Lucky at Summer Ch. 01

"Aw Mom," he said, sounding more eight than eighteen.

"Now Mikey..."

"Mom, stop calling me Mikey. I told you I'm too old for a little boy's name."

"Very well, Michael..." Mike's mom said smiling at her son.

"Mother!"

"OK Mike, I got it, but you have to give me some time to get used to calling you that."

"You said I wouldn't have to go to Wyoming if I found a job here this summer. Jimmy told me Mr. Lansing told him he's going to hire me."

Mike mentally kicked himself for referring to Jim as Jimmy. Both boys were struggling to grow up as quickly as possible.

"I know, honey, and I wish we didn't have to do this but your Aunt Molly is struggling more than anyone suspected and summer is the most critical time for her. There will come a day when you realize this is what family is about."

"But she's not even related! Not really, anyway."

Mike, apparently, was in a mental kicking mood and offered one to his Uncle Hastings for dying so suddenly last fall. Then he kicked himself even harder, mentally, of course, for being a callous jerk.

"Michael! Don't say such a thing. Hastings was my only brother and Molly was his wife. Like us, they never had much and now she's faced with losing everything. Please say you'll help her."

Mike could no more turn down the plea in his mother's eyes than he could buy her the mansion on a hill she deserved. With servants. Topless, female servants...horny ones...pretty...with great bodies...

Mike shook his head to clear it. Would such intrusive thoughts never go away he wondered? His mother brushed a tear from her eye as she watched her son retreat to his room.

Lying on his bed, Mike began contemplating the pros and cons of spending the summer on a ranch in Wyoming. Or at least he wanted to but there didn't seem to be all that many pros.

He really wanted that pool-cleaning job with Mr. Lansing. Jim had worked there last summer and was full of stories of classmates, college coeds, and even some hot moms sunning themselves in bikinis – or less! Throughout their senior year of high school, Jim had teased Mike unmercifully about the sights he'd seen on pool aprons around town.

Mike was completely jealous of his best friend and continually badgered his buddy to put in a good word with Mr. Lansing. All winter Mike lay naked in his bed masturbating, like he was doing at the moment, thinking about seeing Jessica or Melanie or any of a dozen girls at school Jim claimed wore micro bikinis.

Releasing his semen into the air above his chest, Mike groaned softly as it splashed onto his bare skin. When his heavy breathing finally calmed, he hurried to mop himself dry with a soiled tee shirt from his hamper.

This was to have been his "breakout" summer. At eighteen, Mike was still a virgin. If there were degrees of virginity, Mike would be among the purest. He had never been on a date, never kissed a girl, never seen one naked or even topless. The only things impure about him were his thoughts and those innumerable trysts with his hand.

High school had not been the best of times for Mike, and senior year was the worst. He matured late growing eight inches in the eight months before graduation. Limited family resources, a result of his father's disability, meant his wardrobe lost race after race with his body. For the most part, he looked like some gangly Huck Finn with three inches of bare arm sticking out of his shirt sleeves and pant cuffs high enough to remain dry when fording small streams.

He tried to take the ribbing of classmates good-naturedly, took what pleasure he could in the fact that he wouldn't spend his life at five feet seven inches. Now 6'3" all those features that had been oddly proportioned making him look and feel goofy suddenly fit.

Mike the butterfly has emerged from his chrysalis, he thought as he admired himself in the mirror then immediately chastised himself for such a "girly" analogy. The ugly ducking has become... Ugh! Was his the mind of a six-year-old?

Mike wasn't just adding stature to femur, fibula, and tibia either. For each inch in height, he added half that where it counted most: his cock. Mike knew because he kept precise records.

In September, he measured a rock hard five inches. By Christmas, he was sporting six and a half inch boners. At spring break he was a full eight inches, topping out at a stunning nine, thick inches in May.

His cock was not limited to a growth spurt either; there was also spurt growth. At the beginning of the year, lying in bed jerking off, Mike could hit his collarbone with the first two squirts of his five shot orgasms.

By midyear he could easily fire over his head with four or five shots and orgasms were lasting nine to twelve contractions each.

In May, Mike could blast the wall behind his bed three feet above where he lay. Not wanting to create enormous messes to clean up, he usually pointed his dick straight up shooting cum geysers four feet high before they came splashing onto his bare torso.

Sometimes, he would try to aim his ejaculation so it would land on his face, capturing some on his tongue and mouth. He was flexible enough that, as his cock grew, he was able to get his tongue, and finally, his lips around the head.

While what he did felt great, he never actually succeeded in sucking himself off. He did, however jerk himself off into his own mouth sometimes. He felt perverted, not realizing that these were the things teenage boys either accomplished or attempted.

* * * *

There was only one other passenger on the regional jet that flew Mike into Cheyenne, a man who appeared to be in his fifties and slept most of the way.

Mike guessed the solitary flight attendant to be mid to late twenties and reasonably cute. He stared at her often and she caught him more than once. She too had noticed the tall, lean, good-looking teen as he checked in and boarded her flight.

With the plane virtually empty, she knew she could either go up front with the pilot and co-pilot or flirt with the kid in seat 4A. She chose the latter. The first thing she did was to go into the galley and roll the waistband of her navy-blue skirt over four times so the hem went from the top of the knee to mid-thigh.

"Hi," she said, settling onto the aisle armrest of 6B with her legs facing Mike. "I'm Jen."

"Mike," he said dragging his gaze from her legs to her eyes.

Jen had a great time watching Mike struggle to maintain eye contact. Every time he ogled her legs, she would steal a look at his crotch. The kid was packing something, that was for sure, and it was getting bigger.

Jen continually touched Mike on the arm or shoulder as they talked about themselves. Once she punched his arm when he made a sarcastic comment, and once she tousled his hair because she found him so cute.

"How do you like your job?" Mike asked.

"It's OK," Jen responded.

"I really like your uniform. You look good in it."

"Really?" Jen answered, genuinely flattered. She stood up and modeled it for him, turning backward and then sideways. She knew she had a nice figure.

Sitting again, she draped one leg onto the seat next to Mike leaving her knees wider apart. He could feel his erection building. "The material is very soft. Go ahead, feel it."

Blood rushed immediately to Mike's cock and he felt a pain as it tried to push down his tight pants leg. Gently, quickly, he ran two fingers a few inches across the hem of the skirt. He felt the firmness of her thigh under the skirt.

"Very nice," Mike said. His ambiguity was unintentional.

Despite the minimalism of the sexual content in his touch to Jen's leg, it was the most intimate contact he'd ever had with a female. Mike's phallus screamed silently as it lay cramped, doubled over, against his thigh. Pre-cum was beginning to leak through his shorts and moisten his jeans.

"Not like that," Jen admonished grabbing his hand. She placed it flat against her thigh and pulled it up to within an inch of her pussy. As she did, Mike watched intently. He was not the only person in row four whose genitals were leaking liquid. He was, however, the only one whose fluid was showing. A silver dollar sized spot had formed to the left of his fly.

"Oh my!" exclaimed Jen, nearly giggling out loud. "Did you spill something?" She was well aware, of course, of the true source of the liquid causing the wet spot. "Let me get you a towel to blot that," she said as she swayed toward the galley. She could feel a squishy slipperiness between her own legs as she sashayed with exaggerated undulations.

No sooner had she turned the corner than Mike popped out of his seat. He was unaware of the slit in the galley wall through which Jen watched as he pried at the hard cock trying to reduce his pain.

As he walked forward, in the same direction the flight attendant had just taken, Jen could make out an enormous denim covered tube extending from the crotch to the left, front pocket of Mike's jeans. It had been a long time since she'd dick teases someone so young and she was having fun as well as becoming excited. When he reached the galley, Mike poked his head around the corner so he wouldn't expose his obvious boner to the friendly stewardess.

"I'll take care of it in the men's room," he stated as he slipped into the cramped lavatory.

Once inside, he ripped down his pants and sighed out loud as his phallus sprang from its tight, denim prison. Grabbing himself, Mike began beating his meat to relieve the lust consuming him.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Mike had rushed to the toilet. Jen smiled when she heard the moans of self-gratification emitting from inside the restroom. Briefly, she considered knocking on the door to ask if she could help with anything but thought that would be too cruel.

Instead, she closed her eyes and formed a mental image of her young hunk fisting his giant phallus and beating himself off as he thought of her. She squeezed her thighs tightly together and pushed her cunt against the edge of the counter and let the vibrations of the aircraft bring her pleasure as Mike fired rope after seminal rope into the stainless steel bowl of the plane's toilet.

Her airplane-induced orgasm did little to quench the blaze between her thighs and, ten minutes after Mike returned to his seat, Jen resumed her perch atop the armrest of 4B.

"What I really dislike about what we have to wear are these," Jen said, as she pinched the nylon of her pantyhose between her thumb and forefinger, picking up the conversation as if both hadn't just rushed off for a measure sweet relief.

Pulling the stocking away from her thigh just below her hemline, Jen jammed it with her thumbnail causing a deliberate run.

"Fuck," she cursed softly brushing at her leg as if that might repair the damage. "Damn it, I'm going to catch hell if my super sees that when we land."

"Maybe she won't notice," offered Mike trying to comfort this beauty in distress.

"Oh, she'll see it all right. That's a guarantee." Jen deliberately gouged a hole making sure she wouldn't chicken out on her tease.

"What do you think?" she asked Mike running her finger across the nylon and her bare flesh. "I've got a pretty good tan. If I slip these off, I'll bet nobody will notice. Plus, anything will be an improvement over this."

Checking on the sleeping man in the back of the plane, Jen kicked off her shoes. Crouching as modestly as she could so as not to appear ludicrously loose, she reached under her skirt and pulled her pantyhose over her hips and ass.

Mike stared, incredulous, watching a woman partially disrobe in front of him. His hard on was back with a vengeance, poking out along his left pants leg. It was as if he hadn't just jerked off ten minutes ago.

As she slid her torn garment down her thighs, Jen noticed that her panties had come down along with the pantyhose. While she hadn't planned to take the tease that far, she nonchalantly removed them too. Fishing her panties from inside the hose, she felt her moistness on them.

Mike's mind spun wildly as the sight of her pretty pink thong caused his genital shaft to pulse out its renewed hunger.

"I'll probably need these later," Jen smiled as she thrust the lacy panty into her jacket pocket before resuming her perch.

"Souvenir?" she giggled holding out the torn nylon garment.

It didn't surprise her that the teen reached for them even though he probably had no idea just what he might do with such a trophy.

Jen slipped her now bare right foot into her flight shoe. The other shoe had landed near Mike's feet and she asked him to retrieve it. Placing her left foot on the seat cushion between them, she felt the air of the cabin caress her naked pussy as she waited for her footgear. The coolness of the breeze against her labia confirmed that she was again becoming hotly aroused from her games.

When he brought the shoe up, Mike stared at the beautiful tanned flesh inches from his hands. With one foot on the floor and the other on the seat cushion, Jen's legs were spread wide and he could see several inches up her skirt, almost to what he knew to be her bare cunt.

Mike had no control over the moan that escaped his throat as he contemplated just sliding his hand right up Jen's thigh to finally touch that which he'd fantasized touching so many, many times. For the first time in his life he detected the aphrodisiacal aroma he would come to know as the heat of the human female – as if he needed more stimulation.

He could feel his cock throbbing as it again ached with need. Even Jen thought she could see the denim material pulsating as she stared at the hard on in Mike's jeans. Slipping on her shoe, Jen moved her foot off the seat and crossed her right leg over her left.

"What do you think, Mike?" she asked as she ran her hand up her leg from her ankle to her hem and even higher, pulling her skirt up as she continued until her hand butted against her pussy and could trace no further. "Does it look like I have stockings on?"

Mike held his breathe as he saw her entire limb revealed to his gaze. His heart skipped a beat as he felt a pre-orgasm tingle and dance along his scrotum and glans. Only the fear of the embarrassment of cumming in his pants kept his climax at bay.

"Yeah, I think so," Mike answered having swallowed hard in order to speak at all.

"Oh, I have a question," Jen announced bubbly like she hadn't thought it while letting the galley counter vibrate her to climax earlier.

"I had my legs waxed for the first time yesterday. I think they're much smoother than shaving. What do you think?"

Mike shuddered in complete, unbounded arousal as she spun toward him laying her left leg on the seat and placing her right foot on his thigh.

"Go ahead," she teased gleefully, "feel them."

Mike touched her calf and ran his palm against her skin. He'd never felt anything so soft and his moan told Jen that. He wished he could press his cheek against her leg.

"I've never felt anything so nice," Mike told her looking into her eyes with gratitude.

"Up here too, silly," Jen told him placing his hand on her thigh and pulling it almost all the way to her pussy.

She let go hoping he'd move further and discover her dampness, but he didn't. He couldn't. The softness of Jen's upper thigh was infinitely greater than the calf he'd just felt, and the sensation finally pushed him over the edge.

"Oh, god!" he groaned as he pushed his face against her thigh.

He knew he'd lost his battle and began convulsing as semen spewed from his cock slit. Mike would have to be embarrassed later as he gave himself to the same spontaneous climax he sometimes enjoyed at night in his dreams.

Jen could not escape her own hands-free climax as her clit began twitching violently when she saw and felt Mike's groans as his lips began kissing her thigh. She clamped her thighs against his ears as she humped out her involuntary orgasm. She half hoped to feel his tongue against her vulva but never did.

Releasing Mike's imprisoned head, Jen finally slid into seat 4B as both gasped for air. Slowly, they recovered from their unconventional visit to the mile-high club.

"My god, Mike," Jen whispered in contentment, "I've never experienced anything like that before." Turning toward him she saw the huge cum spot on his jeans.

"I'd better get you something for that," she said reaching into his lap and running her hand the length of his softening cock to feel the wetness she'd caused.

Poor Mike was too close to his climax to enjoy the feeling of the first female hand to stroke his clothed cock.

"That tickles," Mike told her, as he jerked his knees upward and grabbed her arm to make its movements stop.

"Be right back," she said as she withdrew her hand and got up to fetch Mike something to dry his pants. As she walked forward, she brought her fingers to her nose so she could smell the stimulating freshness of young cum.

Somebody's going to get lucky in Cheyenne, she thought, staring at the cockpit door and thinking of the men beyond it. Hell, with how I feel right now, maybe two somebodies.

Jen took a moment to wipe her own soaking genitals before returning to Mike with the promised towel. Again sitting in 4B, she leaned over and pretended to mop up his seminal fluid. In reality, it was little more than an ill-disguised effort to play with his cock. Damn, he felt big. Jen wanted to see it but there wasn't time. A light flashed in the galley.

"Mmmm," she said as released the towel and sat straight. "I'd love finish that for you but I've got to prepare for landing. If you're ever in St. Louis, I'd love for you to call me."

Jen leaned over and kissed Mike's cheek as she slipped a piece of folded paper into his pocket. Just before she got up, she moved her index finger to her lips and kissed it. Then she moved her finger to his jeans and traced it the length of his cock. Once more, bolts of lightening ricocheted through the nerve endings of Mike's genital system.

At the airport in Cheyenne, Mike exited the plane onto the tarmac. Once inside the terminal, there were few people and none who looked like she might be his aunt.

His eyes were immediately drawn to a hot blonde who had her back to him. She wore cowboy boots, faded jeans, a white shirt, and a cream colored Stetson. It was difficult to tell whether it was the tight jeans that made her ass so firm or her firm ass that made the jeans so tight.

Either way, she was much too young and Mike turned his attention to the dumpy, graying woman about ten feet to the blonde's right. Approaching her, Mike was just about to ask, "Aunt Molly?" when she waved to someone behind him.

Turning, Mike saw the other man on his flight waving back. Mike began to look for a phone so he could call his aunt or his mother to see what had gone wrong. Just as he started off, the blonde turned around. It was as if he were staring at Charlize Theron and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Molly was as shocked by her nephew's appearance as he was by hers, but she knew immediately it had to be Mike. His jeans were brand new and his sneakers were a dingy gray. He wore no hat. His clothes screamed out-of-towner!

"Mike?" she asked. He smiled and approached her with his hand extended.

"Did my Aunt Molly send you?" Mike asked not believing his luck. Are you staying at the ranch he hoped more than wondered.

"I guess you could say that," the woman laughed. "I AM your Aunt Molly!"

Mike blushed deep crimson as his aunt pushed past his hand and hugged him tightly. The blood left his face rushing southward as her soft, hard body pressed against his. Thankfully, the contact was mercifully brief.

With his duffel bag in the back of the pickup, Molly asked Mike if he'd like to take the wheel to start what would be an almost six hour trip to the ranch just outside Big Piney. As they drove, Mike drank in the beauty of the desolate countryside. Molly told him about the ranch and all the things that needed doing.