My favorite photograph for you to fantasize making love to me by was taken during my freshwoman year at Nagasaki University the day after my first time skydiving. That's when I really perfected the fuck-me expression in my eyes that turns on my lovers so much when they contemplate my exotic face. There's nothing like being about to jump out of an airplane to get your intentionality focused to white-hot heat. All the seats had been removed from the compartment behind the pilot to make room for five horny guys and a cute young girl, who would be first out of the plane. If you think it over for a minute, I'm sure you'll understand why the most junior jumpers invariably go out first. That's why I was sitting right beside the open door, with only a strap latched across it, offering an excellent view of a patchwork quilt of rice paddies and occasional villages connected by winding country roads with farm vehicles looking unreally tiny, like models for a children's playland, except when we flew through intermittent wisps of cloud.
One cute virgin jumper with five horny guys hot to jump her! How do I know that about all those guys, who would not hesitate to push me out the door if I faltered, so they could get on with their own jumps at a higher altitude, knowing that even if I froze up and couldn't pull my ripcord, I wouldn't plow in because the altimeter-controlled sentinel would automatically open my reserve at 500 meters, if it wasn't switched off first, so, to prove myself proficient enough to jump again in our club, which doesn't use any comforting static-line jumps for novices, but starts right in by separating the birds from the stones, I'd have not only to pull the rip cord after five seconds of free fall, so the jump master could monitor my actions from the doorway, but then turn off the sentinel so that I wouldn't reach the LZ looking embarrassingly like an angel who'd committed hara kiri trying to stuff her pure white guts back into her belly pack.
