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In your adventures through the Town of ZZT, you have been captured by the evil Dungeon Guards. Not recognizing you as the great escape artist you are, the guards have thrown you in the Dungeons of ZZT.

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MaliaJackf
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Post by MaliaJackf »

At the modest age of twenty years old, I wouldn't necessarily say I'm too young or too old to have fulfilled every man's fantasy. I read somewhere that only three out of every hundred males are members of the club, which may or may not stand to reason that approximately three out of every hundred females are, too.I don't quite remember where I heard that statistic, and in fact it's quite likely that I'm just making it up right here. Now, I can't speak for you ladies, but I think I can safely say that the thought at the forefront of most men's minds by the time the plane reaches its cruising altitude is, "I really want to put my penis in that flight attendant." Unless of course the flight attendants are all men, in which case that thought is only at the forefront of most BYOB men's minds. Either way, guys have sex on the brain while on a plane, a veritable strain in their vein that they need to drain and rain all over Jane or Elaine's mane.

Okay, that was retarded. Sorry.

I was catching a red eye (does a five hour flight departing at 11PM count as a red eye?) to Las Vegas the other night. Lovely place, by the way. There is truly something for everyone there, and if you haven't been yet, you should plan going if and whenever possible. Anyway, I was flying out of Miami international airport, where approximately three out of five travellers are Hispanic (that statistic I did actually read in my bi-monthly Minuteman travel brochure). Now, I'm not telling you this because I harbor some sort of ethnocentric attitude that governs my everyday behavior, but just to give you an idea of the statistical probability of my ending up sitting next to an attractive Latina on the plane, of which there are plenty in Miami - attractive Latinas, that is, not planes.

I sat at the gate and waited for my flight to begin boarding, listening to Girl Talk on my iPod and flipping through the latest issue of The Atlantic (which, as an aside, contains a spectacularly disordered list of the 100 most influential Americans, so feel free to write angry letters to them here if you're a huge fucking loser like me). As I glanced up at the sound of an announcement being broadcast over the intercom, I couldn't help but notice the pretty young lady sitting directly across from me; a tall, tan, slender, Latina brunette whose natural beauty was merely complemented by a very discreet amount of makeup that was atypical of your average south-Floridian Latina gangslut. To put it simply, she was very pretty, and she was looking directly at me when I had glanced up and noticed her. She averted her eyes immediately, but it was too late. She was looking at me, and I had caught her. Of course, that means absolutely nothing in today's day and age, but hey...a pretty girl looking at me is a pretty girl looking at me, you know what I mean? No? Shut up.

It came time to board the plane. I got on, stuffed my suitcase in the overhead compartment, and took my aisle seat. Lo and behold, not twenty seconds later, Latina girl is brushing past my knees to sit in the seat directly next to mine. One word and one word only crossed my mind: Yes. I didn't care if I had to sit there and struggle to make out her pretty features through my narrow peripheral vision for the next five hours straight. This was a good thing, no matter how you wanted to evaluate it. Nobody else came to take the third and final seat in our side of the aisle, so I took that to mean that she was flying alone (which she was, so don't think I threw that in there so I could turn around and surprise you later on by saying otherwise). Once again: Yes.

Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly sociable guy. However, if you had to quantify my flirtation skills, you'd probably end up with some kind of baffling negative square root that was divided by zero. Seriously, it's that bad. I couldn't flirt my way out of a paper bag, which I actually don't necessarily see as always being a bad thing, because it means that any girlfriend or casual encounter or whatever that I've ever had hasn't spawned from some embarrassing string of social faux pas that some guys somehow manage to use to get laid. But all you really need to know for the sake of this story is that I can't flirt, so there you go. I have no problem whatsoever talking to pretty girls who I know, or pretty girls who I don't know if I'm in the company of friends or other familiar faces. But for some reason, if you put me in front of a good-looking complete stranger by myself, my ability to conduct a meaningful or even meaningless conversation gets called into question.

So what was I supposed to do? Five seconds have now elapsed since she sat down next to me. Ten. Fifteen. I still haven't introduced myself. Not even a nod to acknowledge her presence. Was I being rude? I knew I should have bought that plane etiquette manual at the news stand in the terminal. She was busy rummaging through her carry-on bag, which she had placed beneath the seat in front of her. Think! I told myself. God damnit, think of something! Anything!

"Hello!" I heard her say, amicably. I turned slightly to see if I could make out who she was talking to. She was looking at me again. Holy shit, she was talking to me! Her voice was low, husky, sexy. Sultry...yeah, that's the word. Her voice was fucking sultry, and I fucking loved it. So what did I do? Well, I panicked, obviously.

A second elapsed. Maybe three. Shit, maybe ten. Still no word out of me. I had smiled reflexively, or at least I hoped it looked like a smile. Actually, the more I think about it now, the more I'm worried that it probably looked like anything but a smile. Fuck, oh well.

"Paula," she said simply, and strained - because of the awkward angles we were sitting in - to extend her hand for me to shake. It took me a moment to realize that she was introducing herself. I snapped out of it finally and - I think - smiled for real this time.

"Jack,"* I told her, taking her hand and giving it a polite squeeze. The hardest part was already over, and the plane was still boarding. The sense of dread in the pit of my stomach slowly began to dissipate.

(*internet detectives please leave me the fuck alone)

I'll not sit here and try to recreate the rest of our conversation verbatim, but I will tell you that by the time our plane had been in the air for about two hours, Paula and I came to know a whole lot about each other. I guess you could say we really just hit it off. Paula was two years my senior. Paula was going to Las Vegas to visit her friend. Paula's mother was a seamstress at a lingerie shop. Paula had a cat. Paula was studying at the University of Miami, where I had incidentally also gone to school. Now we had something in common. Yes. Paula made her own clothing. Paula enjoyed jazz. Paula was sick of south Florida. Paula had recently gotten out of a bad relationship. Paula ordered a vodka cranberry when the beverage cart came by. Paula thought I was adorable. Yes. Gathering every ounce of willpower I could muster from within my meek little body, I responded that I thought she was beautiful. The stage had been set. I was already almost certain that I would be seeing this girl again in Vegas, and I couldn't have been more thrilled about it. In just over two brief hours, it had become clear that we both liked each other. But I had absolutely no intimation of what would come next.

After a short while longer of pleasant conversation laced with obviously coquettish innuendoes and suggestive brushing-ups against each other, Paula said that she needed to excuse herself to the lavatory. I said something stupid along the lines of, "don't have too much fun in there without me," to which she responded, "well then maybe you should come and have some fun with me." I laughed it off, not having the slightest inclination that she could possibly be for real, but her face turned serious all of a sudden, signaling that she was not joking. She unbuckled her safety belt and got up to leave, motioning her head to tell me I should follow her. Her face was still all business.

Yes.

Now, here's about when the little devil and the little angel appeared on my shoulders. The little devil on my left shoulder was urging me to follow her to the lavatory, and the little angel on my right shoulder was asking me whether I had any condoms. Luckily(?), I am in fact one of those smug assholes who happens to carry one around in his wallet at all times, "just in case." So naturally, I got up and followed her, because hey, why the fuck not? What do I have to lose, right? So as I made my way toward the lavatory, I looked around and found that most if not all of the other passengers were either sleeping or resting their eyes. It was probably about 2:30 AM EST at this point in time. By the time I reached the lavatory, she had gone in, shut the door, and locked it. Oh no. I felt as if I had made a grave mistake all of a sudden, as if she had not at all intended for me to follow her, as if she had been joking the entire time, as if the entire thing had been a figment of my imagination. I felt like an utter fool. The OCCUPIED indicator light on the lavatory door might as well have read FUCK OFF, PERVERT! Should I go back to my seat? Had anyone seen me get up, and would they wonder why I was coming back so quickly? Before I could make up my mind, the lavatory door clicked open. Paula stood there, widening her eyes as if to say, "Get in here already!"

Yes.

Paula didn't waste any time. She pushed the door shut behind me and pressed me up against it, kissing me hard. I could taste the Absolut on her tongue. I liked it. We continued on like this for a few minutes, making out angrily, like our lives depended on it. Her hand moved down to my belt buckle. Yes. She fumbled around with it for a little while, still kissing me, until I helped her unbuckle it, still kissing her back. Her hand plunged into my pants, down beneath my boxer briefs. The cold sensation of her nails, her fingertips brushing down past my navel turned me on like nobody's business. Yes. I undid the button on her jeans with one hand and began to gently work it down past her panties.

It was at that precise moment, there in the lavatory of that American Airlines Boeing 757 jet, at a cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet, that I felt another man's penis for the first time in my life.

No.

A wave of sheer terror washed over me as I realized what my fingers were caressing. It was unmistakable. Oh my God, you guys, she was a t*****. I just made out with a t*****. I just fingered a t*****. I jerked my hand back so hard that I hit my elbow against the lavatory door and probably woke up half the passengers on the goddamn plane. Paula bit her lip nervously, not saying a word. The look on her (his?) face said, "Hey, whoops!" I can only imagine that the look on my face must have said something like, "Hey, before you decided to seduce me, you probably should have told me you were A FUCKING t*****!"

I didn't know what to say, and I sure as fuck wasn't going to wait around for her to explain herself. My head was spinning. I unlocked the door and stumbled out back into the aisle, pushing past a flight attendant who gave me a puzzled look. I practically ran to my seat, sat down, and then changed my mind, taking my backpack out from underneath the chair in front of me and frantically jumping back up to find another seat. As far as I could tell, everyone else on the plane was still asleep. Paula had not yet emerged from the lavatory. Lucky, the flight was sparsely populated, so I stormed down the aisle and took an empty seat several rows behind my original one. I kept my eyes down for the entire rest of the flight, and never once caught a glimpse of Paula again.

Fuck.
bustaballs
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Post by bustaballs »

It was at that precise moment, there in the lavatory of that American Airlines Boeing 757 jet, at a cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet, that I felt another man's penis for the first time in my life.
SNAKES ON A PLANE!!! Don't hit the WTC on your way out. =)
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Zenith Nadir
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Post by Zenith Nadir »

out. this is my thread. you are gay and retarded and you smell and you are of course sumisusan which gives me good reason to thumb you in the lips if i so desire
he looked upon the world and saw it was still depraved :fvkk:

Overall: Rotton egg for breakfast
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