walked up and watched the last band. They were a lot of fun and played quite a variety of songs. Near the end of the show the female lead singer sang a smokin’ hot version of this:

The stage was on the street and they had a large plywood dance floor set up. I dance like a tight-assed white boy so we just enjoyed listening to the band and watching the dancers. One guy was having great fun dancing with a portable stop sign. Another was doing some fancy foot work with two women at the same time. I think they’d been practicing. It looked impressive. I noticed one woman with a very nice skirt that looked something like this and it lifted up when she twirlled. I was a little disappointed that she was wearing a thong. Not that I have anything against thongs. It just seemed out of place under that skirt. And a tad inappropriate considering there were lots of waist-high kids about. I think something like this would have been much sexier.

I also noticed a boy there. He was probably about 16. He had his hair and make-up done and you could see his bra through his t-shirt. He was dancing a lot. With girls his own age. He seemed to know lots of people and I was amazed at how comfortable he seemed to be. When I was his age, I lived in a town about this size (60,000 or so). There was no Internet. There might not even have been electricity, I can’t remember. I was only aware of two choices as far as sexual orientation went. You were either straight or gay. I had a few friends that were openly gay and even though most people assumed I was, I knew wasn’t. I was fascinated with females and adored all things girly, but didn’t want to be one. With absolutely no frame of reference, adolescence was a confusing time. Yeah, I know it was confusing for everyone, but this kid was able to explore who he is right now (instead of 30 yrs from now) and I was a little envious.

Just after the show ended a woman and her little girl walked past us. She must have been about three years old and was having a bit of a melt down. In between sobs I heard her say, “I think I need a little nap.”  That could become my new fave expression.

Later that night, I was giving ♀ a back massage when I said, “I wish I’d been a cross-dressing sissy 30 years ago.”

“You were”, she said. “You just didn’t know it.”

“OK. I wish I had have known then what I know now. All those years when I could have been pretty”

And during my teens and early 20’s I’d have been adorable. Sigh. Who knows. Maybe if I’d had different underwear, I wouldn’t have spent those years loaded and depressed.

Cheers.

SSS

Half-Nekkid on the First Day of Summer

Four years ago, I asked ♀ if she could try to fix a horrible haircut I’d had a few days earlier. She got out the clippers and just as she started, my stepson walked in and offered me $1 to shave it all off. So of course I did. ♀ got it as short as she could with the clippers then I let Junior take the rest off with the razor. I hope it’ll be one of those ‘I remember when…’ moments for him. We went to the water slides the next day and even though I used sunscreen when we got there, I still managed to get a nasty sunburn (ouch). Both the boys like rubbing my smooth head for luck.

Anyway, I really like having it shaved. It’s much cooler at work and ♀ says I look ten years younger (my hair is more salt then pepper). I hate being cold though (yes, even that little bit makes a difference), so during the cooler weather we just use the clippers and only take it all off in the summer.

My hair grows thick and fast and the hair itself is very coarse. So the nice smooth head only last about one day. For two or three days after that I have what the boys call ’sandpaper head’. Everything sticks to it; shirts, blankets, ♀’s hair, cobwebs, bugs, bread dough… Both boys get big laughs from seeing what they can stick to it. Once Mini popped a balloon by rubbing it on my head. Not surprisingly, ♀ doesn’t like sandpaper head to touch any part of her anatomy.

She clips/shaves it every week and it’s a funny thing considering her feelings about body and facial hair, but my smooth head is a big turn-on for her. She especially loves the feel of it on her inner thighs.

So to commemorate the first day of summer…

HHNT

SSS

ps: click here to discouver the secret to perfect sex

Happy Fathers Day

About a week after my dad died, I was driving home from work and the following story hit me like a brick. I pulled over to the side of the highway and wrote it out on the back of an envelope with one of those little pencils you get at mini golf.

When I was four years old I was given my very first pet; a white mouse named Pierre. He had a wire cage with an exercise wheel and I had to keep his cage clean and make sure he always had food and water.

At the time my dad was a labourer on a turkey farm and one day he brought home a small barn owl that he’d found frozen to a fence post. He put the owl on a hot water bottle, covered it with a towel and a while later ‘Elfie’ woke up. My mom was very surprised, but Dad and I had expected nothing less.

One day sometime later while Dad was at work, mom was in the kitchen cooking and I was on the floor with Pierre on my lap. Suddenly, Pierre nipped my finger and I dropped him. He tried to escape across the floor when Elfie swooped down from the curtain rod above and caught him. Well, I yelled and mom turned to see what had happened and she yelled and Elfie flew into the living room window. Elfie and Pierre fell to the floor and lay still.

I can remember my mom trying to explain what had happened and how warming them up on the hot water bottle wouldn’t help. But she just didn’t understand how it really was and I knew that when dad came home he’d make them all better. Dad came home and I can remember him coming into my room to talk to me. Then we went outside and buried Elfie and Pierre together. He said a prayer and put up a marker and he made a little boy understand enough that it was ok and I felt better.

My dad died last week; I sure wish that I could remember what he said to me that day.

In Loving Memory of
C J M
July 21, 1938- October 13, 1994

Half-Nekkid Nipples

Here’s the REAL reason men have nipples….

It seems hard to believe, but until I met ♀ I had never had a partner who played with my nipples. I had no idea of the pleasure they could bring me. It makes sense. Many women love having theirs played with, why wouldn’t it be the same for men?

Mine seem to be hard-wired directly to my cock and sometimes just to be a brat, ♀ will play with them in the most inappropriate places.

HHNT

SSS

Anal Bleaching

There’s a work of art in your house that speaks to you. Maybe it’s a painting or a sculpture or a piece of music or a book, but whatever it is, it moves you, touches you, affirms that there is good and beauty in the human race. It is your Mona Lisa. Even if you’re not actually in possession of this work of art, just the knowledge that it exists fills you with a sense of peace and tranquility.

One day you discouver that the artist who created this most cherished work of art was (or is) a very bad person indeed. (S)He was (or is) guilty of the most heinous of crimes (pick the one that makes you cringe the most). Does that change things for you? Do you sell the painting on EBay, smash the sculpture into little pieces, fling the CD’s off your apartment balcony, burn the book? Can you separate the artist from the art?

What about massages? Can you separate the masseuse from the massage? I was rubbing ♀ feet last night and she said she would never get tired of me doing her feet. Then she said she’d been bragging about me to some co-workers (she’s working in a different department for awhile) and they were envious. I said their reactions would have been a whole bunch different if she’d told them her husband is a cross-dressing sissy. Lots of women complain about their partners, but if having something different meant changing their definition of masculine most would choose what they have.

It’s a debate we’ve had before. If they knew the whole truth, some people would agree with ♀ and say I spoil her. Some people would agree with my mother (and hers) that she’s way to good for me. Some would say ‘poor ♀, her first husband was gay and her second one wears her clothes’. Others would say ‘he rubs her feet every night and when she wakes up the floors are washed, the laundry’s done and breakfast is ready. What’s not to love?’

I’m not looking for approval from anyone. What we have works for us and that’s all that matters. I only mentioned it because I’ve spent the past few nights working on an entry to this and the next chapter of this. I didn’t want you to think I was getting lazy.

Cheers,

SSS

ps: click here if you really want to know about anal bleaching.

Half-Nekkid and All Alone

♀ work schedule is going to be different for the next few weeks and as a result we won’t be seeing each other nearly as much as we are used to. It’s for a good cause, but it’s a big adjustment. As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now we are a very touchy feely sort of couple and six days a week for the next while we’ll only see each other for about an hour in the very early morning.

A couple of nights ago she called me on her lunch break. I was just starting the laundry and I asked if I could wear the panties she had been wearing the day before. When I first told her about my cross-dressing, hers were the only panties available to me and I preferred to wear them after she did (so I could smell her sex). But she likes thongs and I like styles that hold things in better and I have at least as many pairs as she does now so I don’t usually wear hers anymore. Also, she likes having things that are just her own.

Anyway, she said I could wear them and thanked me for asking. I smelled them (yes, I’m a panty sniffer) before putting them on. Her unique scent and the feel of the thong in my ass and the smooth fabric on my cock and balls got me all hot and bothered. I didn’t know if we’d get an opportunity to take an HNT picture this week so I took a couple on my own (a first).

I was trying to decide which one to use (what’s sexier; balls hanging out the bottom or tip of cock poking out the top?) when ♀ came downstairs. “I didn’t give you permission to masturbate,” she said.

“I didn’t”, I replied. “Erections are, for the most part, involuntary. Can you control if your nipples get hard or your pussy gets wet? It’s only masturbation if there’s an orgasm.”

I don’t know how convinced she was, but she dropped the subject. Where would we be without rationalizations? It could be argued they’re more important then sex. No, you say. When’s the last time you went three days without a rationalization?

HHNT

sss

War on Gas

The War on Gas!!!

The War On Gas Join the resistance!  Tired of paying up to $1.30/liter for your gas?  Want gasoline prices to come down? The “don’t buy gas on a certain day” campaign doesn’t work. The oil companies just laugh because they know we’ll have to buy gas sometime. Here’s the idea….. Starting today   DON’T purchase ANY gasoline from Petro Canada  (or the largest retailer where you live) –  the biggest Company in Canada  –  If they are not selling any gas, they will be very quickly inclined to reduce their prices.  If they reduce their prices, the other companies will have to follow suit.  Petro Canada has 1500 retail locations and the entire country consumes  68 million gallons a day. Yes per day. And Petro Canada is Canada’s largest gasoline retailer it  makes sense that the consumer can bring this giant to its knees and force them to lower their prices.   Acting together we can make a difference. If this makes sense to you, please pass this message on. I suggest that we not buy from Petro Canada (or the largest retailer where you live)  UNTIL THEY  LOWER THEIR PRICES TO A REASONABLE PRICE AND KEEP THEM DOWN.