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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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