I'm the Co-Pilot

Everything in this story is true and actually happened to me. Maybe not all at the same time or in the same exact sequence, but don't worry there will not be a test on it later.

Ah, memories.

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All sexual activity in this story occurs between characters who were at least 18 years of age back then.

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"I make out the flight plan and study the weather,

Pull up the gear, drop it and stand by to feather.

I fill out the Form One, I hire his whores,

And I fly this old crate to the tune of his snores.

I'm a lousy Co-pilot and a long way from home..."

-Oscar Brand

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April 1990, Over the Caribbean Sea enroute to POP, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic

Dewey Bunnell was thinking about something else when he penned the lines, "The ocean is a desert with its life underground. And a perfect disguise above." Be he was right, to the navigator open water is more of a desert, as in deserted, than any land desert. I was in the left seat because Mimi, bless her heart, was going to let me shoot an ILS, Instrument Landing System approach and landing at Puerto Plata, and Eight-India-Charley only had one GLI, Glide

Slope Indicator, sitting in the Captain's seat it was just above my right knee.

Icarus was my graduate studies program, it was her retirement plan. Ten of us fools owned it, so it was good business to make sure it succeeded. While the oft quoted quip is that the way to make a little money in aviation is to start with a whole lot, the story of my life disagrees. My whole life has been the story of making connections with people and figuring out what we all need and desire. Then if we are compatible figuring out the logistics. It's how we built our family of seven, and became parents and grandparents in the wonderous process. We count four decades of stability and love. It's how we built our many businesses. It's how we serve God, thanking him for his many gifts to us by trying to do good for others of his children.

This whole flight had been by IFR, Instrument Flying Rules. I was getting the hang of it, I just had to be like Aristotle and find the middle point. I am a believer and I believe that heaven awaits me, but I am having a lot of fun here on earth and I am certain that Jesus will not mind waiting another seventy or more years to see me. Besides my God gave me a big enough brain to comprehend the concept that I could be wrong and that he might not exist. Yes, I know exactly what I just said, no it is not contradictory and isn't that brain God gave us just beautiful in its complexity.

Many of the songs about flight and sailing face and laugh at the prospect of death, there is an inherent risk associated with both. Many early pilots met their demise through a lack of knowledge, but complacency is a killer as well. Eddie Stinson whose company built our first airplane had amassed more hours than any other pilot when he fatally "failed to maintain adequate separation from prominent terrain features" as the official accident report read. Education is always important, in life, in love, in business and in flying. It just has a bit more urgency when you are flying over open ocean through a tropical storm in the dark.

Doctor Maria Montessori, an Italian medical doctor who built a school for the poor children of Rome's slums and later fled Fascism to build her world renown school in Chiaravalle, British India... Dr. Montessori said that education was a process of three parts. Learning a thing through observation and hands on tactile experience. Mastering that thing on your own with supervision but not intervention so that you understand that thing. Finally, permanently imprinting that knowledge in your brain and passing the knowledge along by teaching it to another. That has worked for us in life, business and fun.

In business I took what my parents had a, tractor and a semi-trailer and two drivers, what they could add, two more trucks and drivers and added them to what I could add, the seven of us. We took willy-nilly and turned it into an organized transportation agency with signed clients and dedicated routes, we their work lives better and turned a profit before we made the big boys nervous enough to buy us out. Mom and dad bought a very nice place on the eastern bank of the San Jacinto a tad north of where Santa Anna surrendered to Sam Houston, and we bought a 'dirty old Beech,' Model Eighteen.

We worked hard and played together harder; we always had several irons in the fire. Above all we heard the words that the ancient Romans whispered into the ears of their conquering heroes as they paraded through the streets of Rome. Paraded in chariots with their wheels spaced to ride on those flat stones placed the same four-foot-eight-and-a-half-inches apart that railroads adopted, that "all victory is fleeting."

A successful life is built one brick at a time. I took reading a borrowed library book about Jeanie Cochrane, a famous pilot of the thirties, and turned it into a DC-8 that we owned free and clear, but it was a process of many steps. I took the discovery that I had erogenous zones and turned it into perfect love, a family, accomplished and well-adjusted children, spoiled grandchildren and great passion in all of its conceivable forms religious, physical and emotional.

"Aeropuerto Interactional Gregorio Luperon, Icarus Air Douglas November-Four-Two-Eight-India-Charley copy that. We are cleared for straight in I-L-S on runway Eight," Mimi answered the control tower, as I flew the airplane.

As I looked at the two needles on the GSI above my knee and manipulated the airplane's yoke to keep them centered like a rife-scope's cross hairs, I was continuing that process of education. The runway at Aeropuerto Interactional Gregorio Luperon in Sosua had several directional FM radio emitters alongside of it. Once my GSI was set to POP's unique frequency it read their signal and its vertical needle showed deviation left or right from center. Its horizontal needle showed if I ventured too high or too low. Keeping them centered I flew the airplane onto runway Eight in the dark and rainy moonless night.

Just as if I was a Wildcat pilot in an old 'Movie Tone News' short that I had seen as a child, I landed my plane with an electronic device taking the place of the young seaman with the paddles. I did as I was instructed, and we had safely arrived at our destination, Puerto Plata the Dominican Republic, the resort town of Sosua with a rented house waiting for us was on the beach just to our east.

I parked Eight-India-Charley right next to Nine-India-Charley, that while sitting on the ramp all day had not been unloaded yet. I didn't blame them, I wouldn't want to be outside working in this weather either. The heavy rain tonight was not so unusual in late April, mid-May was the peak of the rainy season. Mid-April was typically the end of the primary tourist season here. Since Halloween it had been in the seventies and the small amount of rainfall came with darkness and in small bursts. Snowbirds fleeing winter quadrupled the population of Sosua, but in the summer it was pretty quiet.

I have heard people call the cloudless ninety-degree days here in the summer oppressive, but I think that is overstating it a bit. Of course, it's all relative. I grew up in the hot, dusty, high plains of west Texas. George, who had been our flight engineer today was chivalrous and ran the paperwork into Ops, then together we found a cab and made our way to the rented house near the beach.

Once there we said hello to Lillian and Punch and had a cup of coffee with a shot of Amaretto and shared some bear-claws with Mimi and Mitch, before they went to their bedroom together. The sound of the tropical storm's generous rainfall covered the sounds of our little game. Actually, I hoped that the storm was a redundancy and that our new parental figures Mimi and Mitch were making some happy noises of their own.

Lillian had written the script for this night's entertainment and I was to be the star. Punch had prepared the bedroom and there was a hook embedded in the large wooden beam in the ceiling. Two chains extended down from that hook and formed an isosceles triangle with a repurposed wooden clothes rod that had two hooks screwed into it. There were two pillows from the beds sitting directly under the hooks upon the polished concrete floor a broomstick modified by the addition of two more hooks was next to the pillows.

Lillian slowly disrobed me removing my white uniform shirt and my bra kissing my neck and my mouth and my breasts decorated with their little barbell studs in the nipples. Punch removed my black trousers by unzipping them and reaching behind me and pushing both of his hands down under my panties to grasp my buttocks. After a loving squeeze he pushed my pants and panties to the floor where I stepped free of them. George placed a dog collar on my neck and led me to the bathroom after loosely tying my hands behind my back.

At the shower Lillian removed my black uniforms socks (I have a funny story about black socks that I will tell next time, I am too horney for funny stories.) I was soaked from my own juices. Once in the shower Lillian gave me the once over with a little soap on a terrifically tactile terrycloth washcloth before Punch patted me dry with a fluffy towel. George, all sweaty from the flight showered next. While he did so, Lillian took my leash and led me out to the pillows on the floor.

I knelt down placing my knees on the pillows and Punch fastened two leather cuffs onto my ankles and clipped them to the broomstick while Lillian and I kissed and our tongues did a sensuous dance. Then Punch kissed me tickling my tonsils while Lillian placed two identical cuffs on my wrists, adjusted the chains and clipped my wrists to the pole. George returned all nice and clean and took Punch's place kissing me while Lillian hung two little weights on my nipple studs and four on those in my outer lips.

George was holding a red enema bag and its attendant white hose. Lillian was fingering my cunt and I was just soaking wet. George clipped the red bag to the chains above my head. Lillian continued to play with my cunt lips and the weights hung thereon while Punch kissed my face and my neck and teased my nipples. George lubricated the nozzle by gently pushing it into my vagina and spreading my abundant pussy juice on it with his fingers. He guided the nozzle into my ass pushing it slowly in a bit, pulling it out a bit, pushing it in more, pulling it back half out. Soon it was all the way in.

Once it was in tight Lillian opened the clip on the hose and played with my cunt as my bowels filled with warm soapy water. The bag empty, and I on the brink of an orgasm, a quick substitution was made with a flanged rubber plug replacing the nozzle. I came in the process. George was playing with my full belly while Punch lowered the chains and Lillian placed additional small weights on my cunt lips.

Punch had lowered me to an acceptable height, my mouth perfectly aligned with his gorgeous penis, his proven Lisa impregnation device. He gradually, incrementally began the process of pushing that wonderous appendage into its second home, my throat. For me total submission to father of my child is a thing of absolute beauty. My life was literally in his hands as his penis filled my throat and I could not breathe. In my complete submission I am totally free and without any fear. He was just getting started on me when I orgasmed again.

I know my Punch, I have seen his soul. I have seen and touched the souls of each of my lovers. Punch loves me, his unit was blocking my airway as he push, push, pushed then withdrew in order for me to breathe. He push, push, push, pushed and then let me breathe. This heavenly process continued until my throat received an urgent shipment of thick and delicious essence d'Punch. Then it was George's turn, and he replicated his best bud's procedure of sending me to another plane of existence. I came a third time before George ejaculated into me.

Lillian added still more tiny weights on my four cunt studs as Punch returned his penis to my throat pumping me hard. He soon sent me his second yummy load and George took over. I paused for a second as my latest orgasm made me weak. George was watching and he came all over my face watching me orgasm is front of him. Lillian licked his semen from me. The boys helped her join in all of the orgasmic bliss by picking her up. Lillian is shorter than Punch and George, instead of adjusting the chains, they lifted her so that her soaking, sweet smelling, delicious wetness was within reach of helpless restrained me. I eagerly lapped my girl's twat sending her over the edge. I continued until she came again, and I joined her at that point, spent.

My lovers unhooked my wrists and removed the leather cuffs. Lillian was French-kissing my sperm-soaked mouth. The boys unhooked my ankles and removed my cuffs. With Punch on my left side supporting me and George on my right they slowly walked me to the bathtub. Punch removed my collar as Lillian turned on the water and the boys lifted me into the tub turning me to face out. George removed the plug from my ass and the water rushed out as Punch held me upright.

All three of my lovers washed me, two with those yummy terry cloth washcloths while one held me up so I didn't fall. George showered quickly and led me out to the bed. I had not noticed before, but they were pushed together. He laid me down gently as Punch and Lillian returned from their quick shower and they climbed into the bed together with George and me and we slept through the pounding rain until dawn.

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Lisa Ann