The day on the plane moved on into the evening, with drinks and snacks followed by dinner, the dimming of the lights, and the start of the movies. The old hippy sitting next to me had drunk himself into a stupor and was leaning against the window wall, his mouth wide open, and snoring.

A passing stewardess who was passing saw that he was asleep and bent down and asked me, in an excited whisper, if I knew who he was. I didn’t. She told me—a member of some rock band from before I was born. I wasn’t any more impressed with him after she told me that, but I tried to act sufficiently gratified. After she passed on, I got up in the darkness and went to the head. No one around me even looked up; they were all busy reading or were glued to their TV consoles. As I was coming back to my seat, there he was—the black hunk—leaning up against the pillar between economy and business class sections, beefy arms folded over his torso, and giving me the eye. He nodded his head back toward economy class and then unfolded himself, turned, and walked away.

Sometime during dinner, I must admit, I’d forgotten about him. I told myself that it had just been a flirtation as I was coming down from having to say good-bye to Kwame. But now he suddenly was front and center in my attention again as I watched his bulbous buttocks roll in the dancer’s steps he was taking in retreating from me down the aisle into the depths of the darkened economy section. My cock was stirring.

Thoughts entered my mind of my father goading me not to pass up the opportunities presented when another man stirred my cock.

I looked down at the snoring and aging-by-the-minute rock musician and then around for what the stewardesses were doing. They weren’t in evidence—taking a break, no doubt, with all of the well-fed passengers supposedly absorbed in their choice of movies. I turned and walked into the economy section. The black hunk was already all the way in the back of the plane, where seat occupancy was sparse. This, gloriously, wasn’t a packed flight.

The black guy was looking around at the banks of seating in the rear as I approached. Everyone back here who I passed had their faces buried in their TV consoles. The rows before the one he stood by and across the aisle from it were deserted. No stewardesses were on the move.

“In here,” he growled, pointing toward an empty row of three seats. He had a hand in the bin overhead, pulling out a blanket. He gave me a little shove as I moved past him into the bank of seats and landed on the middle seat on my hip and nearly hit my head on the window wall.

He remained a man of few words. “Yes?” he asked in a low, hoarse whisper as he looked down at me. I took that as shorthand for “Do you take black cock?”

“Yes,” I squeaked.

He sat in the aisle seat, his legs turned to me, and covered our laps and legs with the blanket. Going right to town, he unbuckled and unzipped my shorts with one hand under the blanket while cupping the back of my neck with the other and bringing my face up to his for a deep kiss. The kiss, conducted below the top level of the seat bank in front of us, lasted for the full time it took him to strip off my shorts and briefs.

As he let go of my lips, he whispered, “Lay back and enjoy. Dream of what comes later.” I leaned over against the window wall as he slowly jerked me off to an ejaculation.