Six Hours in Singapore

This is the state I was in anyway, when I had to get on the plane to come home, not feeling too sad to be doing so, remembering all of this, the whole trip, but those moments of nakedness and sex, at the beach, in the house, the three of us naked and aroused, going to bed together, too tired to sleep, tangled up in each other, laying, sitting, rolling over, wobbling and shaking as one of us got up for water, to piss. I was looking forward to seeing Ilsa again, looking forward to climbing into bed with her, looking forward to the climax of my life, looking forward to perhaps half an explanation as to why I was coming so quickly. This is the state I was in when I first met Trent. I had booked a seat at the very back of the plane, in a row of four seats that was otherwise empty, at least when I went online. So at first I was disappointed when someone else started to unpack some of the contents of a carry-on bag onto the seat at the other end of the row. I carried on with my book, until the plane quietened down, and he sat, I heard him breathe out rather heavily, and glanced over. He had a book, and a newspaper, and what looked to be a hard covered pad of writing paper. He looked up and we caught each other's eye. He smiled. And might have said something, no more than a "Hey", which I returned. I suppose our eyes may have lingered for a tiny bit longer than usual, than is required for a casual greeting to a fellow passenger, they might not have though.

At once however, I wanted to carry on looking.

He was, kind of, amazing looking. Younger than me I thought, five, maybe six or seven years, not boyish at all, but certainly young looking, his mouth, his forehead, his eyes free from the lines and creases that were already beginning to give my face what I generously called "character". And those eyes, I noticed first, with calm appreciation, green-blue I suppose, but clear and piercing and quite beautiful. He had medium length dark brown hair, a soft looking, full mouth, a strong jaw, what looked like a firm slim body. I glanced again, at his black linen jacket, already showing the wrinkles of being worn, his cream shirt, French cuffs left loose and unlinked, slim cut black trousers, brown leather Birkenstocks. He carried an attractive cocktail of style and scruffiness. I read, and steadied myself for the first long leg (shorter leg) of my trip home. Only I kept glancing over, at him, crossing his legs, uncrossing them, looking at his book, putting it down again. I wondered if he was a nervous flyer. I also found myself wondering more or less immediately about his cock. Jesus. I had sex on the brain.

This was how I occupied myself as the plane was readied for take-off, remembering Paul's bare body, his hardening prick, my sister, Martin and Jools, undressing with them, looking at them getting hard, feeling them in my mouth, and more and more thinking of this strange man, his naked body, thinking of undressing him, taking off those black trousers, that shirt, his underwear, looking at his naked cock, looking at him naked. I felt myself getting hard, and looked, I saw the familiar bulge of my penis, pushing out my loose trousers in a thick curve.

Okay, the flight was long, but I had something else now to kill the time.

I looked at my book, at him, again, already again. I saw his knee jiggling up and down. He looked over at me, our eyes met again. Shit.

"Um, you okay? You... don't like flying?"

He spoke, an English accent.

"Oh, well, I mean, huh, yeah not really no, not especially."

"I thought, you look a little nervous."

"Mmm, I'm okay, just, you know, take off, and landing, the descent really, and, and some of the high altitude stuff."

"Right, so not much."

"No, they'll be serving soon, a steady intake of alcohol should see me through."

"Sure, I wish I had something to offer, valium, something."

"Yeah, pills might help."

He turned back to the front, to the window nearest him. I knew I would normally leave him to it, not push for conversation, and I was on the verge of doing this anyway, if he didn't want to speak neither did I. And neither did I. Yet I did.

"Are you stopping in Singapore?"

"No, London, eventually."

"Sure."

"You?"

I took this as some encouragement, that he wasn't completely averse to conversation.

"Berlin, eventually."

"Right. I like Berlin, I mean, I've only been there once, but I liked it."

"Yeah, I love London, I studied there for a year or so, a while back."

"Right, where abouts?"

"Oh, well at UCL, I lived in a house in Hackney, yes, Hackney I think."

"Shit, sorry about that."

"No, I liked it, I liked it."

He holds his hand out to me.

"I'm Trent, by the way."

"Hi. I'm Willem, or Will, either's good."

He turned away again. I glanced, I couldn't help it, I glanced at his groin, his trousers were just tight enough to show the faintest of bulges, the hint of his soft cock enclosed by his clothing, god, this hadn't really happened for a while, not since Ilsa, not actually meeting a man I was attracted by, it was all usually far more theoretical, I had successfully closed off that part of my attention, but with this guy I found myself imagining being with him, god, somewhere quiet, private, bending over to him, unzipping his trousers, reaching for his soft penis and taking it in my mouth, feeling him stiffen, pleasuring him, sucking his cock, god, I let the thought linger in my mind, I wanted to suck his cock, this strange beautiful younger man: I want his hard cock in my mouth.

I let thought drift. I don't see a wedding ring, but I assume heterosexuality, he has that look, I don't have a thing for straight men, I know this as well, straight seeming certainly, masculine, and fantasy is a different thing altogether, but I have done my chasing of straight boys, and I am fairly sure - am I? Have I picked up something, anything, some subtle sign of interest? - I would be wasting my effort to try anything, to hope for anything. Still though. It is a long flight. I have nothing much better to do than to chat, with complete innocence.

And he instigates some of our conversation, when he doesn't have to, when there is no reason to. He asks about my trip, where I have been in Australia, what I did. And I mention the beach. As soon as I can I take the conversation towards an area of erotic possibility.

"Oh I know that beach, I've never been, but yeah, that's got a large naturist section right?"

"Yeah, that's where we were."

"Right, who again? You and your sister? And her husband?"

"Yes, the three of us."

"Good day?"

"Really lovely yes. Do you go to nude beaches?"

"Uh, well, I do when I can I suppose, which is not often, but, do you know what I haven't actually, I have skinny dipped once, a couple of times, but no, never been to a nude beach. You? Do you go a lot?"

"Oh sure, yeah, at home, saunas, bathing, whenever."

"Right, different in Britain really, it's all seen as a bit more naughty, by most people, I mean, naturism is a thing, but not as casual I don't think, certainly not as in Germany."

"Of course, I think it is changing a little though, new people, younger people, from the East as well."

"Okay, seems a shame, no more nude hiking."

"Well now, I have never been nude hiking, sounds fun though, you?"

"No, although, no."

"Oh, come on, tell me, come on, we are plane friends, we never see each other again. What?"

"Huh, well, I did - why am I telling you this? -- I did, when I was younger, I went camping with a friend, on a walking holiday I guess, and we swam in this lake together, this small lake, nude, and we stayed nude, for the day, and the next day, half way through, we had a few miles to go, and one of us, well, I suggested we walk it naked, and we did. Shit, I've haven't thought of this for years, we stripped off, and walked naked, for at least a mile or two."

"And you enjoyed this?"

"I did yes, it was nice, with our big boots on, our ruck sacks. Everything else all free and easy"

"Sounds good"

It did sound good, I pictured him naked, fully, without a bag or boots, walking over a beach, a wide stretch of grass, into a river, his soft cock wobbling as he walked. Just walking, oblivious to anyone else, anyone watching.

Some time passed, he closed his eyes, his iPod plugged into his ears, I took the chance to look more closely, at his hands, his face, his crotch.

And then I closed my eyes, as he started to wake, I closed my eyes and thought of him looking at me, thinking, walking with me, swimming naked with me, my soft cock, sitting next to each other on a grass bank, our bare legs touching, our soft cocks pushed up straight by our thighs, letting my hand drift onto him, his hand moving to my back, both of us closing our arms around each other, feeling our naked bodies pressing together, looking, just looking, as his cock stiffens, as both of us become erect, and, mmm, as I push him back, onto his back, and roll over him, feeling his penis against mine, his strong rigid cock hard against my own, his hands on my back, stroking my bare ass, rolling over again, my hands on him, holding him, stroking his cool firm ass, pulling his hard member against me, stroking our hot cocks together, shifting back, looking, kissing his bare body, lowering my lips and taking his stiff penis in my mouth.

It was a way to fly.

I had him undress for me, in front of me, slowly, with much hesitation and nervousness, his jacket, his shirt, showing me his firm bare hairy chest, his tight belly, then his trousers, sliding them over his slim strong legs, standing in his underwear, tight, white, gripping his penis firmly underneath, I look at the shape of him, the long thick curve of his bulging dick, he hesitates some more, sweetly anxious about stripping in front of another man, knowing why, knowing he is not just stripping, becoming naked, but that he is already aroused, I look, I visualise the large pressing arc of his still hidden cock.

And he strips naked, holding his underwear in two hands, pulling, easing the material down, over his thick pubic bush, exposing this dark patch of hair, pushing, until I can see the thick root of his penis, and he lowers his pants, his dick springs free, half hard, springing outwards, away from his large tight balls, the retracted hairy pouch of his scrotum, his penis bounces free, and up, I watch his cock rise upwards in quick spurting pulses of blood and engorgement, dancing away from his thighs, up to his flat belly, until he is completely erect, naked, in front of me, uncircumcised, straight and thick and smooth, I imagine him huge, I visualise his cock rearing between us, bigger than mine, longer, thicker, a monstrous and eye watering length of rigid male sex.

My eyes are shut, I am drifting on the border between sleep and consciousness, and I can feel my cock is wonderfully hard. I wonder if he is awake, if he is glancing. I feign deeper sleep. My trousers are loose, but not so much so an erection would point upwards in an obvious and aggressive and unpleasant display of arousal. It would show though, I know this, if he looked he'd see the tell-tale bulge of a man with an aroused penis, I kept my eyes shut, I thought of stepping close to him, hearing his breathing become harsh, further betraying his desire, reaching for him, closing my hand around his thick hot stiff stem, and easing his foreskin back, pulling it, stretching it over his shiny wet dark red oozing bulb, I think of stroking his naked cock, and feel myself stiffen some more.

I want him to be looking, I realise, I want him to notice the swelling of my penis in my trousers, I want him to assume an erection I have no conscious control over, but I want him to see, to be drawn to the bulging shape of my swollen cock.

I want him to think. I want him to have thoughts he didn't know he was capable of, thoughts of another man, being with another man, fucking him, watching him strip, watching me, and I did, I undressed for him this time, as slowly as he had, my own shirt, shoes, trousers, letting him see the more obvious proof of my excitement, watching him notice the large prominent point my stiff penis was making in my underwear, waiting, looking, seeing something getting longer in his trousers, seeing his cock grow, as he sees me, as he looks at the shape of my dick, my nearly bare body, slighter than his, slimmer perhaps, he looks as I look, as I see the lengthening rail of his dick I grip my underwear and pull them off in one quick movement, yanking them down, feeling my hard stem catch on the elastic, being pulled down, before release, and bouncing upwards, out from my tight full balls, away from my body.

I see him stare, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open, I stare at the soft moist interior of his mouth, anticipating more, as he gazes at this now nude man, in front of him, stripping naked, his thick cock still rising up, stiff, fuck I am stiff, I think of getting hard for him, completely, superbly erect, until my cock rages up in front of my stomach, as thick and hard and long as I ever am, he looks at my size, at the length and thickness of my dick, at my unwavering tumescence.

I hold myself and grip my solid shaft, and ease back my foreskin for him to look at all of me, to look at the shiny damp dark red tip of my prick, the smooth bulbous cap, split almost into two plump cock cheeks by the tiny pursed slit of my urethra.

In my head I walk to him, and take his hand and place it over my stiff organ, and he holds me, fuck, he feels another guy's hard dick for the first time. I recognise the look of near abandonment, of unadulterated lust, depraved and unknown desires, he is mine, I know it, he wants to be mine, he wants to be filthy, shameless, he desires his own degradation.

"Suck my cock."

He looks up, to my eyes, his hand still wrapped around my dick, stroking now, softly, slowly, pulling my soft skin over the rigid core of my engorged stem.

"What?"

"Get on your knees, take my penis in your mouth, suck my cock, I know you want to, you know you want to, take my hard cock in your soft little mouth, go on, suck my cock you little slut, get on your knees..." (this is not my thing at all, not even in play, even in fantasy, where is this coming from?)

He does, he drops to his knees in front of me, my cock sticking up straight in front of him, vertical, utterly rigid. He holds it again.

"Take it in your mouth, go on, suck my cock you little slut, suck my cock you depraved slut, go on, take a guy in your mouth, suck another man's hard dick, let me see you, suck it, fuck, suck it like a filthy slut, go on straight boy, suck my hard cock... oh... oh fuck..."

I look as he bends my dick and slide his open mouth over the end of it, I watch his lips slip moistly over my tight smooth glans, and he carries on, lower, his mouth on my thick stem, fuck, I can feel him there, in my near sleep, I can feel his beautiful soft lips sliding over my rigid penis, his tongue, fuck, his tongue flicking up and down, licking me, caressing the underside of my dick.

"Suck my cock, oh fuck, you filthy little slut, oh god, you're a good little cocksucker, oh fuck, suck me, suck me like a dirty slut, I am going to come in your mouth, you are going to feel me come, and fill your sweet little mouth with my hot cum, oh yeah, suck it, suck my hard cock, let me see you touch yourself, oh fuck, get your cock out, you're hard aren't you? You love this don't you? Let me see how much, let me see your stiff dick."

I see him fumble with his trousers, his buttons, zip, pushing himself up slightly, pulling his flies apart, tearing at his clothes, pushing them off, his trousers, his underwear, and exposing his cock, god, he is so fucking hard, his cock springs up, out, already completely rigid, so fucking big, thick, long, his dick bounces out of his pants and rears up from his now bare thighs, he grips himself at once and starts to rub his naked penis, I watch him, my cock still in his mouth, his hand fingering my tight scrotum, stroking my tight tender balls, as he masturbates hard and fast, his hand stroking his thick stem, pulling his soft foreskin back and forth, I can see the shiny wet tip of his dick, I can hear his breathing, the slapping sound of his moist skin moving over his taut tender glans, I hold his head, I thread my fingers through his hair, feeling him move, feeling his lips on my penis, looking at my stiff dick slide inside his mouth, I feel real and imaginary climaxes getting close.

I stop, before either of us come. This is too much, I can feel a certain dampness now in my underwear. I open my eyes. As if waking. I glance over quickly, I am sure he was looking, he seems to be far too attentive to his book. I look at myself. The long curve of my straining cock is unmistakable.

I look more obviously over to him. "Need the toilet I think." And let him make what he wants to of this.

By the time I get into the small toilet my cock has lost some of its firmness, but I still push down my trousers, reach into my underwear and pull out my warm heavy penis, my balls hang low and full, stretching the skin of my heat-softened scrotum, I grip my thick stem, the urge to come right here, right now is almost uncontrollable, I stroke myself, slow, fuck, my cock stiffens immediately, I feel it thicken, harden between my fingers, as I stroke, barely, as I do little more than hold, and pull my foreskin back, I look at myself in the mirror, my face, my clothed body, the dark pink prong of my exposed dick, and glans, god I have leaked so much pre-cum my tip is slickly moist, covered in thick clear bubbly fluid.

I hold my soft skin back, and stroke my bare tip with my other fingers, I form a circle and slide my slippery damp bulb through, and back, fuck, I feel myself stiffen, but feel a more immediate sensation, one I know will become critical, unless I stop, do I want to? The idea of coming at forty thousand feet has some appeal, quickly, stroking myself harder, quickly, ejaculating over the black plastic toilet bowl.

I stop. I let myself soften enough to piss.

I sit back down. He is awake, drinking a beer. I catch the right eye and ask for a glass of white wine.

"When is your flight to Berlin?"

"Oh, Paris first unfortunately, tomorrow morning, early, I have to see someone there, or, not have to, but, anyway then to Berlin, so I have a few hours. I hate hanging around airports, I booked a room for the night. You?"

"Oh, same really, I have about six hours to kill. No room though, I am trusting Singapore airport to be comfy and distracting enough."

"For six hours? Scheiße. You... you..."

Can I suggest it? I want to. Do I trust myself? Am I past the point that this matters much? And he is straight, of this I am sure. To hang out, shower, drink a little. Be friendly.

"You should use my room, with me, relax properly, have a shower, if you want to. Take a nap."

"Wow, um, well, really?"

"For sure, why not?"

"I couldn't, really, it's your room, you want it to yourself."

"Oh, it's a few hours, it will be nice to get to know you a little better, before we fly off and never see each other again."

"Sure, but, I really don't know you."

"I know, now's the chance. Oh, you mean, you don't trust me? I may rob you?"

"No, no, I mean, well, I suppose I do, haha, silly isn't it."

"Uh-huh. Listen, here's my passport, here's my flight, I don't trust people very easily either, seriously, have a look, and you know, if I do anything bad, you can track me down."

He looks, without taking either, then looks up to me, at me, our eyes meet. And he breaks into a natural and infectious smile.

"It's a kind offer, and, if you mean it, I'll take you up on it. I tell you what, I'll let you get off first, to escape, if you want, if you were being polite and didn't really mean it, and if you don't wait, well, auf weidersehen. If you do, sure, we'll get to know each other a bit."