I'm the Co-Pilot

Chapter Five

Montego Bay and Aguadilla

***

Everything in this story actually happened. Maybe not all at the same time or in the same exact sequence. I'm sure that I have forgotten more than I remember, but that's the way it goes.

***

All sexual activity in this story occurs between characters who were at least 30 years of age way, way back then.

***

"All in all, I'm commissioned a general stooge,

I sit on the right of this high-flying scrooge.

One day I'll make Captain and then I'll be blessed,

I'll give my poor tongue one long hell of a rest.

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

-Oscar Brand

***

MBJ - Montego Bay, Jamaica - July 1990

"Icarus Air Douglas November-Four-Two-Seven-India-Charley is approved number one, we are cleared for a straight in approach on runway Zero-Seven M-B-J," I said into the microphone.

The lush green beauty of the island and the golden sand beach in front of us contrasting with the blue water made my nerves from flying over Cuba fade. We were coming straight in towards the beach and would execute a single ninety degree turn to starboard, my side, over that beach below us.

"Flaps," I called to Dale flying left seat.

I did not enjoy the games that went along with flying over Cuba. I wasn't afraid that they would shoot at us. I doubted they even had ammo for their old Sukhoi's loaded onboard. They obviously didn't carry any missiles. It was well known that Fidel didn't trust his own soldiers with live ammunition. I was just afraid that in their little game of Machismo, aerial tag, they would inadvertently ram us and knock us from the sky.

"Flaps," Dale confirmed looking at the instrument panel.

But there we were, on final to Mo Bay, flying over the beautiful blue Caribbean water approaching the idyllic natural harbor just as Christopher Columbus had four hundred years before. A happy island of Bauxite, Reggae, Sugar cane and duty free Rum.

"Gear," I called out.

American and European tourists were everywhere, enjoying the sun, the sea, and the local music played on improvised instruments. Happy locals were offering ganga for sale on it seemed like every third street corner. They were obviously doing something right there. This triangle we were flying that day was in support of that trade. We were picking up sound and lighting equipment for a rock band that was on tour, and taking it to Aguadilla Puerto Rico for another concert.

"Gear down, and locked... Three green"... Dale confirmed.

Seven-India-Charley's flight instruments numbered ten on the pilots side. Eight of those were repeated on the co-pilots side in a rectangle four across and two high. There was only one clock and one GSI, they were on Dale's side, as was the transponder. We would not need the Glide Slope Indicator to land on this beautiful summer day.

The Artificial Horizon and Turn and Bank Indicator on the instrument panel above my yoke showed that I was making a nice coordinated turn to the right and lining up with Runway Seven, as we flew over happy vacationers on the beach.

After a short decent I flared over the numbers and the wheels barely chirped as I pulled power on the four big radial engines; it was a long runway and we just rolled along it slowing down. I shut off the flow of fuel to three of those engines before we turned down the taxiway to the cargo area. I would shut number four outboard on my side down once we were parked and had our cargo door open.

I adjusted the throttle and propeller pitch on number four looking at four of the sixteen engine gauges arranged in a four by four square in the center of the instrument panel in front of the control levers. Four gauges indicating our fuel load and outside conditions sat above them; the emergency fuel cut-off levers and fire suppression pulls above them completed the instrument panel. It was my job to know what each one did and to know what to do with any and all of them in any given circumstance.

Rounding out what I needed to know: we had an oscilloscope, a landing gear lever, four flight control trim wheels, six fuel selector switches, six radios, two dozen cowl flap and engine control levers, it seemed like a hundred electrical switches and another hundred circuit breakers many of which also served as impromptu switches. It had twice as much everything as the Curtiss I used to fly into Aruba and Curacao eight months ago.

Dale went into the Operations office to find our contact to off load the backhaul that we unusually were flying down south into the Caribbean, and then the riggers to find out when we could expect to be loaded. Lillian and I needed to go to the bathroom. Dale just thought that we hated the onboard chemical toilet. It wasn't my favorite for sure, but the real reason we needed a bathroom was the shields we were both wearing.

***

They were wonderfully frustrating little things. Punch had handcrafted one for each of his girls. Heavy for its size, the shield was a semi polished sand cast piece of brass. Being fit for it was really fun; the original was made of paraffin and molded by body heat to perfectly conform to the wearer's genitals. A little smaller than a party liner it covered and prevented all access to the wearer's vagina, labia and glans clitoris, but did not in any way obstruct her anus.

The shields had openings custom fit to the wearer's outer labia piercings; the rings of which held them in place. We could easily remove them by removing our rings, but that would be cheating. A spinner borrowed from a children's game determined how long they were worn. Lillian had spun a 'three' for us yesterday, three days. Then I rolled the dice, six. So Eva removed our labia rings and Jamie gave us each nine blows with the little leather paddle on our bare mounds and labium to get us warmed up.

Each shield had a hole for urine to exit, but that was messy. So George took care of us. Being a very thoughtful guy he made sure that his little sister and his best friend's wife each had a delightful series of orgasms in the process. As we lay upon the table he bathed our labia, hood and glans with his warm saliva, inducing our spasms. He massaged our many sensitive tissues before he wiped each of us with a sterile wash and slowly, skillfully, pushed catheters into us and filled the little balloons with water.

Then Punch carefully fitted our shields to us. He passed our rings through the appropriate holes, locking us up for the next three days. I liked flying while catheterized, it made bathroom breaks a lot easier, and I felt just like a Cosmonaut with that tube inside of me. Once we were locked shut the boys had us lay facing each other on the table. Lillian and I wrapped our arms around each other and kissed.

Eva held the bag as Punch slipped the nozzle into her little sister's butt. Then she released the clip. Meanwhile Kristin assisted her husband as he pushed the nozzle into his baby sister, holding the bag and releasing the flow of saltwater. After we each received a second bag, and were quite full, they helped us walk slowly to the bathroom and allowed us our relief.

When we returned from the bathroom everybody was naked. The riding crop and needle games were to begin. Eva, Jamie, Kristin, Punch and George took turns rolling a pair of dice, nine, six, four, eight and ten. Then we used the Twister spinner to determine placement, left breast, right thigh, right buttock, left thigh, and right breast.

Eva delivered nine blows with the crop to my and then to Lillian's left breast. Jamie struck my right thigh and then Lillian's six times. Four times was my right buttock struck before Kristin gave Jamie the same. My bloodstream was filled endorphins and I reached over and frenched Lillian, our tongues dancing. Punch gave his wife eight on her left thigh before giving me the same, and George gave his little sister ten on the right breast immediately after Lillian's ten.

Punch brought out the box of needles; again our lovers rolled dice for numbers, and used the spinner for placement. Kristin pushed eight little acupuncture needles into our mounds. Jamie contributed seven to our left inner thighs, and Eva put five in our right buttocks. George stuck us with seven needles apiece in our left breasts, and then Punch added four on the right. I was so sensitized that I was orasming just from the slightest touch of my lovers hands or their lips on my well prepared body.

Lillian and I were then cuffed, hands behind our backs, and we went naked to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Well, Lillian and I mostly watched. It's hard to help while wearing cuffs and kneeling in your own pussy juice. Kristin wore an apron only briefly while actually sauteing. After she completed that task, the boys stirred the pot containing the sauce. While everyone waited for the noodles to be Al dente, Eva pushed Kristin back into a chair, and she and Jamie went down on her.

We had Pasta Puttanesca, pasta in the style of a prostitute. A Neopolitan dish with anchovies, garlic, plum tomatoes, capers and olive oil. Kristin chose that dish because it was quick and hearty, and we had a lot of things distracting us while preparing dinner.

Those without acupuncture needles in their ass cheeks sat down. Those adorned with cuffs and needles knelt between two lovers. George and Eva fed me; Punch and Jamie fed Lillian; Eva brought us frequent sips of Barbera. After dinner was over and the table cleared everyone was dealt two cards. George spread a thick quilt on the table. The cards determined how many needles each player removed from each one of us. After the needles were pulled from our buttocks, breasts and thighs, Lillian and I got up on the table laying face down.

Lillian went first, George placed his penis in her mouth and Kristin drizzled a bit of almond oil on Punch and he slid into his wife's ass. Eva pinched her nipples as she watched her little sister getting spit-roasted. I was uncuffed to hold Lillian while they went to town on her. She was coming like crazy. After the boy's came I continued to hold her with her hands behind her back and guide her head as she went down on her big sister. The girls had cut playing cards for order. After Eva came a couple of times it was my turn.

Lillian held my hands behind my back as my brother watched me eat his wife. Then I gave Jamie a couple lovely orgasms. The boys double teamed me while Lillian held me down. Kristin watched her husband bugger, and then trade places with Punch to throat his little sister. Jamie watched me as I experienced multiple orgasms from the wonderful sensations my lovers were filling my body with.

Then after the boys came a second time we showered and went to bed, all of us together.

***

Dale came back to Operations from talking to the riggers. We had time for a short trip into town. We rode along the coast road past the old fort to the markets. We would buy some colorful handmade items there to give as gifts before returning to the airplane.

As co-pilot it was my job to check the fuel, dipping the tanks with a wooden stick, and to check each engine's oil. Dale checked that the airplane was properly loaded. That everything was secure and that the front strut showed that the airplane was in proper balance.

We checked the radio for the time, the barometric pressure and any updates on the weather or pertinent NOTAMs, NOtices To AirMen. We went through the check-list. I watched out my window as Dale started up the two engines on my side, Four, then Three. Then he started the two on his side, One, then Two. The tower gave us taxi instructions, and we taxied to the threshold where Dale ran up the engines, and Lillian checked the oscilloscope and all the gauges.

The British accented voice from the tower cleared us for takeoff, and we were away. It was funny how very different our four regular British destinations were. In Jamaica they were cool and confident. The Bahamas were laid back to the point of never seeming to do anything. Belize was ultra bureaucratic, except for the lovely environs of Hopkins. In Guyana they were just plain paranoid. On Dale's command I retracted the gear, confirmed that all three were locked up, and retracted the flaps. We began our climb over the island enroute to Puerto Rico on the other side of Hispaniola.

At about one-hundred ten thousand pounds the DC-6 was a third of the size of the DC-8 we would buy in a few years. But it was fourteen times as big as our Twin Beech and fifty-five times as big as the Stinson I soloed in. But 350,000 pounds or 2,000 bounds or in-between all airplanes everywhere obey the same laws of physics, and they are all flown using Wilbur and Orville's invention.

The brothers from Dayton did not invent the airplane. They invented something much more significant than the airplane. They invented a way to keep an airplane controllably in the air, three axis flight controls. Glenn Curtiss flying Langley's seaplane had to use his body weight to somewhat controllably crash into Chesapeake Bay.

The yoke that was in front of me was connected to woven steel cables that controlled the ailerons on the wing and the elevators on the horizontal stabilizer ninety feet back. The two pedals at my feet controlled the rudder. Up and down is controlled by the elevator; port and starboard, which is nautical for left and right, are controlled by the ailerons with a light coordinated touch of the rudder.

The Stinson had five flight instruments. The Airspeed Indicator used air pressure from the the pitot tube to indicate forward air speed. The Altimeter used atmospheric pressure to determine elevation above sea level and was adjustable. The pilot dialed in the barometric pressure. You could also do it in reverse if you knew the airfield elevation.

Three instruments used spinning gyroscopes to determine our heading, attitude and the coordination of the pilots use of flight controls. The Artificial Compass was not affected by the non-coincidence of geographical and magnetic north, or magnetic anomalies caused by large iron ore deposits and the like. The Artificial Horizon and Turn and Bank Indicator existed in deference to the fact that it was not lift per-se but the vertical component of lift that kept us in the air and alive.

Many aircraft have a sixth instrument, a Vertical Climb Indicator, although the Altimeter can be used for the same purpose. If you are flying VFR, Visual Flying Rules, those five instruments are all you need. As Maimonides said, "the rest is commentary." If your airplane lacks IFR equipment, or you lack an IFR rating, when the weather is bad you don't fly.

Seven-India-Charley had a GSI, Glide Slope Indicator, to land the airplane on Instruments. It had two AM radios for the ADF, Automatic Direction Finder, and four FM radios, two for the VOR, Very high frequency Omni Range, one for the ILS and one for communication. Our Beechcraft only had four radios and the Stinson just the one for communication.

To fly by IFR, Instrument Flying Rules you add an ADF that can read AM signals and provide a bearing to the transmitter, and a VOR that can read dipole VHF radio signals and provide a bearings to the transmitter. You also need a Clock; because on IFR you fly X miles on Y heading, and you use the ASI and Clock to figure out X miles. On the Curtiss the pilot had the two IFR instruments, the clock and the GSI. But only the Co-Pilot had an Artificial Compass, so you flew IFR from the left seat.

From our little rental near CUR, Curacao International Airport, in Willemstad we flew the C-46 to the five airports in the Dutch Caribbean that were big enough for us to safely land at. AUA, Queen Beatrix in Oranjestad, on Aruba and BON, Flamingo International, on Bonaire were in the Lesser Antilles off the coast of Venezuela. Being the three most western islands in the Leewards, they were well out of Hurricane Alley.

Hurricanes frequented the SSS islands nearer the island of Puerto Rico, the destination for our cargo today. We flew the Curtiss into SXM, Princess Juliana, on the Dutch half of Sint Maarten, and EUX, F. D. Roosevelt, on Sint Eustatius. The island where, on a November day two-hundred-and-fourteen years earlier, Governor de Graaff ordered the guns at Fort Oranje to salute the Thirteen Stripe flag flown on the brig Andrew Doria. The first official international acknowledgement of American Independence.

We couldn't fly into Saba on the sixth and smallest island. It's fourteen-hundred foot runway was too short even for the Curtiss' big fat low pressure tires. With its beautiful low speed handling characteristics, a product of a wing that stalled without a roll from root to tip and big ailerons, a pilot that was used to it could likely get it in. Landing by literally stalling the big tail dragger at 50 feet and 65 knots and squishing it in like Mimi did over in Vietnam.

But even with two of the same powerful R-2800 radials that we had, that same pilot would look like one of the Doolittle Raiders on an old newsreel. Taking off from the Hornet and going down almost into the sea before climbing back up.

The Curtiss was a really good airplane, mocked only by those who could not understand it. Primarily the fact that it relied so heavily upon differential engine control. The rudder only existed to coordinate turns. It could fly half of the payload of the Douglas at the same ceiling and at two thirds of the speed a third farther for a third of the cost. Years later I would spend a decade flying them again. I loved that airplane.

Approaching our destination we could see the lighthouse at Punta Borinquen and the town of Aguadilla near BQN, Borinquen - formerly Ramey Air Force Base. Its three mile long three-hundred foot wide runway Two/Forty was constructed for the ten engine B-36 'Aluminum Overcast' built in Fort Worth. One of the biggest, and certainly the most complex aircraft ever built.

Landing on that runway always reminded me of an old joke.

The co-pilot, just promoted to Captain, touched down right at the edge of the pavement at just over stalling speed; he immediately threw all the engines into reverse. He leaned hard into the brakes, just barely stopping before going off the other end of the runway. He wiped the sweat from his brow and said, "that is the shortest runway I have ever landed on." The new hire co-pilot looked out his window and said, "and it's the widest too."

After landing it was my turn to go find the riggers and get the airplane unloaded. Lillian made a phone call from Operations looking for our backhaul. We had an airplane full of blue jeans that had been made in an old hanger right on the airfield to take back to Miami. Also Lillian and I needed each other to keep a lookout while we went pee.

***

Lillian and I got home to the condo late Tuesday. We still had almost twenty hours to go on our sentance. We showered together and played with each other's breasts and nipples. It felt really nice, but it was frustrating as well. The design of the shield was thorough; direct stimulation to the glans, hood, inner labia and almost all of the outer labia was quite effectively blocked. George, Eva and Jamie were in Guatemala and would not be back until well after midnite.

Kristin and Punch decided that it would be fair if Punch buggered us both tonight, and then George could have us for his pleasure in the morning. So Lillian and I took turns being the girl in the middle; eating Kristin while Punch slowly and methodically brought us right to the edge of release several times, but always slowed down so as not to overstimulate us. After Kristin's fifth orgasm, he finally shot a load into his wife and we went to sleep.

We fell into our secret identities as professional suburban parental units for a few hours Wednesday morning. But once the children were off to school Lillian and I were stripped naked and given the news. It was a mixture of the good and the also good. A new flight had been ordered so we would gain our release several hours early, and Lillian and I would service all of our lovers to their satisfaction before we were released.