Fly The Friendly Thighs

This girl went to Denver a few days ago and had a blast. So much of a blast that she only got two hours of sleep before she had to fly back. "That's okay," she thought "I picked out my seat next to the window." However, when it came time to be the one person holding up an entire aircraft of people, she pushed past the exit row demonstrations to row 19 (coach, no chicken bus for this princess) only to find herself seated in a middle aged sandwich. Frontier Airlines asked her to pick her seat out on-line and it didn't matter because they put her somewhere awful.

[end of third person narrating]

I was sitting there, waiting for the minute I could put my tray table in the "I don't have to explain myself to old people" nap position. I realized it was weird to be exhausted for a noon thirty flight and I felt a little trashy. That was, until the gentleman to my right took chivalry to a whole new altitude. He balled up his denim patchwork Carhartt and offered it as a pillow. I politely refused explaining I did not want my face to smell like pastrami and cigarettes. He insisted and I declined to the point I got irritated. I didn't want to lay on his clothes. I really just wanted him to put his meaty arms inside his own jacket so I wouldn't have to feel the red hairs of his functional bulk brushing against my soft skin. He was a little over my arm rest and his distressed jeans were finding analogous position, placing themselves as if we were on a date. His body language set to "rape" and I haven't even had my coffee... ok, I have had my coffee, but I wasn't ready for this. He kept trying to talk to me like I was going to giggle and say "your arm hair tickles, let's go to the potty."... I found a lull (pretty quickly in the middle of his sentence) to put in my ear buds and finally lay my head down on my own god-dammed jacket (thank you) and took a nap.

[she drifts off to St. Vincent]

I am awakened about 15 minutes into my nap with a gruff cough from our favorite rapist in seat 19C. I jump a bit and sit up to orientate myself. With a suggestive pat, he implies I should use the balled up jacket of his, but this time it's in his lap. I don't know how they do it in Minnesota, but here- over where ever we are, men get lynched for less than that (right?). When the same refusing response came from my purdy mouth, I could hear his teeth chip- no doubt fighting the urge to shove my head onto his "pillow".

[alternative ending]

Him: you can lay your head here, in my lap, Miss.

Her: Why thank you, there aren't a lot of men out there willing to let an attractive (relatively) young thing like me get my face anywhere near their lap. This is very big of you.

Him: uh-oh!

Her: What? Did I forget to wear panties under this skirt? [reaches down and feels exposed vagina] Oops!

Him: Oh that, yeah... but you said "big" and that word that awakens Thor.

Her: [vagina excreting unusual amounts of interest] Who's Thor?

etc.

They end up in the potty, fucking over the smell of stale farts and she has never been so satisfied.

The End.