I was on a plane home after studying abroad for a year of school.

I learned a lot in London ― all of it started on my first night there

when I lost my cherry to a 50-year-old businessman on his way home

from work.

But I figured that particular brand of fun was over ― at least until

I figured out how to get off as much as I did in England. I had been

cumming in the pany of a geous guy every day, at least once,

the eime I was there.

My flight looked someromising. There was one geous

Indian guy on the plane, in a fine suit with a stylin’ haircut. Great

package too. There were two hot black guys, but they were both up

front, o each other. So I said a silent goodbye to that opportunity

as I made my way to the back of the plane.

I sat o one of two smoking hot married guys. I was o the

oh his family. The other one was a few rows up, looking hot in

a goatee, nice pecs, and with a stern type of masity about him.

The guy I was o ― across the aisle from ― was o his son. His

wife and daughter were in front of them. The flight retty empty.

I had my row to myself. My part of the plane arse.

I stole a handful of looks at him. He was hot. About 40, dark hair,

brown eyes. He was tall at 6’4” and had a small stomach that rounded

over his belt. He was in slacks, a button down shirt and a sweater, which

is just how I like my older men ― preppy and professional looking

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