Free Fable Friday

Each week I shall post a FREE short story for your reading pleasure. Most of these come from my anthologies of short stories, but a few are from guest authors.


Mile High Cougar

It was three days past my 21st birthday when I began my trip home to Montana for the summer break, between my Junior and Senior years of college.  I attended one of those east coast engineering schools of grand reputation pursuing an electrical engineering degree.  On this specific day, I was waiting for an early evening flight from Atlanta to Salt Lake City, where I would connect with a flight to Billings.  I had made this trip several times before and I always ended up sitting next to one of those boring business men in gray pinstriped suits trying to impress everyone with their knowledge of the latest computer operating system.  Killing time before each flight I would stand around the gate looking over the crowd making a game of guessing which of the bores I would be forced to sit beside.  There were always a few nice looking college girls, also waiting for the flight, and I would pray for the chance to get some real company for once.

And after a fashion, this did happen on this one specific day.

Per my usual custom, I am sitting across from the airport gate waiting for my turn to board the plane and I am doing what I like to do best – watching the people.  Mostly I watch the college coeds, but I like to watch most any attractive female.  On this specific flight there were a few eye catching girls my own age, and I did strike up a couple of conversations on the off chance that I would find that they were sitting next to me on the plane – or at the very least on my same row.  The flight to Salt Lake is just shy of 4 hours long and it would be nice to have something better to do than sleep – or pretend to sleep while avoiding talking about computer operating systems.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m an electrical engineering student and quite the computer whiz.  Therefore, I have no aversion to chatting up computer hardware, software and, most certainly operating systems.  I just don’t want to do it while I’m trapped in a tiny airplane seat.

Scanning the crowd, my eyes meet those of another head-on, so to speak.  The woman locking eyes with me is an attractive specimen for a female over 40.  After a moment of staring, she cracks into a half smile and then looks down to check her boarding pass.  I continue to stare.  She is nearly five and a half feet tall with nice gentle curves reminiscent of Kate Winslet.  Being unafraid to show what she is made of, she is wearing skintight black, yoga style pants with no hint of panty lines.  Her round breasts – maybe they are D’s – are covered with an oversized deep V-neck shirt.  She turns away to study at the overhead monitor.  The hem of her shirt comes about half way down her butt allowing a generous view of her fully formed cheeks.

I’m sitting about fifteen feet away from her with my coat in my lap.  My hands are folded under the coat so no one can see what else I am holding in my lap.  I give my cock an awakening squeeze.  Just a little bit, I know that I’m going to have to stand up soon so I can’t do more than just remind myself what her touch might feel like.  I always use carry-on bags, so I need to board the crowded airplane as early as possible to get an overhead bin for my bag.  Everyone else does the something because, if you take your time boarding you may end up with your bag under your feet.  It is a long three and a half hour flight and I want to be comfortable.  So, I abandon watching the attractive woman and board the plane as soon as my group is called.

My seat is in the very last row.  I hate this.  I can’t see the movie (well, maybe that’s not so bad) and the steward people (I try to be politically correct) are going to pretty much ignore me.  Well, it is a good place to sleep.  Not to mention that I heard somewhere that the tail of the plane is the safest place in a crash.  I’ve no idea if this is really true, but why argue with fate.  The plane continues to sit at the gate waiting for passengers from a connecting flight.  However, the gods of the airways have favorably conspired and the crew decides that they can’t wait any longer.  This particular flight is not going to be full after all.  A connector from New York was delayed by weather, and the eighty or so passengers on that plane will get to ride the next one – the red eye.  As my fellow passengers spread out, I soon surmise that I will have the row all to myself.  I’m the only one on the whole row of five seats – two on my side of the aisle and three on the other.

I move to take the seat by the window, not because I care to look out, but I want to lie against the wall to sleep.

Although the plane is still at the gate, I’ve begun to fade into my dreams when a woman pushes her small suitcase into the overhead bin and takes the aisle seat next to me.  She is the attractive older woman in the sexy pants.  She again locks eyes with me with the same half smile.  As I my ticket is for the aisle seat, I politely say to her, “I’m sorry.  I think I am in your seat.  Do you want to trade?”

“No,” her soft voice replies, “you look comfortable, just stay there.”

And so I do.

There are a number of empty seats she could move to, but she doesn’t.  She stays right there next to me.  Her hand brushes my thigh as she probes for her half of the seatbelt.  Now fully awake and reaching for a book to hold in my lap, I immediately engage her in conversation.

“Hi,” I say.


“I’m Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark.  I’m Beth.”

An omen from heaven.  My very first crush was on the dark haired girl sitting in front of me during the fifth grade.  Her name had been Beth.  I smile as my cock twitches with the memory of my attempts to unzip her dress without attracting attention. I’m certain that she had known what I was doing; she had to zip her dress back up after class.

“Where are you going?”

“Salt Lake City”

“You live there?”  While this is the destination of the plane, it was not a stupid question as many people, like me,, are merely using the hub to make connections to other destinations.


“I’m going on to Billings…” I try not to stammer, “Montana.”

She locks eyes and grins, “I know where Billings is.  You live there?”

“It’s home, but I go to college in North Carolina.”


“Yes, going home for the summer.”  I don’t really know how to strike up a conversation with an older woman.  Should I ask if she is married, has kids, or should I pretend that I consider her a peer?

“I see,” she says in a conversation concluding manner.

I can think of nothing else to say, and we are saved from an awkward silence by the stewardess beginning her spiel about safety and exits and such things like life rafts on a flight that will pass over nothing more aquatic than the Mississippi River.  We might crash into the Great Salt Lake upon our landing approach and have to wade a mile or two to shore.  Following this Beth plugs her iPod earbuds into her ears and closes her eyes.

Damn all the luck.  I finally get to sit beside an attractive female and she’s the silent type.

About thirty minutes after the take-off, the stewardess comes by offering beverages.  They don’t use the carts as the plane is so sparsely populated.

“Coffee, tea or me?”  Of course, this is not what she says, but this is what I always hear – or wish to hear.

“White wine,” Beth says to her, and then before I can ask for a coke Beth touches my thigh and adds, “Mark, would you like some wine, or a beer?  I’m buying.”

I look into the newly formed devilish grin on her face and say to the stewardess, “Budweiser, please.”  And then I have to lean over onto Beth’s shoulder as I extract my wallet from my hip pocket to prove to the stewardess that I am over 21.  Through this maneuver Beth does not move aside and we nearly touch cheeks.

The stewardess looks at my driver’s license and then proclaims, “Oh, it’s your twenty-first birthday.”

Beth doesn’t say anything while I again lean into her as I replace my wallet.  This time – and I’m sure it was not my fault – we do lightly brush cheeks.  The warmth of her skin sparks a jolt of electricity that leaps from my face straight to my cock.  I struggle to get my fold-down tray into place to cover my lap.  The stewardess makes an elaborate show of preparing our drinks and placing them on our trays.

After she leaves I say, “Thank you very much,” to Beth, hoping that she knows that I am referring to the beer and not the touch of her skin.

“It’s really your birthday?”

“Ah, yes, three days ago.”  I would have preferred to appear older.

“Well, we shall have to have another drink to celebrate your birthday.”  She holds her plastic cup toward me and I clink my beer can with her in a mock toast.

“Yes, I’d like that,” I answer.  What else am I going to say?

The plane flies into the darkening night, and we talk and have another round.  I do my best not to talk about the latest computer operating system.  While I now see that she is wearing a wedding ring she says nothing about a husband or children.  She mostly talks about her job as a physical therapist.  She had been in Atlanta attending some continuing education training.

A 21-year-old male can interest a 40-year-old female for only so long and all too soon she returns to her iPod putting her earbuds back in place as a clear sign she is done talking with me.  Being thankful for the experience up to this point, I accept my fate and return to my efforts to sleep.  After a while a movement of our attached seats stirs me to open an eye and I watch as she slumps back in her seat while kicking off her sandals.  Her D’s sized globes of desire push forward, allowing me a better view.  She opens her thighs, taking no notice as her leg press against mine.  She holds the iPod between her legs.  Well, even if she isn’t talking to me anymore, I am still enjoying her company.  As she has her eyes closed, she doesn’t notice when my hand wanders back to my lap as well.

I swear, in a few minutes the iPod begins rhythmically moving back and forth, ever so slightly, rubbing its ridged corner against her body.  I want you to know, that I know female anatomy well enough to know exactly what part of her body she is rubbing that corner on.  She is massaging her clit – masturbating.  I’ve no doubt about it.  My excitement soon to places me into an embarrassing condition.   Fortunately, there are few people on the plane and none of them can possibly see us.  The nearest passengers are across the aisle and one row up.  They can see us only if they turn around and this is unlikely as they are watching the movie.  However, I wish I had more cover.  I had left my coat in the overhead bin and I’m not about to disturb Beth by getting it now.

With my eyes glued to that pink iPod in her crotch, my senses tune into every slight change in her body position.  Her hips begin to flex and rhythmically press forward and back ever so slightly.  I look up at her face and admire the soft parting of her lips.  Her breath quickens.  And then her eyes snap open and she again stares, eye to eye with me.

Now what?

I could look embarrassingly away, but why?   She is doing the same thing I am.  She might think that I can’t tell, but she has to know that we are both caught in the same activity.  I freeze.  However, for what seems to be a minute, but is in reality more likely only a few seconds, Beth continues her rhythmic massaging of her clit. Now holding my eyes, captured in her gaze.

Finally, she stops, and pulls out the earbuds and puts the iPod into the seat pocket.  She unfastens her seatbelt.  Her hand glides over my lap to unfasten my seatbelt.  Her fingers brush the lump in my jeans as she takes my hand.  Standing, she tugs my hand and then releases it.  Without a glance to see if anyone is watching, Beth enters the lavatory directly behind our seats.

She knows exactly what she wants.  I do glance about to confirm that no one is paying us any attention, and then I quickly stand and follow her.  She has left the lavatory door a jar and two seconds behind her, I enter and latch the door.  As you know the airplane bathrooms are so small there is nothing to do but embrace each other closely.  I caress her face for a moment, and then kiss her.  Her tongue invites me to continue.  She pushes her hand down between us, stimulating both of us at the same time – we are that close.

Soon she hooks her thumbs into her waistband and pulls down her tight stretch pants.  She completely frees her left leg from the yoga pants and black thong panty leaving the material to cling to her right thigh.  Lifting her bare, left leg onto the toilet seat, Beth half stands-half squats over the toilet.  She opens her thighs and balances with her right foot against the sink.

She pulls my face into her crotch.

I nearly cream my jeans as the aroma of her excitement fills my senses.  Her brown pubic hair is trimmed short – maybe half an inch long – over her pubis and she presses my nose into it – and then down lower.  Below her mound, her folds are shaved smooth.  I use the tip of my nose to press against her stiff clit as my tongue opens her swollen petals and enters into her moist entrance.  I taste her salty ecstasy as I probe as deeply as possible.

She tilts my head back, pulling my eyes to meet hers.  My tongue loses its penetration of her love entrance and glides up to caress the underside of her swollen button.

“Put your finger inside me,” Beth says with a soft command.

With my right hand possessing a bracing grip on her left thigh, I gently slide my right index finger inside her soaking wet entrance.  I begin to stroke her as my tongue pushes her love nub back and forth within its sheath.  I hook my index finger back, towards her pelvic bone, waiting for the G-spot to make itself known.

“Yes!” she gasps as I find her pleasure spot – she squeezes my finger.  Her eyes close and her head involuntarily presses back against the curved wall of the airplane.  I continue my effort to bring her to climax, though my aching cock, bound within my tight jeans, is begging to be released.

“Now,” she commands, “put that soaking finger in my ass and put your thumb in my pussy.”

Girls of my age are pretty much dead set against any attention to their bottom holes.  While this ever attractive enticement is so close to their permitted openings, guys are still expected to pretend that it doesn’t exist.  Any mention – and certainly any attempt to touch it – is likely to terminate all possibility of intercourse.  Thus, I have no idea what is going to happen next.

Removing my lubricated index finger, I gingerly slid it back into the forbidden area.  I actually touch Beth’s tight entrance.  She does not shirk away, but instead rotates her hips ever further forward as she relaxes herself.  I slowly slip my wet finger inside.

“Ahhh,” she sighs as my digit fills her.  “Now, put your thumb into my pussy.”  I’ve never had a female so actively participate in love making – to command with me what she wants.  My left thumb opens her and penetrates.  “Yes… oh YES!” she exclaims loud enough to be heard by anyone standing in the aisle outside the lavatory door.  “Now, caress your fingers together.”  I begin to massage the thin membranes of her two channels between my thumb and index finger.  “The tongue, don’t forget your tongue.”

With the excitement of this new exploration, I had forgotten to continue with the rhythmic pressures along her clit.  I suck gently and pull the stiff nub into my mouth.  After a teasing bite I begin to roll it around my mouth with my tongue.

“Yes…Y ES!  Don’t stop,” she exclaims as I consume my full attentions upon her pussy.  “Don’t you dare stop.”  And then a few moments later she shouts for everyone in the plane to hear, “Oh… Oh… EEWWWOOHHHGOD!”

As she reaches climax, she grips the hair on the back of my head to still my motions.  I freeze holding my tongue lightly pressed against her throbbing clit and my fingers hold their penetrating positions.  The muscles of her body spasm and squeeze my fingers as her orgasm flows within her.  Several moments later she pulls my face away from her pussy and I slowly retract my fingers.

I look up into her smiling eyes as she caresses my cheek.

“Get your pants down,” she commands.  My thighs ache from being forced into a squatting position for so long, but the muscles are relieved as I stand.  Beth watches as I open my belt buckle and the waistband button of my jeans, and then tug down the zipper.  I am in bad need of this element of comfort.   My cock sighs with relief as I pull down my jeans and briefs to my knees with one motion.  Beth reaches down and caresses my cock until it is rock hard.  She holds my shaft and balls with one hand and gently strokes the tip with the other.

Scooting down from her position atop the toilet, she turns around and bends over it.

“Now fuck me,” she says.

“I don’t have a condom,” I speak for the first time.

“It’s okay,” she replies.  “Fuck me now.”

Gripping her bottom cheeks with both thumbs, I open her and slip smoothly inside her channel.  She is drenched in her own juices.  With the first touch of her soft, warm sheath around my neglected cock I lose control and begin pumping her with animal abandon.  She uses both hands to brace herself against the wall as I uncontrollably try to smash her against it.  She doesn’t resist my enthusiasm.

In only seconds, I burst and flood her with jets of come.

“I – I’m sorry.  I lost control,” I apologize for my abruptness as control of by body returns to my conscious thought.

“That’s okay,” Beth says, pressing her bottom into my groin to hold my cock deep inside.  “This is what I wanted.”

After a few minutes we clumsily replace out clothes and return to our seats.  The plane is circling the Great Salt Lake and will soon land.   The stewardess stops by and asks if there is anything we need to freshen up.  I wonder what she knows.

After we deplane, Beth gives me a warm, tongue filled kiss and says, “Goodbye Mark, have a nice flight home.”  And then she turns to follow the Baggage Claim signs.  I turn to find Concourse D.





This is a short story in my collection, Cougar Tales.


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Stranded With Charlotte is available from Amazon

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