This story, like my others, is based on real events in my life with a significant degree of fictional license applied. I've intertwined reality and fiction often within the same sentence or paragraph. As in my other stories there is a dose of philosophy as well as more closure for the characters that you'll find in many other Literotica stories. Perhaps I've written too long an introduction before a juicy sex scene, but I find my life is like this β lots of lead in before the "good stuff." In this story a loving and romantic couple initially struggle with their togetherness and the building of a business; ultimately the story involves romance, polyamory, group sex, incest, lesbian sex, and some creative lovemaking. This story also builds some connections to two other stories I wrote entitled Circle of Love and The Experiment. I am now thinking about a sequel to this story too β stay tuned! Please vote or send me your comments. R1
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I broke out of the overcast just as the altimeter touched my decision height. I glanced out the cockpit window and there were the runway lights through the fog and haze guiding me the rest of the way into MCO. Orlando International was often foggy on mornings like this. The air was CAVU a thousand feet up β just what I liked: calm air, visibility unlimited. My wheels touched down with a sharp squeak.
"Cessna four-eight-golf, Ground Control on one-two-one-point-eight," the tower controller radioed to me.
"One-point-eight for four-eight-golf, good day" I replied. I switched to the ground frequency that I'd already dialed in on the top navcom unit, "Ground, four-eight-golf with you going to Air Services."
"Four-eight golf is cleared to Air Services," they replied; my headphones went silent again. I acknowledged the permission to taxi as I came off the active runway and started to shut down some of the panel equipment I didn't need now that I was on the ground. The airport was quiet except for activity over in the main passenger terminal.
A lineman came out and through arm motions with red batons showed me where to park. After I was in position, I shut off the rest of the plane's electronic gear and then pulled the mixture out; starved for fuel the large engine came to an abrupt stop about ten seconds later. I went through my shut down checklist, popped the door and got out. The lineman had already tied the plane down. "Thanks," I said, "I'll be here for most of the week I think." He shot me thumbs up.
I pulled my briefcase and overnight bag from the backseat and walked into the FBO's office. A few minutes later I'd checked the plane in, left contact information and gotten the keys to my rental car.
As I started to leave the building there was an attractive young woman pacing by the exit door watching the parking lot; she also had two pieces of luggage lying on the floor near the door. "Can I give you a life someplace?" I questioned, "I'm headed towards downtown and you look like you're waiting for a cab."
"Well I'm trying to get to the Intercontinental Hotel," she said. "I've been waiting an hour and I've called the taxi company twice. They keep saying 'any minute'. I should have gotten a rental." She shrugged.
"The Intercontinental is where I'm headed. Are you going to the Energy Futures Conference?"
She gave me a big smile, "Why, yes, I am. I'm tomorrow's keynote speaker at lunch." She paused then extended a hand, "I'm Kim Winslow. And, yes, I'd love a ride if it doesn't inconvenience you."
I shook her hand, "Come on then and nice to meet you, I'm Ron Hume. How'd you end up at the general aviation terminal? Did you fly in?"
"Yes I did," she offered as she collected her luggage and we exited the building into the gray, damp air. "My plane is the red and white Mooney next to your Cessna. I watched you come in. Low ceiling out there!"
We did pilot talk as we packed our stuff into the Camero I'd rented and drove towards downtown. Meanwhile I was assessing my passenger: very pretty, very professional, very smart, and at least an instrument rated pilot. Finally I asked, "What do you do when you're not flying or giving keynote talks to a bunch of energy geeks?"
"Well," she said watching me, "I hang out near Chapel Hill. I run a business there that builds specialized solar cell equipment. I have an electronics background from my undergrad. I got started about five years ago while in grad school at UNC when I was working on my MBA; I had an idea that I did a paper on and I thought I could make some money if I really implemented my business plan. Turned out I was right. So far I've paid off my student loans, my company's backers, bought a house, and most recently bought the airplane but I've been flying for years; I started when I was sixteen. Tell me about you, where do you hang out?"
"I have three of them," I responded somewhat humbly. "I have a year-around camp near Sugarloaf, Maine, a condo at the Watergate in DC, and my main home is on Amelia Island, outside of Jacksonville. I've had my own management consulting company for the past fifteen years; before that I worked for a couple of other consulting firms doing the same thing β taking people's watch, telling them the time, and keeping the watch."
She gave a delightful laugh at my very old joke. "You must have a lot of watches," she said. Her blue-green eyes sparkled; her brunette locks were pulled back in a ponytail. I noticed a beauty mole up by her right cheekbone as she turned to talk to me. Her youthful face had lovely angular features. I'd read somewhere about a study of beauty; people perceive beauty based on placement of facial features, distance between the eyes, eye shape, mouth and lip shape, and hair, profile, on and on. This young woman was exceptionally beautiful, no doubt about it. Even though she was sitting and wearing slacks I noted her trim figure. She had a healthy glow and a suntan so I speculated that she had some athletic ability that put her outside.
"If that means you think I've been in this business too long," I said to her comment, "you're probably right. I'm long of tooth and experience. I do have a lot of wisdom from all my mistakes, however." I chuckled and gave her a big grin.
"Oh, dear," she said, putting her hand on my right arm, "I didn't mean to imply that you're old or anything like that. I wasn't thinking. Your comment about watches and you look like your good at your job and β¦" she stuttered.