You can't do that on the plane. At least not in the seats.”“Yeah,” I groaned.Alice popped her mouth off and giggled. “Mmm, sorry. I just had t... suck my husband's cock.”The flight attendant shook her head, cheeks so red. The hundreds vanished into her skirt pocket. She took a deep breath as I zipped up. “So, the lavatories are another matter?” I asked.“So long as you're discreet,” she said. “It's not...unheard of for people to do...that”“Join the mile high club?”My wife giggled, face flushed.The. " What kind of rules exactly?" To be honest, there is but one rule." And that would be?" Simply put, you must accept whatever condition that is set forth in order to enter your new reality." What do you mean?" For example, if I were to say to you 'What if you could walk on your hands instead of your feet but you must only change your socks once a week.', would you agree to that?" Probably not since I have no desire to walk on my hands instead of my feet." Well that is the type of agreement you. “What’s wrong?” she asked me.“Cum. There’s cum in your mouth.”“So?”“So?” I repeated, stating what seemed obvious to me. “Ew. It’s cum. My cum. I don’t wanna taste my own cum.”“Why not?”I struggled to explain what bothered me. “It’s gross. It’s wrong. It’s like, gay.”She looked offended by my explanation.I said, “I don’t know. It’s just…ew.”“It wasn’t so ‘ew’ when I was sucking your cock.” She sounded offended. I didn’t know why. “It wasn’t wrong when you were cumming in my mouth.”I just looked. She too had problems at home and her husband had left two weeks ago, apparently jealous of the attention her mastectomy wound was getting. We shared the experience of feeling like freaks and the rejection by our partners. We both wanted to get back into the saddle and feel whole as sexual beings. I got up to get more drinks. She chose an orange juice and I chose the same. We agreed that alcohol wouldn’t help. The bar staff were busy with housekeeping around the bar. They were taking advantage.
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