The Bowen Trilogy On Location

Sharp-eyed readers will have noticed the title of this story and deduced that there must be three parts to it and you'd be correct. However, the three parts are not grouped together in one section within the Literotica web library because each of the three stories explores different themes, so if you want to read all three, please be aware that one or other of them may have content that you find disturbing or disgusting.

Chapter One, 'Sunrise', is listed in Incest/Taboo because that's what it deals with. Chapter Two, this one, takes place about ten years later. It is listed in the Romance section and is, hopefully, the least 'out there' story. The third Chapter, 'Water Baby', is listed in the Fetish section. It is set around thirty years after this one, making it roughly present-day at the time of writing, and if you're not into anything that might even remotely qualify as a fetish I would politely suggest that you stay away from it.

All three stories are linked by the fact that they take place in, around, or are connected in some way to, the small seaside town of Bowen. Bowen is a totally fictional location, existing only in my head but I have based it on a small town in the north of the country where I live. In an attempt to keep the series a little more relatable I have tried to position it somewhere within the continental US, although I'm not entirely sure where. I suspect it might be somewhere in Florida, perhaps on the Gulf of Mexico, but I've never been there so I can't be sure.

I hope it feels real.

BBV22

January 2025

On Location

"God-damn it! You fucking stupid dipshit!!"

I slammed my hand against the engine cowling in frustration. The magneto timer was still buzzing and I switched it off before leaning against the curved aluminum, my patience worn down to nothing. My hand stung and I rubbed it, angry at myself. Of course, I'd managed to catch a finger on a sharp edge on the cowling and the small cut started to bleed. If I'd had a shovel, I would have started digging a hole to bury the thing in and be done with it.

Balanced on top of an empty oil drum, sweating in the hot stuffy hangar, I reconsidered that. A Grumman Goose is a reasonably large airplane and I didn't have the energy to dig a hole that big. What I really wanted was the cold bottle of beer that I knew was sitting in the chiller in the bar on the other side of the airfield. Lisa would be there to pour it for me and I knew it was going to taste fantastic.

Ordinarily, the work wouldn't have been an issue, except that we had a charter starting the next morning which meant big money; upwards of twenty hours' flying spread over four days and now, because of a delay in getting parts, I'd been battling for about two hours trying to correctly time the right-hand magneto on the left engine but for some reason every adjustment I made was either in the wrong direction or was by the wrong amount. It wasn't like I was new to magneto timing, but today for some reason the fates were against me and I just couldn't get my head in the game.

"Ah, excuse me...?"

I started in surprise. I hadn't heard anyone approach, probably due to the noise the timer was making and the woman's voice seemingly came out of thin air. I bent down so I could see under the wing. She was standing under the left wingtip; sunglasses in her hand, straight brown hair pulled back into a long ponytail, short-sleeved shirt, flawless complexion, light-colored figure-hugging trousers and expensive-looking shoes, late twenties maybe, maybe a bit older, looking like she'd just stepped out of an air-conditioned salon. I dropped painfully down off the drum onto the ground.

"How did you get out here? This is a restricted area."

I was probably a little too brusque, but it was true. She turned and pointed across the hangar towards the open door into the office.

"There isn't anyone in there and the door is wide open," she said matter-of-factly.

"The reason for that is we've all knocked off and gone home," I said in an annoyed tone, "or we should have." It was a stupid thing to say, as well as rude, I know, but I was still pissed at myself for the trouble I was having with the mag.

"Right...well...I've got some gear that needs to go to the island tomorrow and I was wondering if it could be stored here securely overnight? I...don't really trust the hotel security."

With a jolt, I suddenly realized that I'd just been incredibly rude to one of our very important passengers.

"Yes, of course." Miraculously, the tone of my voice changed to something much more civil. "We have a secure baggage lock-up in the back there." I waved my hand towards the cage where we stored valuables if anyone needed to leave personal property behind during a flight. I paused, embarrassed. "Look, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I've had a shit of a day and it's not over yet. I should have been much more polite."

She nodded graciously and I saw the hint of a smile tug at her lips, knowing she had me at a disadvantage.

"I'm...Brody, by the way," I said, trying to regain some dignity. "Brody Cavendish." I noticed her eyes flicker with recognition.

"You're the pilot?"

"That's right, although I know I don't really look it at the moment."

She smiled.

"Bailey Hamilton."

She held out her hand but I eased back, holding out both of mine, palm up. They were filthy, grease- and oil-stained from working on the engine.

"I would shake honestly ma'am, but I'm sure you won't thank me for it."

"Oh wow. Yes, fair enough." She smiled again, then dug in her pocket and held out a business card.

I took it and wiped the sweat out of my eyes as I glanced at the details: 'Angeles Diabolique', the name of the company who'd chartered us, was printed in blood-red Gothic lettering with 'Adventurous Movies for Adventurous People' in plain typeface beneath it, along with her name and the usual contact details.

"Good old Angeles Diabolick." I said. I'd never figured out how to pronounce it properly and I mangled the name. She giggled.

"Dee-abol-eek," she said slowly. "I'll get my gear."

She turned on her heel and walked back across the hangar to the open office door, swinging her sunglasses in her hand. I followed her inside to get the keys for the lock-up. In spite of myself I couldn't help but notice several things about her, like the fact that she had a very nice figure. She moved so gracefully it was all I could do to keep walking in a straight line.

I grabbed my key ring from my desk. Each member of the staff had one for the lock-up but, given there was only three of us, it was fairly easy to keep track of where they were. The air conditioning was still on in the office and when I stepped back through the adjoining door into the hangar it was like stepping into an oven, even though we'd opened the big main doors first thing in the morning. I had switched off the alarm and was just unlocking the door to the cage when Miss Hamilton stepped through from the office into the hangar carrying a couple of medium-sized aluminum suitcases.

I turned when I heard her but did a double-take when I glanced her way and just about had to pick my jaw up off the ground. She had another girl with her, about the same age, with long curly peroxide blonde hair and, I swear to God, the biggest pair of breasts I'd ever seen. They pushed and strained at the halter top she was wearing and made her waist look positively spindly, like it was in danger of snapping under the huge load cantilevered out in front of her. The pair of cut-off denim shorts she was wearing only accentuated the effect because they looked so tight that I was sure she must have used a shoe horn to squeeze her voluptuous butt into them.

"This is Crystal," said Bailey, by way of introduction.

"Oh...hi...I'm Brody," I said, somewhat hesitantly.

The blonde flashed me a big smile, her teeth seeming to glow in the dim light of the hangar.

"Hi Brody," she gushed with a giggle. "Are you the baggage handler?" she asked, smiling and holding out a small leather-encased box.

'Right, okay' I thought. Given that I was soaked in sweat, wearing a pair of overalls with the sleeves tied around my waist and had grease and oil smeared all over my arms and t-shirt from working on the engine, I wondered fleetingly about how many baggage handlers she'd met.

"Ah, at the moment I am," I said. I gently took the box from her pink finger-nailed hand. "And tomorrow I'll be your pilot."

"I thought you were too cute to be a baggage handler!" she giggled again and I felt myself beginning to blush. "You're going to fly the plane...? That plane?" She looked back over her shoulder at the Goose. "It's got bits off it. Is it broken?"

"Just doing a little maintenance on the left engine. It'll be good to go in the morning," I assured her. My God, her tits were huge.

"It's small isn't it?"

"But very comfortable," I said reassuringly. I was used to those sorts of comments from people who thought all airplanes were sixty feet tall and had four engines. I showed Bailey the layout of the lock-up and explained the alarm system to her. She seemed satisfied and as she stepped past me into the cage with her two cases I caught a trace of the perfume she was wearing; it was absolutely mesmerizing, a subtle citrus aroma that cut through my awareness and seemed to paralyze all thought.

I waited as she made another trip out to collect two more cases of the same style as the first two.

"Maggie's didn't seem the kind of place that had heard of an alarm system," she mused as she stepped past me again, out of the cage.

"You're staying at Maggie's? The bar in town?" I asked, trying to think coherently.

"The bar? It was described as a hotel to us before we got here."

"Maggie's is the finest establishment in Bowen," I said, grinning. "And what do you think of it now you're here?"

I could tell what her answer was just by looking at her face and I laughed in spite of myself.

She smiled ruefully.

"Well," I continued, "I guess Maggie's would qualify as a hotel around here. Bowen isn't exactly overflowing with five-star accommodation. There are hotels in some of the bigger towns further north. Matten would be the closest. Most people who come through here are campers or yachties."

"I told them we should have been looking for a couple of houses to rent," she replied.

"Well, there are holiday homes all along the coast," I said, as the two women turned to leave. "I've never heard of them being leased or rented but that doesn't mean it'd never happen."

"We're here now," said Bailey with a shrug. "We can look into it if it gets to be an issue. Thanks very much for your help. I guess we'll see you in the morning."

"No problem, honestly."

I dropped my keys on my desk and turned to watch out the window as they left, Crystal's breasts floating along ahead of her as she walked out to the rental van parked in front of the office.

I was right about the beer. Suddenly, for no reason at all, I finally got the magneto to cooperate and the RPM drop on each set of spark plugs had been identical when I gave the engine a test run so I tidied up, did some paperwork, then called it a day and headed for the airfield bar. I sat and leafed through my battered coast guide and maps and enjoyed the ice-cold bitterness. There was only a brief description of the uninhabited island we were going to in the morning and I'd already read it several times previously. I sighed and had another sip from my glass.

I had flown out to it with my boss Gerald, who was also the company's chief pilot, as soon as we were contacted about the charter and checked it out. We agreed there were no issues with access so he had completed the paperwork that had been mailed to him and officially accepted the charter as soon as we got back. I was still somewhat in the dark about what it was these people wanted with a deserted speck of sand and scrubby trees and some of the conditions of the charter were a little odd, like the fact that I'd had to sign and return by post a voluminous confidentiality agreement and that they'd specified that the nominated pilot (which was me) was to be the only pilot to fly the charter. Since I was the junior pilot in the company Gerald had seen fit to give me the job, freeing him up to do the shorter scenic trips that were our bread-and-butter during the dry season.

A few years previously someone had made a documentary about spear and sport fishing further up the coast and I had assumed it would be something similar. In the meantime, I settled down on my stool and admired Lisa's breasts as she wiped down the bar top. They weren't as spectacular as the pair I'd just witnessed, but I knew they were nice in their own right. We had a patchy history. Neither of us was particularly interested in anything permanent and sex between us had become more and more mechanical. Early on, I'd mistakenly thought I was ready for something but had soon realized I had no interest in getting involved in another relationship.

I was at the airfield just after dawn the next morning, making sure all was in order. The only slightly worrying thing was the weather. A low-pressure system was hanging around to the south as tended to happen at that time of year, sort of a last gasp of the wetter weather prior to the onset of the dry and the madness of the tourist season. Most of the time those kinds of systems tended to run out of steam and amounted to nothing but it always paid to keep an eye on them.

We got the first flight away right on time and it went without a hitch. The passengers, which included Bailey who treated me with cool professional friendliness, de-planed quickly and I unloaded their gear onto the firm sandy beach before taking off and heading back for the next lot. When I taxied up to our hangar and shut down there was another pile of bags waiting on the concrete in the sunshine. Gerald was leaning in the open doorway to the office and he came out and picked up two of them as the propellers wound down and clattered to a halt. He was waiting by the tail as I opened the main hatch and he passed them in to me.

"Any problems?"

I shook my head.

"Running like clockwork."

The sun was well and truly up by now and I could feel sweat trickling down my back under the thin white uniform shirt I was wearing. I looked over at the pile of gear. Hopefully there wasn't any more to come. Judging from this and the load I'd already taken over they were filming a blockbuster. Gerald almost seemed to be hugging himself with excitement and a stupid grin split the close-cropped beard on his face.

"What's with you?" I asked.

"Wait 'til you see the next load," he said, still grinning.

"Why?"

"Just wait."

It didn't take me long to see what he was on about. When we'd finished loading the gear the six passengers came out of the office and I had to do my second double-take in two days: Crystal was there along with two other girls, one of whom was of average build, elegantly beautiful with long straight dark hair but in possession of an extremely impressive cleavage as well. The other girl seemed unremarkable, younger, pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, smaller, slim as well, with her light brown hair pulled back in a short pony-tail under a cloth cap. The guys, though, all looked like body builders; muscles bulged and rippled under the tight shirts they were wearing and the skin on their arms and legs was tanned bronze.

"Hi Brody," chirped Crystal with a perky smile.

"Morning ma'am," I said politely. "All ready to get going?"

"Yes sir captain," she said, giggling brightly and throwing me a gesture that I figured must be her version of a salute. They filed on board one by one when I'd finished the safety briefing and then I climbed in as well, checking their seatbelts were secure and that they all had their life jackets fitted correctly as I made my way forward after closing the hatch. One of the guys touched my arm as I passed him.

"Who's riding shotgun?" he asked in a voice that sounded like gravel rolling around in the bottom of an empty oil drum.

"Nobody. It's free if you want."

"Hell yeah." He slipped out of his seat and followed me as I stepped over the bulkhead at the front of the cabin and into the cockpit.

"I'm Gus, by the way," he rumbled as he slid into the right-hand seat.

"Brody."

He had a handshake like a vice.

I ran through the cockpit emergency procedures with him and he listened intently, nodding as I pointed out hatches and seat belt latches. After I'd got the engines going I sorted out a second headset for him, completed the next bit of paperwork and then we were off to the holding point at the end of the runway.

"So this is a Grumman Goose, right?" he asked, looking out the side window at the right engine as we idled slowly along the taxiway.

"That's right," I said. It wasn't often a passenger knew much about amphibians.

"Pratt and Whitney radials?"

"Yeah, nine eighty-fives."

He nodded, looking slowly around the instrument panel.

"Fuckin' awesome."

I grinned. It was always good having someone along who appreciated machinery.

Gus was a talkative passenger but I couldn't get a thing out of him about the film they were making.

"What's it about?" I asked at one point.

"Did you sign the confidentiality agreement?" The headsets we were wearing canceled most of the noise and his voice still sounded deep and harsh in my ears.

"Yeah."

"Well," he smiled, "you'll find out soon enough."

I caught a glimpse of a reasonable-sized tent pitched among the scattered boulders and dense bushes near the southern end of the island as we arrived overhead, which explained the size and shape of some of the gear I'd had to unload last time round. As we circled in preparation for landing I thought I saw someone poking around the old sun-bleached remains of a keeler that had wrecked itself on some rocks at the northern end.

As we continued the turn round the northern side of the island I eased the power back and lowered the floats. We were in the wrong position to line up for where I wanted to touch down so I continued the turn until we were heading away from the island in a generally southerly direction.

Once I had a bit of space to work with, I reduced power a bit more and as the airspeed washed off I pushed forward gently on the yoke and selected the first increment of flaps, re-trimmed and began to descend for the landing as I turned left onto a final approach heading that would bring us past the southern tip of the island to touch down on the smoother, sheltered water in the lee of the north-eastern side. Rate of decent stabilized, I ran through the final approach checks and as we passed the end of the island I had the wing flaps fully extended, the speed nailed and my eyes on the spot of water that I wanted to touch down on.

I kept the power on slightly as we came to within a couple of feet of the sea, floated for a few agonizing seconds just inches above the rippled surface and then the water took us and the harsh rattle of choppy waves on aluminum began at the step in the hull, getting louder and closer to the nose as we decelerated and then suddenly the bow wave swept forward past us and we were off the step in a flurry of spray and noise and then everything was calm. Gus turned to look at me and his face was split by a huge grin that went from ear to ear.

"Dude, that was fuckin' magical!" he exclaimed.

I grinned back.

"Always good when it works the way they say it does in the brochure," I replied.

He roared with laughter and slapped his knee as I turned around, lowered the landing gear and slowly taxied back to the same patch of beach that I'd used first time round. Bailey and a chubby middle-aged guy with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, whose name I'd learned was Ray, were waiting for us.