Flight Of Fancy

?Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking.?That's not what you want to hear coming over the PA system, it sounds like bad news before he even begins. The hen party crowd in the central part of the plane barely lowered their screeches so the rest of us could hear what our Captain was about to say, and the rugby club members who were between me and them weren't much better. I had seat 33A, a window seat in the rear-most row in the whole plane, left hand side, as far back as it was possible to be and yet only one row away from the back end of the rugby club.Three seats one side of the central aisle and three seats to the other made up each row on this short-haul flight southwards to the sun. They had shut the doors, we'd been pushed back from the air bridge, we'd had the safety demonstration (well, everyone except the hen party and the rugby club who will certainly drown in the unlikely event of us landing on water) then we'd waited on the tarmac for twenty five minutes not going anywhere. Twenty five minutes of reading my paperback novel, sitting and staring blankly at the seat rest in front of me, or looking out of my window at the same section of airport tarmac almost below me. Twenty five minutes of sitting there, strapped into a seat one size too small, knowing that the actual two hour ten minute flight hadn't started yet.?...apologise...delay...forty minutes...lost our slot...strike...French air traffic controllers...? was all I could make out thanks to the hen party and the rugby club having just discovered each other.I'd hoped (as I always do whenever I fly) that the seat next to me would be unoccupied, and that whoever had the next seat to that, the aisle seat, would open their book and read it without stopping for breath until we landed and disembarked, getting off the plane being an activity that now receded further and further into the future the longer we waited for the French government to surrender - surely not much longer now on past form.I was lucky, seat B was unoccupied. I looked at my near neighbour in seat C. She was a young woman of about my age and already dressed for the late Summer southern European sunshine we were both hoping to enjoy for a week, namely a loose short sleeved top and a short but still decent summer skirt. I, however, was still dressed for the cold wind and the light rain that had fallen on us from the moment I'd left home four and a half hours ago. A thick tee-shirt with bra underneath and a jumper on top, with my plastic rain jacket on top of that, my favourite lucky warm knickers under a midi skirt with leggings underneath, and Converses down at floor level.My neighbour wasn't shouting crude jokes to the rugby club, nor was she screaming with raucous laughter at the sexual innuendo coming from the hen party. Like me, she had her head down trying to continue to exist despite everything happening and not happening around her. She looked up quickly from her book and caught me looking at her, me being too late to turn away when I saw her head move. She clocked me the same as I had clocked her. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second then we both quickly looked away again.Minutes ticked by. Now, a lot of passengers had undone their seat belts and were standing up and milling around as best they could. Some hefty bloke in the rugby club had decided to stand in the aisle, level with us and with his leg leaning on my istanbul travesti companion's aisle-side arm rest and unknowingly rubbing up against her. He stayed there without moving much except to look up the aisle and shout obscenities to other members of the rugby club when he could get a word in edgeways. He was completely unaware of either of us, and he blocked us both off so we couldn't stand up in the aisle or be seen at all by anyone even if we wanted to. Which we didn't. Our world had reduced from a pan-European view of modern travel and freedom to a two foot by four foot box comprising plane walls, seats and the left hand side of a rugby player.This time when I snuck another look at her I caught her already looking at me. She glanced away quickly, but not quick enough. British social convention number one now decreed that we should have to actually talk to each other, based on the 'two strikes and you have to talk to each other for a bit' rule.?Another forty minutes, did he say?? she proffered, knowing perfectly well that's exactly what he'd said.?Yes, I think so,? I replied, knowing perfectly well etc. etc.Thus introduced, we each felt able to study each other without having to pretend we weren't. Suddenly, the rugby player moved sideways as far as her could without actually moving his feet. Perhaps he'd just taken a free kick from the half-way line, or maybe the scrum had pushed him into touch. Or more likely, someone had thrown a blow-up neck cushion at him and he had flinched when it hit him on the head.My companion had to lean towards me a little in order to not end up in his trouser pocket or be turned into a hooker for the Saracens. Mr Rugby Player stood upright again and carried on not being aware of our existence, shouting jokes to a blond woman six rows further up the plane, but the damage had been done. My companion slid towards me into seat B.?Sorry, can I sit here for a bit?? she asked, apologetically.I answered by uncrossing my legs one way and crossing them again the other way as if I was somehow making room for her where there hadn't been any room before, although the net improvement was nil. She sat in the seat next to me, and we found that we were touching each other's knees and elbows.Now that she was next to me I found I could easily look down her loose top and see that she wasn't wearing a bra, although perhaps that was a little risqué for an unaccompanied woman judging by the size of the bra-less boobs she was sporting. In fact, it was quite difficult for me not to look down her top at her breasts - they were right there almost in front of me and surprisingly hard to avoid.Again she caught me looking at her, or to be more precise, her ample breasts hiding almost in plain sight under her loose top. Had she been wearing a bra, her cleavage would have been considerable. Even without such an item, what she had was still worth a good look.?When we get there it'll be too hot for a bra, especially one of mine.?She spoke as if to no one in particular, with her face set forwards and not looking at me. No one else was listening, or could hear what she said even if they were. The people in the three seats directly in front of us were involved with the shenanigans in front of them, and Mr Rugby Player was still totally unaware of me or my companion, much to his loss, I was beginning to feel.She was talking directly, and solely, to me. istanbul travestileri I hastily tore my gaze away from her chest and drew breath to apologise that she had such wonderful breasts under a very loose top that I was trying not to look at. That's British social convention number two - always apologise for something the other person has done.?Don't worry, I don't mind. You can look at me if you want to. We're going to be sitting next to each other for a while yet.?Having said that, she turned her head to face me and smiled in a friendly fashion, before lowering her eyes and looking at my chest.?Aren't you hot in all that?? she asked.I looked down at myself in my rain-proof jacket, jumper and tee-shirt. And, yes, I was hot now. The pitiful amount of air coming through the vent just above my head was no longer doing it for me because the rain had stopped and the sun was now shining in through the small window right onto me. I undid my seat belt and struggled out of my plastic jacket, with my companion helping to peel it from my back. I took my jumper off, for good measure. She looked at me again, this time more approvingly as she took in my tee-shirt with my bra visible underneath, and my skirt and leggings lower down still. I sat back in my seat, what there was of it, and tried to make myself comfortable.?Yours are a nice size, I can see. Mine are perhaps too big and heavy, although they grew like that when I was a teenager and they've stayed that big ever since.?I listened to her approval of me and a further reference to her own bust size, thinking to myself, well, she's got plenty to say, hasn't she?She left room for me to reply with something. If she wants to talk about her chest, then so be it. Let's talk about it. I looked again at her front, while she watched my face and wriggled herself a tiny but noticeable amount. Her bust wobbled in response while I tried to think of something polite to say about it.?Plenty of women would love to have breasts your size, or at least bigger that what they have. You've saved yourself a fortune in boob jobs.??Yes, I have, but I always tell them to be careful what they wish for. I have more problems with my boobs in a normal day than most women have in a month!??Problems?? I asked.?Yes. Like near constant backaches, stares of envy from women and stares of another sort from men. And when I try to run or walk upstairs at the wrong speed, my breasts are all over the place. And at work, if I get a commendation from management, all my colleagues just think it was because of my bra size not the work I actually did.?I had heard about some of these issues from big-breasted women, but had no actual experience of them myself because my bra size was 34C and therefore almost invisible to women and men, whether management or colleagues. And every time I'd done some good work and had a pat on the back from my boss, everybody else usually ... um, wait, no, that's never actually happened to me.I must try doing some good work sometime when I've got nothing better to do.I stared again at her breasts under her top, since we were talking about them and it would have been rude not to look at them (British social convention number three). She looked around us, but mainly at Mr Rugby Player who was missing a treat if only he knew it, then lifted the bottom of her thin tee-shirt up to under her chin, exposing her massive jugs. travesti istanbul She was of course sitting down in the cramped seat, and the lower edges of her breasts were almost in her lap. I could see them only about a foot away from my face. She didn't quickly raise her top then lower it again, she raised it and held it up, keeping it up for me to enjoy. They were truly massive now I could see them without any clothing in the way. They each began in the usual place but grew in size and shape the farther down her chest I looked. They spread apart, away from each other the further down I looked. The nipple on each was way lower down her body than my nipples were on mine.She kept her top up out of the way with one hand and lifted one of her breasts up with the other hand, taking time first to wriggle her fingers underneath it sufficiently so it didn't flop out of her grasp when she lifted her hand with its handful of flesh. And when she lifted her hand her breast spilled out over it and drooped down around the edges. I gazed at it, fascinated that it was only a few inches from my face. She held it there for me to enjoy for a half minute, then with her other hand she dropped her top and took my hand, putting it under her breast in place of hers. She wriggled her hand out, leaving me holding her massive boob in my hand, feeling its weight and size. It was warm and just slightly sweaty, but I didn't mind. In fact I loved it.Her areolas were the biggest I have ever seen, although still only a small area of each breast. I traced the areola area with my finger around the breast I was holding. I could feel the slight roughness of the browner skin compared to the pale white of the rest of her breast. I slid my finger across the join several times, while my companion watched me, felt me doing it and smiled.We both suddenly remembered Mr Rugby Player, but he was in the world of his own mates and their new friends the hen party women. I returned to the matter in hand, so to speak, giving it little test jiggles and wobbles so I could feel its size and weight. She took my other hand and wriggled it under her other breast, and I did the same with that one. We were both smiling at each other now, like old friends at a reunion. I moved them around her chest. Further away from each other, closer, higher and lower, all the while marvelling at their size and smooth skin and how far each one could move. Our books lay forgotten, teetering on our knees or on seat C. We now had things to occupy us that were much more fun, for the remaining minutes of waiting time.Mr Rugby Player moved a little more than usual. I saw this out of the corner of my eye, and I hastily let go of my companion's breasts which flopped back onto her chest and she dropped her top back over them. However, we needn't have worried, he wasn't looking at us. Her breasts played hide-and-seek with Mr Rugby Player occasionally, while the rest of the time she let me feel them and amuse myself with them. I held them in different positions, I tantalised her nipples to make them grow big and hard. I held her breasts together to create a straight cleavage that seemed like it was a yard long. I tried bending them up towards her mouth, succeeding in enabling her to lick her nipples. I even held one up to my mouth. I looked at her for permission, and she nodded her head. I licked her nipple myself, my own nipples responding by going stiff themselves, and my pussy getting wet within the dark recesses of my winter knickers and leggings. Her nipple seemed to fill my mouth, and it grew even as I circled it with my tongue. I suckled it, pulling at the hard knob I could feel in my mouth.