We’ll keep going with Officer Wetzel next week (once I figure out what’s going to happen next) but here’s a different story for the mean time.
Just perfect. Fourteen hour flight home, and he’s the one who has to sit next to the fucking fat ass on the damn plane. Jeff regretted requesting the window seat–usually he liked being able to look out, but most of the flight he’d only be seeing ocean, and now he’d be trapped between a wall, and this fucking piece of slab. He was on his way back home after a summer trip to Paris with his girlfriend–he had to go back to work next week, however, and she had another week off, so she was jetting off to Rome to stay with a college friend of hers who was studying there. He squeezed past the fat fuck–he had to be close to 400 pounds–and tried not to look at him, but it wasn’t easy. He had a scruffy beard and longish hair which was receding, with a fair amount of grey in it. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but Jeff couldn’t help but notice the spots under his arms were already damp.
Jeff, on the other hand, kept himself in perfect shape–he worked out regularly with his roommate Kevin, whom he’d known since college–though he wouldn’t be his roommate for much longer. Things were getting pretty serious with Tiffany, and they were talking about moving in together soon after she got back. Still, he was a beast–very little fat on him, broad shoulders, thick chest, a nice ass. He wasn’t exactly small, either, at six foot four, and so he had a hard time squeezing into the seat–no matter what he did, his own, muscular thigh was pressed against the fat stranger’s flab, and it made his skin crawl a bit. The guy smiled at him a bit apologetically, and Jeff rolled his eyes, got himself settled, and popped in his earbuds–signalling to the guy he definitely wasn’t interested in talking. Jeff ignored the safety video, and focused on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at the little plane, that massive stretch of ocean, the white flight path leading back to the states, the countdown that hadn’t started yet. He sighed, the plane took off into the sky, and he put on a movie to watch. The guy next to him did as well, but Jeff noticed he kept glancing over at him every few minutes. Was he a fag too? Even worse. Still, Jeff was exhausted, since the flight was an early one, and he’d need to sleep a bit. The cabin lights dimmed after a snack–which the fat ass wolfed down–and then the cabin lights dimmed. He waited until the fatty’s head had slumped over, and he was snoring lightly, before leaning against the window, and nodding off himself.
There was a weight on him. It was heavy, almost immobilizing, and while he was panicking slightly, it was also…kind of comfortable–like a thick, heavy, blanket. Yeah, something was pressing on him, but also…also, into him, in some way. The more it was on him, the more he felt heavy himself, and a bit sluggish, and more comfortable, and relaxed, and at ease. He felt soft. He felt…weak, even. It was starting to be too much, he was getting hotter, he needed to get out, he needed–
Jeff struggled out of the dream, only to find that at some point in their nap, the man beside him and slumped over, onto him. No wonder he’d felt something heavy on him! He gave the man a rough shove, waking him up in the process. “Fuck dude! Get off me.”
The man looked groggily, his face flushing. “Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”
Jeff knew he should be furious, disgusted, demand the stewardess find him another seat, anything, but looking at the man’s red face, he felt…something else, which he couldn’t quite describe. “It’s…it’s alright. It happens, right?” He smiled, an odd butterfly in his gut.
“Yes, it does, I suppose. Still, I try to be conscious about my space–big guys like us gotta be, right?”
Jeff was taken aback by the comment. He was big in some ways, but nothing like this lard ass. He looked down at himself, but was a bit…flummoxed. Something about his body didn’t seem quite right for some reason. “Yeah, the gym does that.”
“Oh goodness, no gym for me! But you have an impressive powerlifter build, I must say. Very handsome. My name’s Brian by the way.”
The guy really was a faggot, Jeff thought to himself, but the usual revulsion he felt around those types was more muted than usual. He also felt…happy at the compliment, and he did have a pretty stout figure. Plenty of muscle, sure, but a hefty, firm gut as well. The two of them chatted for a bit–Brian was returning from a business trip–when Jeff’s eyes got heavy again, and he started yawning.
“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night, obviously. Blame the girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle, which Brian returned with less interest. That ought to give him a hint at least. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more.”
“Alright, I promise to fall in the other direction next time, if I sleep again.”
Jeff chuckled…but secretly, he’d kind of…enjoyed it. The sensation from the dream had been pleasant, and lingered with him as he laid his head back, and he was snoring before too long. When he Brian was confident his seat partner was fast asleep, he gingerly reached up and put an arm around the back, and gently nudged him, until the a groggy mutter, Jeff slumped over onto him and let off a bit of a groan–the big man adjusting his crotch, and pulling Jeff a bit tighter to his body.
Bracken's Corner 