Author's Note: I'm looking for a woman to play out this fantasy. If it goes well we can try others too. Please be a real person, creative, horny, interactive, and well written. The following is a lead in, but ideally it's just a starting point and we can create a completely new story that explores the so-called "mile-high club."

The process of traveling by any means in which I'm not in control of the vehicle has always frustrated me. I fly a good deal for work, so I swallow my dissatisfaction and try my best to make the process less painful.

Until I landed my job as an international salesman, I could never sleep on a plane. Over the years, it's become easier but not simple.

As begins the majority of my work weeks, I wake to the sound of my blaring alarm clock and quickly ready myself for my week away. I travel light and generally pack the morning of. In my morning haze, it takes me a moment to remember where I'm headed. Singapore! That's it. Never been actually. It's a new account and a new country for me.

I make my way to terminal 7 of Vancouver International Airport. With all the miles I've racked up, there are few, if not none, of the amenities available here that I don't have access to. My favorite is skipping the security line and being the among the first to board.

I make it to my seat, stow my carry-ons, settle in, and fasten the lap belt. I learned long ago that as long as you have nothing at your feet and the belt visibly fastened, no one will bother you. That's convenient because my goal is to fall asleep ASAP and stay that way until the altitude change from descending causes my ears to pop, which serves as my alarm clock.

Today feels no different, and I find myself slowly drifting off, even as the plane continues to board.

The eye mask I use for travel works well and effectively blinds me to the outside world. Along with my noise canceling headphones, the combination can really isolate you. I can't remember the last time I gave my seat mate more than a furtive glance as we board or disembark. With luck and practice, I can even avoid that.

But today is different. Today you sit next to me. Today you enter my life, if only for a few fleeting hours while we remain confined to the plane. Anyone who meets you can tell immediately that you're confident, almost to the point of arrogance, and that you clearly love to exude your sexuality.

"Low cut" is usually an understatement when it comes to the shirts you wear. Most of them proudly display your toned belly and very few of them cover more than a fraction of your back.

You know how hot you are and that makes you even hotter. Some might call you a nymphomaniac or a sex adict, but fuck those misguided puritan holdovers.

I wake from my newfound slumber with a start when I feel you plop down in the seat next to me. Removing my eye mask, I ready myself to reprimand the individual responsible for rousing me, fully intending to give the offending party a piece of my mind.

Even before fully removing the mask, your shapely and largely bare legs come into view, giving me my first hint of what's to come. I pull the mask off fully and turn my gaze to meet yours. I'm greeted by your warm, wide grin and a moment later a spectacle of skin and sexuality.

The way our seats are grouped, it's just the two of us, and it quickly becomes apparent that you love to talk with your seat mate when you fly.

Usually this would be my worst nightmare, but with how instantly you've turned me on from zero to aroused, I don't mind this time. 'In fact,' I think to myself, 'she might be the most intriguing fellow passenger I've met in my many years of flying.'

"Hi!" you instantly pipe up. "Very nice to meet you! I'm looking forward to getting to know you a bit today. I'm a people person and I love flying because it gives me an opportunity to have real and in-depth conversations with strangers." You say as you briefly and playfully poke my leg.

Over the course of the 14 hour flight, we do get to know each other, just as you wanted. You become increasingly playful, which turns into flirtatiousness.

When the topic of marital status crops up in our conversation and remains the topic of choice, I start to wonder if this might turn into something more. After disclosing my status as a bachelor, your behavior changes. If I thought you were being flirtatious before, I had I idea what you are capable of.

The poke from earlier has morphed into gentle, lingering caresses, and is no longer confined to my leg. For the moment you avoid a certain level of touch that might cross a real boundary, but the same can't be said for the way you're now touching your own body and displaying yourself for me.

Our conversation returns to tamer topics, but the way you're acting and your quickened, half-ragged voice doesn't change. I almost do a spit take with the beer I'm trying to drink as you lift your hips out of your seat and slowly and subtly work your panties down your legs and to the floor. You bend forward to pick them up and as you do I reach out and run my hand over your exposed back, slowly caressing you from shoulder blade to tail bone.

As you sit back in your seat, you give me a naughty little smile and hand me the black lace thong that until just a moment ago was pressed against your pussy.

"Meet me in the bathroom..." You say coyly...