Two Hung Top Jocks Take A Red Eye

I normally fly during the day. But desperate measures caused me to book my very first red-eye flight. As I boarded, I noticed the plane was nearly empty. If a plane was this empty during the day, they usually found some random mechanical issue to justify cancelling the flight. But I guess they needed this plane to be in San Diego tomorrow even if they had to fly it there with only a handful of passengers. I prefer window seats and book the exit row when I can. As I approached, I noticed the aisle seat was occupied by a handsome man in his early-30s. I put my carry-on in the overhead bin and expressed my apologies for needing to step over him.

Mike:    (narrator in window seat) I guess we both like exit rows.

Jack:      (early-30s man in aisle seat) At 6’4” they are a hell of a lot cheaper than first class.

Mike:    I just want to be the first one off the plane in case it crashes.

Jack:      Self-preservation has its virtues.

Mike:    I’m Mike.

Jack:      Hi Mike. I’m Jack.

Mike:    I saw one guy in first class, but otherwise, it looks like we are the only two people in coach.

Jack:      Practically a private jet.

After taking my seat, I texted James to let him know I was on the way and would be at the San Diego airport as scheduled. He texted back, “Get some rest, you’re going to need it with what I have planned for us tomorrow.” As the flight attendant called for us to turn off our electronic devices, I replied “LOL” and put the phone in flight mode. As we taxied, I rested my head as best as I could with the seat in its full upright position and tried not to think about being hurled into the air in a metal tube powered by physics I simply didn’t understand and despite the number of times I had experienced it before, still couldn’t believe was actually possible.

Jack:      Fly often?

Mike:    Enough, but I still find it unsettling. You?

Jack:      I sleep on planes and hotel mattresses more than I sleep at home. It’s an occupational hazard.

Mike:    Sounds exhausting.

Jack:      It can be. But it has its perks.

Mike:    What takes you to San Diego?

Jack:      Sales convention. Work. The same ole shit. What has you on a plane at this time of night?

Mike:    Stupidity.

Jack:      Oh really?

Mike:    I’m meeting someone in person that I’ve been talking to for months online.

Jack:      So, you have a taste for catfish?

Mike:    We’ve Skyped a lot. So, I’m not too worried about a fish fry.

Jack:      Yeah, but what if you get there and the sexual energy is just flat?

Mike:    Well, that’s a risk. But sometimes you can just tell.

Jack:      True, you kinda know right up front. Your intuition is rarely wrong.

Mike:    So, what are the perks of being a road warrior?

Jack:      The anonymity, I guess. I only know one person in San Diego. It’s almost like arriving on another planet. I show up, hardly anyone knows a thing about me, and I can reinvent myself every time the wheels hit the tarmac.

Mike:    Like a positive version of Groundhog Day?

Jack:      I suppose. But then I go home, and everything is familiar again.

Mike:    Sounds nice. Home is kinda boring for me. Which explains flying halfway across the country to meet someone.

Jack:      Well, home is kinda boring for me too. The wife, the dog, the proverbial picket fence.

Mike:    Any kids?

Jack:      OH NO. . . I froze those swimmers away and got a reversible vasectomy years ago. I’m not going to be anyone’s baby-daddy.

Mike:    And the Mrs. is OK with that?

Jack:      Oh, she doesn’t know. I figure when we are on the verge of spending our life savings on fertility treatments after an exhausting number of years of marathon sex, I’ll get it reversed, and she will feel her pregnancy is some sort of miracle.

Mike:    You’ve got it all figured out.

Jack:      I don’t know about that. But I know I’m not ready for kids. At least not yet. Plus, if she gets pregnant now, I’ll know it’s not mine.

Mike:    Well, at least you are being honest with yourself about not being ready to be a parent.

Jack:      It’s not that I couldn’t. It’s that I don’t really want to right now.

Mike:    As long as you don’t push up against that biological clock, you can probably keep the game going.

Jack:      Exactly. That’s the plan. Tell me about this chick in San Diego.

Mike:    Well, the chick is actually a dude. His name is James.

Jack:      Oh, my bad. Sorry, I shouldn’t be so presumptuous.

Mike:    It’s OK. I’m what the gay community derides as “straight acting.” But I’m not acting at all. This is what I look like and how I normally act, and I just happen to be gay. I hope it doesn’t freak you out.

Jack:      Not a bit. My twin brother is gay.

Mike:    Identical?

Jack:      Nope. Just fraternal. But we’re close, as most twins are.

Mike:    I’m an only child.

Jack:      I can’t imagine my childhood without my brother. Dean and I did everything together.

Mike:    E V E R Y T H I N G ?

Jack:      Well, almost everything. But yeah, some of that too.

Mike:    This is a long flight, and this conversation has already surpassed any airplane conversation I have ever had. You are going to need to explain that last statement in more detail. Come on, there’s nobody else around to get offended.

Jack:      Well, one of the issues of being twins is that we pretty much hit puberty at the same time. Our parents were divorced. Mom got the house. So, when we were with her, we had separate rooms. But Dad lost out big-time in the divorce, and when we were with him, we had to share a room. So, yeah, we jacked off a lot together. At that age, three or four times a day was pretty normal. And we just weren’t apart that much.

Mike:    But nothing else.

Jack:      I didn’t say that.

Mike:    Did your brother know he was gay back then?

Jack:      I don’t think either one of us was that clued in about much of anything. We were just horny and liked to play with our dicks.

Mike:    Well, that’s every young man.

Jack:      Exactly.

Mike:    Was it awkward for the two of you?

Jack:      I think kids are just so curious at that age, and there is no real way of satisfying that curiosity without a shit-ton of awkwardness. But we were brothers, so it was a little easier, I guess. We measured each other’s dicks and compared ourselves to the other guys we played sports with.

Mike:    Who was bigger?

Jack:      Oh, I was. By a wide margin. It was always a bone of contention, so to speak. He jokes that I got the dick and he got the brains. He was smarter than me for sure. Twins are always in a constant state of comparison about everything.

Mike:    Well, a big dick’s nothing to sneeze at. And you seem to be doing well for yourself. So, your brain can’t be too deficient.

Jack:      Let’s just say we play to our strengths. He’s a bigshot professor, or at least he’s going to be. He finished his PhD and is currently at some post-doc program. And me, I have a big, baby-proof dick that finds a new hole every city it lands in.

Mike:    Better than letting good dick go to waste.

Jack:      Amen.

At a volume way too high for speaking to three passengers, the captain spouted some stats about the flight, indicated it was OK to recline our seats, and said the seat belt sign would be off shortly followed by beverage service. We both leaned back gaining all the comfort a coach seat would allow.

Jack:      This isn’t fair. You know all this stuff about me. Level the playing field.

Mike:    Well, I haven’t had a vasectomy. But then, I have no fears whatsoever about impregnating someone. As I said, I’m an only child. Pretty normal, all-American life. Mom, Dad, the picket fence, the Golden Retriever. I knew I was gay early on. But growing up in a small, mid-western town with somewhat religious parents didn’t necessarily roll out the red carpet for me to come out. I played pretty much any sport I could. I was a stereotypical jock, at least in every way except for not wanting to fuck the cheerleaders. All of which boils down to a gay man who looks and acts straight, which is a secret fantasy of many gay men, but on the surface, they call me the identity-denying devil incarnate.

Jack:      There’s nothing wrong with being a jock. Being athletic has nothing to do with being straight or gay. My brother and I were both athletes.

Mike:    Exactly. I came out in college. Mom and Dad were confused and disappointed. Just like you did at the beginning of this conversation, they assumed their little high-school quarterback wanted pussy. How wrong they were.

Jack:      Really, so you’ve never tried it?

Mike:    Nope. I’m a platinum gay.

Jack:      What the hell does that mean?

Mike:    Well, a golden gay is a man who has never had sex with a pussy. A platinum gay is a golden gay who was born by C-section and has never touched a pussy ever.

Jack:      It hurts when my eyes roll that much. I guess that makes my brother a golden gay. I’ve given up on trying to get him to come over to the dark side for a taste. He just starts convulsing like he’s going to puke.

Mike:    Well, would you just switch for a taste?

Jack:      I do it all the time. Good sex is just good sex. Not to get all crass on you, but a hole is a hole, and an orgasm is an orgasm. I consider myself straight. I’m married. I like pussy. But my brother and I fooled around a lot growing up. It wasn’t gross, it was just natural. Sex is just natural. Sex with women is natural. Sex with men is natural. It’s just sex.

Mike:    Wow! I applaud your attitude. For me, sex is just so tied to attraction, and I just don’t find women attractive. Do you find men attractive?

Jack:      Sure. I see guys at the gym and appreciate their bodies. The male body is beautiful. Dicks are beautiful. I like myself and my body. If that’s the case, how could I not think the same thing about other men?

Mike:    I take it your parents were not religious.

Jack:      Not a bit.

Mike:    That explains a lot.

With a bing from overhead, the seat belt light went off and one of the flight attendants popped up to take our beverage order. The first-class passenger had long sense been taken care of, and with only two people in coach, she didn’t even bother with the cart.

FA:         Sorry for the delay. We’re swamped! What may I get you gentlemen to drink?

Jack:      Dewar’s and ice and just keep them coming.

FA:         We have a four-drink limit.

Jack:      That seems highly reasonable. I’ll take four.

Mike:    Gin and tonic. One please.

Jack:      Just put his on mine. (handing her his card)

FA:         Alrighty. I’ll be back shortly.

Mike:    You didn’t have to do that.

Jack:      No problem.

Mike:    Well, thank you. So, back to the topic at hand. Your outlook is quite liberated. Do you think it would have been the same if you hadn’t grown up with a twin who would eventually figure out he was gay?

Jack:      I think it has more to do with that fact that my dick is a greedy bastard that demands attention whenever and however he can get it. I’m picky about who I have sex with, but with a wide field to choose from, it increases the odds of getting off.

Mike:    No wonder you are good at sales. ABC. Always Be Closing. Your dick must have taught you that.

Jack:      I haven’t thought about it that way, but now that you mention it, yes, my sales style is about as relentless as my pursuit of sex. I’m highly successful at both.

Mike:    The religion thing is a bigger deal than you will know. You haven’t had weekly beat downs about how sex is supposed to be something special between just two people who are married. That message was drilled into my head over and over again. My parents weren’t total Bible-thumpers, but if I had to guess, they have only had sex with each other. They thought they had a pretty good thing going, and as such, they wanted me to have that same special relationship.

Jack:      No offense to your parents, but the idea of only having sex with my wife makes me physically ill. I love her and all, but she’s not a very good lay.

Mike:    Well, at least you love her.

Jack:      She’s going to be a great mom one day when the time comes, and that’s important to me. But my sex life and my home life are like a barely overlapping Venn diagram. I was her first, and unless she has ventured out, I think I’m her only sex partner. Basically, half of our marriage thinks she has what your parents have.

Mike:    This may be an inappropriate question, but why is she such a bad lay?

Jack:      Partially lack of practice. Not that I haven’t tried to help her with that. But she also has a hard time taking my dick. With her lack of experience, she doesn’t really know how it compares. I’m sure she’s seen a lot of flaccid cocks, and when mine is soft, it doesn’t look too far off from average. And most hard dicks you see are from porn, and when mine is hard, that’s what it looks like. So, she has no reason to think it’s out of the ordinary. She just thinks sex really hurts and as a result doesn’t get as excited about it as I wished she would. If she had sex with a guy that had a normal-sized dick, she’d probably divorce my ass, or at least cheat on me as much as I do on her.

Mike:    Dear God! How big is that thing?

Jack:      Only eight and a half. But it’s really thick.

Mike:    Only? If those are real inches and not internet inches, that’s a big dick.

Jack:      All real. That’s the insertable length, not some dumb-ass measurement from the base of your balls.

Mike:    You seem to take this all very seriously. I mean, I applaud accuracy and all that, but most guys measured themselves once when they were a drunk teenager and haven’t whip out a ruler since.

Jack:      Salesmen are all about the metrics. Plus, my dick is bigger now than it was as a teenager. Seriously, you haven’t measured yours since your teens?

Mike:    Nope. Never really felt the need. It was ten inches then, and it’s still ten inches today.

Jack:      Like you said, you measured when you were drunk.

Mike:    I think you just don’t like the idea of coming up short on any comparison, much less one about your dick.

Jack:      Well, thus far, I never have.

The flight attendant started coming up the aisle with a tray of drinks. She neatly placed the four bottles on Jack’s tray table as if she were setting up a game of chess. She thought ahead and brought him two cups of ice. Mine was premixed and had a lime perfectly skewered across it with one of those plastic spears with the airline logo at one end. Jack immediately cracked open two of the bottles and poured them over one of the cups of ice.

Jack:      Cheers. Here’s to our big dicks!

Mike:    Salud! This is the craziest airplane conversation I’ve ever had. But I must admit, I’m enjoying it.

Jack:      It doesn’t bother me. I talk about my dick all the time. It’s a major part of my sales pitch for getting people to have sex with me. I think half the time they sleep with me just to satisfy their curiosity about whether I’m lying.

Mike:    Is that what you’re doing with me?

Jack:      I’m a horny bastard, but the mile-high club is not my thing. Those bathrooms are gross!

Mike:    You have a point.

Jack:      Plus, you have what’s his name waiting on you in San Diego, right?

Mike:    Yes. Yes, I do. James.

Jack:      James. That’s right. I bet his dick isn’t as big as mine.

Mike:    I’ve seen it on cam, but that can be deceptive. It’s nice though.

Jack:      No man wants their dick described as “nice.”

As I continued to nurse my drink, Jack was already cracking open his final two and pouring them over the fresh ice in his second cup. He was already uninhibited, and there was no telling what four drinks in rapid succession would do to an already wildly inappropriate conversation.

Mike:    Well, it doesn’t matter too much to me. I’m a total top. So, my dick is the one that matters from a performance standpoint.

Jack:      Same here. They see that monster and beg me to fuck them.

Mike:    Did you ever fuck your brother?

Jack:      Hundreds of times.

Mike:    And it never occurred to you to reciprocate?

Jack:      Nope.

Mike:    Thanks for making me feel better. I at least tried it. It was awful. Hated it. I’ve never attempted it again. I’m gay, but just not wired to be on the receiving end.

Jack:      I’m not gay. I just fuck. However, I’m not picky if the hole belongs to a man or a woman.

Mike:    Do you kiss men?

Jack:      I lick them all over. But no, I only kiss my wife.

Mike:    Not even women?

Jack:      If you kiss them, they think it’s an invitation to stay the night.

Mike:    Damn! You are cold-hearted.

Jack:      I don’t even bother to take off my wedding ring. If they can’t deal with the reality of the situation, then it’s best for me to move on.

Mike:    So, did you turn your brother into a size queen?

Jack:      You better fucking believe it. He’s downright allergic to tiny dick. I eliminated 98% of the male population from his dating pool. Poor guy.

Mike:    Do you still mess around?

Jack:      Nah. The last time I fucked him was the night of my bachelor party. We were both drunk as skunks. We had spent way too much money at a strip club. But it was nothing more than a prick-tease, money-extraction racket. By the time we got back to the hotel, I had the worst case of blue balls ever, and he was all roused up from watching the strip-club patrons. It was a brutal night. I must have cum up his ass at least three times. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger smile on his face.

Mike:    And I thought I was lucky being an only child.

The flight attendant was approaching with a trash bag and a couple of blankets.

FA:         Let me clear all of this out of the way for you. The captain will be turning off the cabin lights until we begin our decent. But you can always turn on the overhead lights. Would either of you like a blanket?

Jack:      Sure.

Mike:    Thanks.

FA:         Just press your call button if you need anything. Otherwise, we’ll let you gentlemen get some sleep.

Jack:      Goodnight.

Jack put his tray table up, kicked off his shoes, and unfolded the blanket on top of himself; all of which made perfect sense. But he also lifted the armrest between his seat and the unoccupied middle seat. I didn’t quite know where he was going with that, but I played along and mirrored his actions exactly. The cabin lights shut off, and we were only illuminated by the dim light of the seat belt and no-smoking sign overhead.

Jack:      Thinking about my brother’s tight ass has made me horny. How about you?

Mike:    Thinking about you calling me a liar about my ten-inch dick has made me angry. I think you owe me an apology.

Jack:      I can’t apologize unless I know I have something to apologize for.

I felt Jack reach over and put his hand on my crotch. He squeezed along my shaft slowly moving further out toward the head using his thumb and index finger as a makeshift measuring tape. He let go, and with one hand expertly unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my pants, and pulled my zipper down. He repeated the squeezing routine with just my boxer briefs circling his index finger around on the precum-soaked spot at the head of my dick. I lifted my hips to facilitate his access and with what seemed like an effortless move, my underwear and shorts were suddenly around my ankles.

Freed from the bondage of clothing, my ten-inch cock stood straight up allowing Jack to wrap his fingers around it. He wiped precum off me with his thumb and started rubbing it on the underside of my head with small circular motions. I let out a quite moan that sounded like a whimper.

Jack:      Apologies might be in order. But we need to compare it to a known quantity. 

Mike:    I can think of something that is exactly eight and half inches long.

Jack:      What’s that?

Mike:    A sheet of letter-sized paper, of course. I’ve got one in my carry on.

Jack:      Hilarious you little fucker.

Mike:    Me? Little? Seriously? While your palm is wrapped around my ten-inch cock?

Jack:      Your palm won’t even wrap all the way around my dick.

Mike:    Alright, you competitive motherfucker. I’m calling your bluff.

Jack let go of my dick and got his pants down as well. I reached over, and the first thing my fingers hit was not his dick but his balls. Clearly, he didn’t shave them. They were pulled up tight to the base of his dick, but they were huge; literally the size of two large eggs. I rolled them around with my fingers, but they were too big for me to cup both in my hand. I moved up to the base of his shaft, and as promised, it was unbelievably wide. I tried to grab onto it, and as he predicted, my fingers didn’t get all the way around it. It wasn’t exactly round. More oval, like two normal-sized dicks glued together. The thought of it going in my ass made me wince, and the thought of sucking it made my jaw ache. I moved up to the head, and just about had a heart attack. It was a wide-flared mushroom head that was disproportionately big even to the double-wide shaft it was attached to. Sure, my dick was longer, but this thing was a fucking battering ram of unprecedented scale.

Mike:      Can anyone actually get that down their throat?

Jack:        I’ve had a rare few. They have to position themselves at just the right angle so the curve of the shaft mimics their esophagus. Even so, they rarely get to the base, and if they do, it wears them out before I can cum down their throat. 

Mike:      I can certainly understand your wife’s conundrum.

Jack:        Well, most gay boys love it. They seem to like having heavy timber shoved up their ass.

I pulled my hand away, spit a huge glob of saliva into my palm and started rubbing on Jack’s dick head. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and surrendered to the inevitable orgasm. I moved with slow and delicate strokes doing everything I could to maximize the pleasure without sending him over the edge. When his breathing got too hurried, I would play with his balls for a bit to allow him to regain control. This cat and mouse game went on for what seemed like a blissful forever.

Jack:      Finish me off. But let me catch the cum in my hand.

Mike:    OK.

I quickened the pace and the precum started to flow. I circled my palm over the head when I got to the top of a stroke. I lightened the grip and the precum allowed my hand to glide smoothly along the shaft. Jack positioned his hand at the head of his dick indicating that he was about to fill it with spunk. I moved lower on the shaft and a couple of stokes later, I could smell the pungent scent of his ejaculant. He let out a deep sigh.

He carefully moved the pool of cum in his cupped hand to my crotch and poured the contents out on my dick. He grabbed my shaft and started jacking me off with his thick, warm cum. It was the most sensational experience of my life. My dick was swimming in his sticky cum. Not only did it feel amazing, just the thought of a stranger jacking me off on a plane with the cum from his massive, battering-ram dick was sending my brain into a sex-crazed vortex. I steadied my breathing to hold out for as long as I could. But in the end, this hand-job was not built for longevity. Lost in my own head, I had become oblivious to my surroundings and was focused solely on the sensation of my cock. I didn’t notice that Jack had leaned over, and as I mumbled a warning of my impending cannon fodder, his lips gently wrapped the head of my dick and I shot load after load down his throat.

After swallowing every drop, he went as far down on my shaft as he could licking the white froth of his own cum off my dick. I was speechless. He wiped his hands clean with the blanket and licked his lips.

Jack:      Come on. Get some sleep. You’re going to need to recharge for James.

Mike:    Holy fuck! You are amazing.

Jack:      And yeah, it is ten inches long.

Mike:    But you’ve got me beat on volume.

Jack:      Damn straight, and don’t you forget it.

Mike:    Trust me. I’m not forgetting any of this.

After my dick finally calmed down, I went to the lavatory to wash the buckets of dried cum off my pubes. I managed to make myself presentable in case James and I got down to business before I could take a shower. The captain came on the intercom and announced that we were beginning our decent. The lights came on, and I pulled the window shade up to see the morning sun of the California desert. Jack was pleasant and engaged in conversation as if nothing torrid had occurred. He was back in businessman sales mode.

James was waiting for me right outside of security in the baggage claim area. I just had the carry-on, so we proceeded straight to his car. I told him I was starving and asked if we could go to a diner to get some breakfast, and he cheerfully obliged me. When the check came, he insisted on paying. The waitress came back with the check, and I noticed the name on the card was not James, but Dean.

Mike:    We might have chatted about this before. I’m an only child. Do you have any siblings?

James:  Just Jack, my twin brother. He’s visiting me in a few days.