KL1326

Finally!

With a contented sigh I sank down in my seat on the KLM flight which was to get me from Amsterdam and home - the final leg of my return journey after three weeks working offshore in the Molucca Sea off Indonesia's Sulawesi island. I was jetlagged as fuck, tired beyond belief and could definitely use a shower - but in a few minutes, I'd be sitting here, gin tonic in hand, knowing that in three hours or so, I'd be in my bathtub, soaking myself - then be off to an early night and, with any luck, a good night's sleep.

Some journeys are almost relaxing, but this had been anything but - from the moment my chase boat was delayed getting from the vessel I'd worked on to Bitung, the last 30 hours had been a race against the clock - first to get on the flight to Jakarta - which I had missed by mere minutes, and the only thing causing me not to miss my connection to Amsterdam had been a speedy rebooking onto the next flight, a wing and a prayer. To catch my onward flight, I'd had the dubious privilege of running like mad from the domestic to the international terminal at Soetta - with sixty kilos of luggage in tow, as checking the luggage through was not an option.

I'd been one of the last passengers to board, and the only thing (I believed!) keeping me from being told in a curt voice that the gate was closed was that I had quite literally millions of bonus miles with KLM. Whether my luggage showed up at my destination of Aalesund or not, I had no idea. Probably not. Not that I cared. I'd be home.

I absentmindedly listened to the familiar drone of the safety demo - hearing it more than a hundred times a year, I was quite confident I'd be able to recite it verbatim if asked to, but in an attempt to show at least a minimum of respect for the poor soul being given the ungrateful task of conducting it, I tried to at least feign attention.

Moments later, we taxied onto the runway and, a few minutes later, we were airborne, climbing out over the North Sea. I'd flown a thousand times and change, but still felt a childlike thrill every time we left the ground - it seemed almost to defy nature that such a heavy machine could leave the ground behind and gracefully take to the skies...

Glancing out the window, I caught a glimpse of a Dutch field, still able to make out the cows grazing - just. As the initial climb was complete and our climb angle grew smaller, I dug out a tattered paperback - Camus' 'The Stranger', which had been on my to read list for ages - and was lost to the world when the stewardess softly asked whether I would like a cup of coffee. I left Meursault for a moment, turning my attention to a snappy, thirty-something stewardess which had this particular Dutch look to her - tall, blonde, distinct features, the bluest eyes one could imagine. I tried to figure out just what features made her stand out as Dutch, but luckily I came to my senses before the silence became awkward and smiled wearily at her. -'Oh, some coffee would be great. Black, no sugar, no cream, no nothing, please. I'll have two if you let me, I've been on my feet for some thirty-odd hours by now.'

She turned on her sympatethic smile, deftly pouring two paper cups of what passes for coffee on an airline while making small talk. -'So, thirty-odd hours, huh? That's too long to have come from the Americas or Africa, so you're on your way from Asia, right?'

I nodded while gratefully accepting the cups. -'The Dutch East Indies. Sulawesi. My connecting flight into Jakarta was delayed, so I ran like mad through the airport in a vain hope to catch the flight which got me here - luckily that, too, was a little delayed, so I got on it juuu-uuust in time. Judging from the -deserved, I might add- looks I got from the other pax, they probably thought the plane had been holding for me.' She giggled. -'I believe the politically correct term nowadays is 'Indonesia'. Oh, and with your Flying Blue status, I assure you they WERE waiting for you. As long as they will not have to rebook the takeoff slot, they will wait for a Platinum member.'

-'Oh.' I blushed a little - fair enough, I appreciated the perks of being a frequent flier, but I felt somewhat ill at ease knowing that I'd kept hundreds of people waiting, if only for a few minutes. -'I hope you don't feel stalked or something,' she said -'But the bonus levels are noted on the passenger manifest, that's why.'

Just as she'd said that, the passenger in the seat in front of me decided now was a good a time as any to recklessly recline his seatback; he'd probably not pushed the release catch all the way in, and decided force would get the job done; it did, but it also ensured the cup I was not holding spilled into my lap, immediately stinging like hell.

Luckily my stewardess was a clear-headed woman of action, as it turned out. Hardly had the coffee soaked into my trousers before she had a large bottle of water out, turning it upside down over me and giving it a good squeeze, soaking me and my seat in cold water; the stinging pain immediately subsided, but of course - I'd gotten a new problem, though probably a more manageable and less painful one than burns in my crotch.

Immediate crisis averted, she exclaimed -'I'm most sorry, Sir, but I believe you're better off wet than burned, no? Does it hurt?'

I quickly replied she had nothing at all to apologise for, and that if anything, I ought to be grateful - while dead tired, I was still bright enough to realise that her quick thinking had probably kept me from getting burns in a place where it would hurt. Bad.

It turned out KLM had a plan for what to do in such circumstances - well, either that, or I had been treated to an exceptionally quick-witted specimen of the species Stewardessicus Dutchus. After asking me to stay put (Well, what else ought I do?), she got be a blanket from an overhead compartment and tucked it over me. -'Sadly there's no way we can get to your luggage before we're on the ground in Ålesund, and that'll be in another hour and a half, I'm afraid. I'll ask the first officer whether he's got a spare pair of trousers in his cupboard - he's just about your size, probably not quite as tall, but close enough. Give me a minute.'

And with that, she disappeared again, and I sat back - slightly confused, wet and cold - but, all things considered, quite satisfied. I could have been a lot worse off. Heck, it even appeared that none of my fellow passengers had even noticed anything had happened at all - except maybe wondering why the trolley round had been paused.

A minute or so passed, and my new friend appeared through the curtains up front, accompanied by a colleague who immediately took over the trolley duty. -'Come,' she beckoned to me. -'I've got you a new pair of trousers - oh, and some burns gel, just in case.'

Burns gel? That might be overdoing it a little. Folding the blanket aside, I undid my belt and stepped into the aisle. Luckily I was seated in C and this was a small commuter jet, so I only had two rows to go before I could sneak through the curtains separating the pantry from the cabin. Nodding towards the left hand door, she suggested I just step over there for a moment - after which she locked the toilet, pulled a trolley from its stowed position and put it in the aisle just behind the curtains before locking it in position.

-'So, noone should have any reason to venture here now as the toilet is occupied, and if anyone should feel like queueing, they'll find getting around that trolley quite the challenge. With your decency taken care of, please drop the trousers and let's see how badly you got it.'

I weathered a weak protest - I was a grown boy, I could perfectly well do my own damage control if need be. She brushed it aside. -'Please. I am here to ensure you are all safe and comfortable. I am not doing my job properly if I do not make sure you are OK. Please.'

I nodded. She did have a point. Undoing my belt buckle, I slid the soaked jeans down my thighs, struggling a little as they clung to my skin like a rash, now that they were wet. Sure, my skin was a little reddish, but I didn't think I'd notice at all in a day or two. She nodded towards my boxer while reaching for a first aid kit -'That one, too. You got it right in the lap.'

I hesitated. OK, this was definitely overdoing it. Did she really expect me to... -'Please. I need to assess, ah, the damage before I can get started on the red tape. Noone will see you. Well, except me. Please.'

I nodded again, rather meekly. The boxer went the way of the jeans, and there I was - at thirty-something thousand feet over The North Sea, hurtling north at six hundred miles an hour, jeans around the ankles and a stewardess intently studying my penis.

It felt awkward.

Putting on a pair of latex gloves, she raised her eyes to meet mine for an instant, before getting to work, gently pulling at the (Thank GOD!!!) very flaccid member, checking out the skin on my scrotum, the length of the shaft...

I clenched my teeth. While there was hardly anything erotic about the situation, her soft touch had very predictable consequences. I was becoming erect. -'Well, there doesn't appear to be any real damage done,' she chirped gaily -'But I'd better apply some burns gel, just in case. Better safe than sorry, and I guess skin doesn't come much more delicate than right there, huh?'

She fetched a small tube from the kit, opened it and poured a little in the palm of her hand. I had to suppress a disbelieving moan. Really? Was she going to...

She was. Softly closing her hand around my semi-erect cock and massaging the gel into the tender skin, it didn't take long for there to be nothing semi about it at all; I was sporting a hard-on right in front of her face. I reddened like hell. -'I, uh, I'm sorry, I...'

She glanced up at me. -'No worries, I'd be lying if I claimed I didn't think this might, uh, be a likely outcome.' She giggled a little, still holding onto me. -'I am sorry, that was unprofessional of me - but it IS important that we apply this as soon as possible after a potential burn, so...'

With that, she resumed what could only be described as jerking me off. Well, that wasn't what she did, obviously, she was applying the burn gel as she'd been taught - but to my cock, there really wasn't much of a difference. I couldn't come up with any reply which wouldn't sound either moronic, way out of line - or both. I settled for a mute nod, while inside I was screaming to myself "PLEASE DO NOT STOP!!!!"

The situation was surreal, I thought. How many people have ever experienced being professionally masturbated while at 30,000 feet?

Well, more than have experienced the next thing which happened, I guess. Hitting some turbulence - nothing major, but it came totally out of the blue and caught us unawares - she lost her balance and the next thing I know, my swollen, purplish glans had smacked her right in the forehead. I stared at her in despair - fuck, what would she think of me???

Well, she took it nicely, I'll hand her that. She first stared at me in silence, then giggled, before breaking into a muted laugh. It was infectious, and soon the pantry resonnated with our laughter. She softly slapped herself on her forehead. -'Poof!'. New giggles.

We gathered ourselves, and her professional tone returned. -'Just a moment, and we'll be done, OK?'

Her attention returned to my crotch. With gentle, circular hand movements she applied the gel to the inside of my thighs. -'It will absorb into the skin, so in a couple of minutes we can wipe off any excess, so it won't mess up your new trousers.'

She finished up my thighs. -'OK, another couple of minutes for that to soak in, and you're good to go.' Glancing up at me, she threw me a quick smile. -'We'd better put some more on your boss, better safe than sorry.'

Taking a good helping of gel in the palm of her hand, she again closed it around my shaft and began to massage the gel into the skin. I'll admit to wondering whether this was standard operating procedure, or if she was pulling my leg - make that cock - a little.

Seconds later, there was no doubt. She was stroking me, and doing a wonderful job of it, too. Her hand, softly sliding up and down my shaft, the strange, cooling sensation of the gel - it was a hand job like no other, and the familiar tingle spreading from the base of my cock told me in no uncertain terms that this would be over shortly - it felt so incredibly, undescribably good.

-'Do give me a heads-up just before you shoot, OK?' she said, almost sternly - before returning her attention to the gel-glistening, rock-hard cock. I felt my orgasm closing in; the surreal situation, her lovely, warm, soft hand, the gel, her amused look as her glance darted between my cock and my - presumably pleading - eyes. I was about to burst, and told her. While continuing to stroke me with her right hand, she reached out for an empty paper cup; her grip around my cock tightened, pace increasing - and seconds later, I grunted and sent the first spurt shooting into the cup, my new friend forcefully milking me, staring at my pulsating member in fascination as I sent jet after jet of pure bliss into the makeshift deposit, before wiping off the last drop against the edge of the cup.

A couple of wet wipes appeared out of nowhere, and with a smile she cleaned up the worst of the mess, winked at me and giggled. -'Thank you for flying KLM', she whispered while stifling a laugh, before getting back on her feet, opening a cupboard and pulling out a pair of black uniform trousers. -'Try these ones on. You're going to have to go commando, but it is probably just as well to not have anything close to the skin, anyway.'

I gratefully accepted the trousers and pulling them on, I realised that the by now trouserless - well, almost trouserless, presumably he was fully dressed in the cockpit - first officer was a bit slimmer around the waist than I was, but pulling them on I was relieved to find that it wouldn't be a problem to wear these until I came back home - nevermind that it would look a little out-of-place to wear sharply creased trousers with a washed-out Dead Kennedys T-shirt.

It sure beat wearing jeans with a huge, wet stain in the crotch and down my thighs with a washed-out Dead Kennedys T-shirt, though.

I gazed at her, probably with equal parts puzzlement and desire in my eyes. I guess part of me hoped she'd offer me yet more good reasons to fly KLM in the future. -'Well, that's all,' she chirped. -'I'll have your wet trousers wrapped up and returned to you after landing,' she smiled. -'Just keep Marco's trousers as a memento, if you like.'

I took my chances hugging her, and was rewarded with a brief kiss on the cheek. -'Please don't think that I do this all the time,' she whispered in my ear. -'Think of it as a perfect storm, or something. Sometimes, spur-of-the-moment could be my middle name.'

With that, she unlocked the trolley and pulled it back in its rack again, unlocked the toilet and nodded to me that I could return to the cabin. -'Just take 5D or F, will you please? It is dry and unoccupied.'

-'Better take care not to serve anyone from that cup,' I grinned at her before heading through the curtains. -'Oh, and thank you very much for your, ah, efforts.'

Laughing, she tossed the cup in the garbage bag slung from the trolley. -'Well, we try to look after our passengers!' she smiled, before crouching down to pick up my wet clothes.

Easing myself down into my new seat, I felt on cloud nine.