It was an afternoon flight from LAX to PDX two weekends ago. We were waiting for our exit off the plane in a single filed bunny hop some 40 odd rows deep.
I had a boner for whatever reason (I believe it to be the canned air) and probably should have snapped one off in the bathroom mid-air.
Anyway, so here we are, all line up. Bumping, rubbing, sweating it out in that forever line off the plane and I happened to be behind some overweight gramma in yoga pants.
It took every nasty thought I could conjure for me to prevent a blast-off of my own as the friction of every bubble-butt-back-up brought me closer and closer.
Finally, the line moved on and I was able to grab my bag and drag my blue balls out into the terminal.
I walked towards the gate with gramma for a while, wondering if the whole experience would have a lasting affect on my masturbatory fodder for the better as I turn 40 this week.
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