I Masturbated in the Air

At 10,000 feet.

Last week I flew to Barcelona to meet with my good friend Bob. I was pretty excited as the last time I was there I had a threesome with two gorgeous Hungarians.

So excited, I had to masturbate on the plane and become a member of the mile-high club.

But let me backtrack a bit.

Three months ago, I got a call from Frank T in the middle of the night. He lives in Australia, and I don’t. No matter when he calls me, it’s always in the middle of the night.

“YO, Smillew, ma boy!!” He said to me. Although howling at me would be more accurate. Frank was super excited, as you guessed already by his choice of words.

I went with the flow because I suffer from numerous cognitive biases and always go with the flow.

“YO, Frankie, ma boy!!” I replied, not shouting as loud as he had because it could wake up my wife and my seven kids.

“Wassup?” I added to the conversation.

Frank proceeded to tell me how much he had enjoyed masturbating on a plane. He was on his way to a conference in Adelaide. It was his first time as a keynote speaker in front of a large crowd, which explains the tension and the need for release.

“I wanked in the flying train [Frank is a bit weird sometimes, I think it’s because he’s from England], Smillew!! It was incredible. I never felt something like that in my life. You have to try. It was better than a banana split. It was sooooo slurpy.”

And then he hung up on me.

It was 3 AM, and I couldn’t go back to sleep because each time I closed my eyes, I had flashes of Frank wanking in the restroom of the flying train.

It wasn’t a dreamy vision.

The next day I had horribly red eyes.

“OMG! It’s like when you came back from Barcelona last year. You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” My wife asked, observant as always. I hugged her and said it was all because of Frank and his crazy stories.

She reacted promptly and gave him a call to insult him. He didn’t pick up because it was the middle of the night for him, but I liked that she took my defense. She’s the sweetest.

Unknowingly my wife had planted a seed in my fertile mind. I wanted to fly back to Barcelona.

And that’s how I came to board a plane for Barcelona last week, excited like a rabid badger at the idea of drinking some Bloody Bobbies with Bob. So excited, I couldn’t stay seated and had to walk up and down the aisle, wondering how I could release the tension.

“Are you stressed, Sir?” The hostess asked. “Please, there’s nothing to worry about, the pilot is a professional, and I gave him his morning blowjob a few minutes ago; nothing can happen to us.”

Had she just said that, or was I daydreaming again?

“Huh? Yes, I mean, no. Thank you. I want to go to the bathroom but can’t find them,” I stupidly replied.

I guess they’re used to passengers not making sense. She kindly walked with me to the bathroom and offered me one of these refreshing napkins they have to clean the door handle.

Once in the bathroom, I had nothing much to do, so I masturbated. I thought of Frank at first, and it didn’t help, but then I remembered I had written an article about boobs recently with nice pictures in it, and it helped.

And that’s how I became a member of the mile-high club.

The first thing I did out of the airport was to call Frank.

“YO, Frankie, ma boy!! I just wanked in the flying train.” I shouted on the phone before realizing the hostess was right next to me, waiting for a taxi.

“Well done! Call me next time.” She said, getting in the car and smiling suggestively.

But that’s for another story.

Now, read this:

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