I Joined the Mile High Club F*cking a B*tchy Gay Flight Attendant

He was so mean. I think I'm in love.

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Illustration by Spencer Jones

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He was an absolutely fabulous cunt, exactly what you’d want from a male flight attendant. His high-pitched voice was both flaming and scathing. The subtle bitchiness when he said, “Could you please move into the aisle, so other passengers can get through?” Venom dripped off the word “please.” Perfection—no notes.

And when this woman in Lulu Lemon leggings put her backpack in the overhead bin next to her carry-on luggage? I honestly thought he was going to kill her. Go full Mortal Kombat fatality, reach down her mouth, and pull out her spine. I prayed she would cause a self-entitled stink and say something stupid like there was enough space, but she simply apologized after being caught. It was extremely disappointing. I wanted blood.

He walked with this fast little shuffle like he had a stick up his ass. Ironic, considering he undeniably did GHB and took seven loads during his last 24-hour layover in Barcelona. No doubt, he barely slept a wink, and yet, he had the energy of a well-rested bull. (God, gay men really are so impressive. It’s wild how years of feeling inferior and unloved as a child manifest with an uncanny ability to do everything as an adult.)

I wanted him to yell at me. Not actually, but you know, sexually. For his words to be benign, but his tone hostile. A submissive top like me needs a power bottom to tell me what to do. Tell me where to stick it and to go harder. Bully me until I cum a load so powerful I forget my middle name.

John (I got a glimpse at his nametag) would know exactly what to do. He’d use my dick the way he liked—the way I liked. God, I could just tell we’d be so perfect together.

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Two hours later, the cabin lights were off, and the aircraft echoed snores. I’d never been one to be able to sleep on a plane, even on redeyes, even when I pop a Klonopin. Besides, I was too horny. I couldn’t stop staring at John’s massive ass as he walked up and down the aisle. I could see the faintest outline of a thong in his slacks. Consequently, I had been sitting uncomfortably erect with a blanket over my lap for the past thirty minutes. This shit would not go down for the life of me, even when I imagined a dog taking a dump. The only way this boner was going away was if I jacked it, and ya know what? It would honestly only take like thirty seconds.

I would usually just go to the bathroom to finish myself off, but it was one of those huge planes, and I was stuck at the window, sitting with two guys next to me, fast asleep. I’d be a real jackass to wake them. But was I more of a jackass to inconspicuously jerk off next to them? I thought about it from their perspective: Wake me up when it’s incredibly hard to fall back asleep or never know the guy next to me was jerking it? I knew I was a little “different” when it came to these sorts of things, but the answer seemed clear: I should let these men sleep.

So, under my blanket, I unbuttoned and unzipped. I drooled into my hand quietly and started to go to work.

Where was he? I wanted to at least glimpse at that ass while I stroked. Let my imagination run wild with all the names he’d call me. (John calling me a little bitch. John calling me a horny faggot. John literally saying my name.)

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, and my balls jumped into my stomach.

“Sir,” he whispered so as not to wake the other passengers, but mother of God, how he could convey so much condescension in a single word! I kept my hand where it was and turned over my shoulder to see John in the aisle. How he managed to tap my shoulder from there, I have no fucking clue.

“Come with me,” he said. I slid my other hand underneath to button and zip. I could feel his gaze hot on my skin. Now, I had to wake the other passengers, awkwardly stepping over them. So much for my grand act of selflessness.

John looked straight ahead as he walked. I followed cautiously. I wasn’t getting kicked off the plane, and there was no way in hell there’d be an emergency landed. Besides, I could deny. He didn’t see me do anything.

We reached the back of the plane, where one flight attendant was strapped in, taking a quick power nap.

“If you need to unload, please use the lavatory.” He locked eyes with me, and I could have busted right there with that please, oozing with disdain.

I walked inside the stall, and as I put my hand on the lock, I paused. Am I insane, or was he flirting with me? I’m insane. I must be fucking insane. But then I saw the door handle move. I trembled backward and within a blink of an eye, John was inside the lavatory with me. My hard dick, under my jeans, pressed against his huge ass.