This is a follow on story to Around the World. If you feel like you've missed something please read the earlier story.
ATC - Air Traffic Control — The people on the ground who try to keep air traffic flowing and safe
GA - General Aviation — Non-commercial aviation, private planes
CTAF - Common Traffic Advisory Frequency a radio frequency, used by all traffic at an airport without an ATC tower, so that all pilots self announce their location and intentions, so that other pilots can know who is doing what, when.
VFR - Visual Flight Rules Flight using your own eyes and without ATC control.
IFR —Instrument Fight Rules Flight under the direction and control of ATC, used in bad weather and above 18,000 feet, following predetermined routes and procedures
After having been home a few months and recuperated from having gone round the world in my Corsair, a World War II fighter, I started thinking about the Southern route. Many planes transferred from the States to Europe, especially the North African and Southern European Theatre, by flying across the Atlantic from Brazil to Africa. I'd see parts of the world I had missed the first time and avoided a couple places I didn't want to see again.
I looked at the distances from island to island across the South Pacific and realized the Corsair might not make a few of those hops. That might be a problem, running out of gas over the Pacific. I knew I needed a plane with more legs. Over the winter I traded my Corsair for a North American P-51 Mustang. The P-51 was better suited to making the kind of hops I intended. It had been built to fly long distances not to land on carriers and carry thousands of pounds of bombs. The plane was built small and sleek to reduce parasitic drag which make it screaming fast with a cruise of 350 knots. I researched the differences and one thing that stood out was the Mustang had a range of about 2,200 miles, it would allow longer hops with less flying time and to have plenty of fuel reserve.
I did the same upgrades to the Mustang as I had the Corsair, modern avionics, the oxygen system, and I stripped the 50 calibers out and put them in the Mustang.
There were some issues but lady luck was with me and I got the whole thing flight planned ... One thing I did in the planning was to allow more time in the flight plan for staying over at stops. I had learned that several days of long hops left me drained physically and mentally, so I planned in more multiple day stops to let my batteries recharge.
The day I was supposed to leave came up much too quickly. If I hadn't done this once before, I would never have gotten everything done in time. The plane was ready; I had the clearances to the various countries, I had the maps and en route procedures, I was ready as the morning sun was just peeking above the mountains when I started that big Rolls-Royce designed engine. Yes, the US plane had a British engine. The only similar American engine, Allison, was a piece of junk compared to the Packard designed by Rolls engine and the later P-51s were fitted with the Packard built engine. The heavy rumble bounced off the concrete and filled the air as the blue smoke was blown aft by that big paddle propeller. I called into Ground control and got taxi permission from my hanger out to the end of the active runway, 20. The controller cleared me to the end of the active. By the time I got there, the engine oil was heated and everything was reading in the green. I switched the radio to the tower frequency and asked for a straight out departure. I ran up the engine and checked the magnetos, got permission for departure, taxied out to the center of the big concrete runway, applied throttle, and in seconds the Mustang lifted off from the runway and climbed up and away.
I climbed up to 15,500 feet and contacted ATC. Even though I was flying VFR I would be flying through Los Angeles air space on my way to Baja. I asked for Flight Following VFR and was told to squawk 1347. I know that seems high for a prop plane but there is a speed limit of 250 knots below 10,000. So if I wanted to cruise efficiently at 350 I had to get above that altitude. I settled back and cruised down that long boring valley. At the southern end of the valley I veered just a little to the west to go through the gap in the mountains where highway I5 cuts through the mountains. That is an easy landmark to follow.
ATC handed me off to LA Approach so I changed frequency and they gave me a new squawk. One of the things I had learned to do was when I got handed off to a new ATC, was to tell them I was a student pilot. That's because the ATC people talk so fast unless you are doing this all the time, you can't follow them. They slow down for student pilots. I read that in the heavies, i.e. commercial jets, the pilot not flying is the one on the radio because it all goes so fast the guy flying can't do the radio and fly the plane. I believe it. And I know the ATC folks have to talk fast especially in the congested space because they have so many planes they have to be bang-bang-bang. But for us poor VFR pilots not used to it, they talk too damn fast. I had to wonder if they really believed a student was flying a Mustang but the girl did slow down when she talked to me.
Once over the mountains I flew out over the big LA basin and stayed at 15,500feet. About 10 minutes later, the ATC came on and asked if I could descend to 5,500 feet. I looked around and didn't see anyone else. But then I thought, why would she ask? Because there are big jets coming from the east and descending into LA? I didn't have any desire to fight with them but I also wanted to maintain my speed. I came back asking for clearance to maintain 350. She said standby and asked me to turn slightly east, which I did. I guess she decided to route me around the heavy rather than have me fly 'too fast.'
I stayed level at 15,500 feet. It was a nice day in LA; you could see the ground through the smog. I got handed off a couple times as I went south. I watched as San Diego slid by to the west and I knew I was flying out of US airspace. I could imagine the lines at the border now that Homeland Insecurity was running things, but there was no immigration control at fifteen thousand feet. It is a funny feeling knowing you are now in a different world. I had learned how different the rules could be. There was a moment of faint unease, but it soon passed and was replaced by the elation of setting off to do something so unusual. How many people had ever done what I was about to do? I crossed the little arm of Baja and set off down the Gulf side. The water was a beautiful pale blue. It was the season for the grey whales to be in the gulf so I kept a look out. I thought I saw a few in the shallow waters and maybe even one breaching, but I was a little high for sightseeing.
La Paz Mexico is a medium sized city, a harbor, on the Gulf of California. The airport is to the southwest. The one thing I didn't like about it is that there was no separation between the big planes and the little planes. They even used the same parking apron. I didn't like the idea of one of those commercial jets running up their engines and flipping my plane onto a wing tip. I made sure it was chained down well when I got out.
Where I trained, there was a former Air Force base that had been turned over to the city. It had a two mile long runway and didn't have a manned control tower anymore. It was perfect for certain kinds of training, like landing practice, flying the plane one foot over the runway and holding it steady. You could do that for two miles.
The thing is, big cargo jets would also use the same runway. I remember once landing and turning off the runway and having a 707 go rumbling by as he landed right behind me. A Cessna feels pretty damn small as a 707 goes screaming by. I hadn't liked it then and didn't much care for it now.
I bedded down the plane, got it fueled, and grabbed a taxi for the city. I had learned to fill up the fuel the night before. By filling the tanks with fuel, you got the air out. Air has water vapor which can come out and drip down into the fuel. Airplane fuel does not mix with water and it can stop an engine. I would never have thought of something like that until I started flying myself. There are a million little things that pilots have to learn.
I didn't know which would be more death defying: a Mexican taxi or a bus. I chose the taxi since it would be faster and therefore I'd be exposed to the grim reaper for less time. The cab dropped me off near the harbor at a nice little hotel. I checked in, took a shower, and grabbed a couple tacos from a stand before joining the locals for the siesta.
I woke for dinner and found a restaurant in the harbor that looked like it specialized in seafood. I ordered fish. It must have been the Baja version of Veracruz, since it was a lot of the same stuff and it was delicious. The waitress also brought cactus. Yep, cactus. I had seen these in small markets before, so I knew it was edible. But it was new to me. I have had lots of strange foods before, eel, octopus, alligator, and horse so I wasn't put off. I asked and the girl showed me how to eat it. It wasn't half bad. I tell you what; it was a hundred times better than some stuff Americans eat like Okra. Ugh. Okra, that's like eating snot. I'd much rather eat cactus.
I turned in early since I had another hop the next day.
This flight was a short two hour flight across the ocean between Baja and the mainland. My flight took me right over some islands, a good landmark to know I was on track and across the coast of Mexico. I trust the magic of the GPS satellites but seeing something on the ground to confirm that you are where you ought to be does feel better. The land changed from the brown and rocky desert of central Mexico to the tropical green of Southern Mexico. I was under control from Mexican controllers and their English was better than mine. I don't know if many people know this but English is the international language of Air Traffic Control. All ATC and pilots flying under ATC in the world are supposed to speak English. Even in the bad old days of the Cold War, Russian controllers spoke English.
There is a story about a German pilot who called into the controllers at Frankfurt Airport in German and was curtly told to "Transmit in English." The pilot called back and said, "I'm German pilot, flying a German aircraft on a German airfield, why do I have to speak English?" A cultured English voice came on the channel. "Well, Old Boy, you lost the war, that's why."
And I suppose that's the truth of the matter as to why ATC the world over uses English, which is good for me. When I was called into the controller at Acapulco, he took me out over the water and back in. Acapulco has two runways, the longer 10-28 and the shorter 6-24. They had me land on 6, which actually was better since it ended right at the GA parking ramp so my taxi was quite short.
I found a shuttle that went right down to the hotels on the beach, the tourist places. I checked in and by noon I was being a tourist in my baggy swimsuit, sipping a margarita in the pool, looking out over the beach and ocean. The bar was in the middle of the pool and had 'seats' in the pool.
As I was enjoying the view, two American women, late 20's my guess, came up and ordered drinks. I struck up a conversation. They were fascinated, or at least pretended fascination, that I was flying around the world. When I said I was staying a 'few' days, they warmed up even more. I invited them to dinner and they were surprised that I extended the invitation to both. It wasn't a time to be cheap and the prices weren't high anyway. We agreed to meet for dinner. I went back to the room to rest.
I met the ladies as we had arranged. Over dinner I found out they were from Wisconsin. They both loved to canoe and invited me to join them sometime in a wilderness area. After dinner, I took them dancing and wore my feet off with two partners. I still wasn't getting any vibes from either girl. I had expected one or the other to let me know she was more interested, but nothing. I said later that I would be in the pool the next morning and said goodnight.
The next morning, I was back in the pool sipping a margarita when one of the ladies showed up, Laurie. We talked about canoeing in the Boundary Waters Recreation area. I had heard of the area because it is a restricted area for planes. Why in the hell did they make a canoeing area off limits to planes? What, a little Cessna is going to break the sound barrier and upset a canoe? Sometimes, no make that most of the time, the government is completely insane. And now they want us to turn over our health care system to them. My God, the folks that run the Post Office and the IRS in charge of my health care? No, thank you. I acted like the idea of canoeing had promise, but canoeing in Minnesota in the middle of summer? You'd have to wear gallons of insect repellant just to survive. Nope, sipping a margarita in the pool looking out over the blue waters of the Pacific, that's my idea of relaxing.
But Laurie was a bit of a fan so I listened. She made it sound good enough she almost had me believing ... almost. I asked her if she would like to have dinner that night and she accepted. I went off to sleep away the afternoon after we agreed to meet for dinner. Ah, siesta; the Mexicans know a good thing.
At dinner, we talked mostly about the trip around the world and where I was going. It was as if the afternoon was hers and the evening was mine. Laurie loved the idea of flying across Africa. I think she imagined something from Out of Africa with Denys Finch Hatton and Karen Blixson flying along in an open cockpit looking down on the swarms of flamingos. Okay, that's a beautiful scene in the film. I got it. But flying a high performance plane 7,000 above the terrain is a whole lot different than an open cockpit at 85 knots 200 feet above the ground.
But who was I to argue about her dreams. I would nod and say, "Yes, yes, I expect it to be magnificent." And since that is true, I did expect it to be magnificent; I was able to say it with veracity.
After dinner, we took a walk down to the ocean. We both walked bare footed over the sand. As we watched the waves breaking against the shore, her hand slipped into mine. I turned to her, her face bathed in moonlight, and I bent over to kiss her. Her face turned up to meet mine. That kiss sizzled. It was as if two days of suppressed longing all came bursting out.
As we broke the kiss, there was an unstated agreement. I took her hand and led her back to the hotel and straight to my room. I didn't bother turning on the lights since that moon poured in through the open window. We could hear the waves breaking on the shore from the room. I pulled her to me and we kissed again, quickly getting revved up. Clothes were tossed aside. I had seen Laurie in her bikini and shouldn't have been surprised, but she was stunning. She had really filled out her bathing suits and naked she didn't droop at all without support and she had shaved, I guess knowing how small her suit bottom was. In all, she was gorgeous in the silver moonlight.
"My God," I said. "I knew you were beautiful but I had no idea."
She did a little pirouette for me and posed for a moment, "Thanks. You aren't so bad yourself." I had forgotten that I too was stripped with my cock sticking straight out pointed her way. She smiled at it, then she was back in my arms rubbing against it.
I led her from the window over to the bed and we fell on it together. Our lips melted together as my hand ran over her, touching a breast here, a nipple there, teasing over her heaving belly to nestle between her legs. She was hot and wet as my finger pried her lips open and entered her. Her hips hunched back against my hand as my finger stroked deeply into her clasping pussy.
I sucked and licked her nipples as my hand worked on her pussy. Laurie's eyes were closed as her head fell from side to side. Her face was a mask of desire. She looked ready as I moved over her, lining up my cock with her pussy. I swished it around, getting it wet, then slowly sank into her tight hot well. Laurie moaned as my cock opened and filled her. As I bottomed out, her hips came up to meet me and I ground down against her clitoris.
My hips ground around, rubbing her loins with mine. Our lips met and melded, her tongue lashing into my mouth to dance as my hips began dancing in time with our kiss. My cock was sliding easily in and out of her wet clasping pussy.
In the heated night of Acapulco, it wasn't time for athletic sex. I established a languid pace. Slowly entering her and grinding against her loins on every stroke to slowly pull out, stop to tease her, then plunge back in. It took longer, but the result was sure as Laurie got higher and higher towards her peak. I helped her along by fondling her nipples and breasts.
In the pale light, I saw her face change from languid pleasure to unsatisfied desire, longing for completion as her hands started pulling, and her hips began urging me on. I sped up the pace, still the deep full strokes, as I began fucking harder and faster into her tight pulsing pussy.
Laurie met my passion stroke for stroke, pushing back against me harder and harder until she cried out as her body trembled below me. I felt her body trying to draw my essence and exploded in answer, filling her with my cum. Again and again I erupted, sending my seed into her until drained, I fell to the bed.
Laurie snuggled in against me, murmuring and lightly touching me. I kissed her and gentled her. We lay a while, recovering. I think we both fell asleep as it was sometime later when I got up to use the restroom. When I returned she was awake and stretching like a cat waking from a nap. We kissed a bit, then she excused herself, went into the bath and came out dressed.
"I have to get back to my room," she said, like her roommate wouldn't know why she was so late.
I kissed her and opened the door. She returned the kiss while fondling my soft penis, now useless.
I left a message for Laurie with the front desk as I checked out. Maybe that was a little chicken, but I did give her my e-mail and phone number along with the date I expected to be back. And come on, did she really think a guy she just met in a foreign country was the love of her life or a quick tumble? I vote for the fun tumble. As the van pulled out to take me to the airport, I couldn't help but imagine Laurie in the middle of the wilderness, naked, me between her legs crying out in orgasm. I had pleasant fantasies all the way to the ops building.
The next jump was to Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica. Costa Rica has been changing from an economy run by coffee and bananas to one funded by eco tourism. They have set aside many areas of the country as national parks and turned them into tourist destinations. Costa Rican jungles have the densest population of species of just about anywhere. The numbers of birds and monkeys is incredible.
Because of the curve in Central America, I was off the coast the whole way down. As I approached the coast of Costa Rica, the clouds started building up. By the time I got to Puerto Jimenez the ground was socked in. I switched the airport weather frequency and the ceiling was 1,000 feet. That is plenty for instrument approaches but not VFR. Quickly, I considered going to my alternate airport up in the highlands and away from the coastal fog. But 1,000 feet is way more than I needed. I called the tower and asked for an ILS approach. I dug out my book that had approach procedures for all the airports I knew I might use.
The tower gave me a squawk and put me on the ILS approach. It was a standard ILS approach and as I came down through 5,000 feet I went into the clouds. Unless you are used to it, flying in the clouds is disorienting. It is something I don't practice enough to tell the truth. There just isn't enough bad weather in California. I felt myself clenching up so I started doing breath exercises to relax. I kept flying the instruments, watching the needles to keep them centered. This part of flying is exactly like a computer game, all you can do is keep the gauges where they belong and hope they are right. The trouble is if you miss on a computer you get to try again. If you miss in a plane you don't get another chance, ever.
As the altimeter hit 1,000 feet, the clouds broke up and I came out of the clouds lined up perfectly with the runway and a mile and a half out. I had to add a little power to reach the runway and power off the last few feet, flare, and touchdown in a perfect three point landing.
After my landing and check in, the hotel shuttle took me to the local park. I should have gotten a guide I guess, but I wasn't interested in anything except the monkeys. I didn't need the grand tour. I wandered in for a mile or so until I heard the Howlers. I sat down and waited. Soon, they were foraging above me. Howler monkeys are unusual for primates in that they eat leaves. Leaves are a poor source of energy. Animals that eat only leaves usually have very elaborate digestive systems, like cows do, so that they can extract every bit of useful food value. Howlers have to eat all day long and don't expend a lot of energy with their diets. Most primates eat fruits and insects for the protein as well as an occasional leaf. That high quality protein from insects or invertebrates is essential to most primates.
There has been an argument for years as to when and why human brains started to grow large. The early hominids had brains no bigger than a chimp. One argument was that the brain got big then we started to walk because that freed the hands and the use of the hands forced the brain to develop. That is all very Lamarckian which should have made people wonder. But the fossils now show hominids walking well before the brain developed. Ardipithicus ramidus kadabba walked on two feet 5.2 million years ago but still had the brain of a chimp. It wasn't a free hand that caused the brain to develop. What the archeologists have found was that the brain began to get big after the early hominids started eating large amounts of meat.
A brain needs a lot of high quality protein and energy. A big brain needs even more. Once our ancestors starting eating more meat, the protein and energy was available to support a big brain. We got smart once we started eating meat. Vegetarianism is a decadent sign of civilized man's disconnect from nature. Vegetarians in Nature are dumb prey. I don't need to make the obvious commentary that goes with this. If you eat meat you should be smart enough to figure this out and if you are vegan, well, too bad: next time I'll use really small words. I will just comment that scientists have now looked at vegans and found that the low quality foods they eat does cause shrinkage of the brain, like that isn't obvious. With all the PETA leaders being vegans, their political antics make sense.
Pretty soon, I noticed capuchin monkeys coming down from the trees. I sat still and they came down to the ground. They watched me for a few minutes, then came across the ground and right up to me. I was surprised to see wild animals come right up like that. I found out later at the hotel they were looking for hand outs or to steal any food I might have. Tourists frequently have granola or such and the capuchins of the parks have become adept at liberating the tourist's snacks. Monkeys are a lot safer than the bears people have attracted in Yellowstone with their food handouts.
Watching the monkeys, I was struck by how human they seemed to act. I had to laugh at myself since that anthropomorphism, they are human like, is completely backward. I'm sure the monkeys tell each other, those strange big ones sure act a lot like monkeys, don't they? The truth is we act like humans and they act like monkeys, but because we are so close to each other genetically and behaviorally, we seem alike. What we should be saying is, funny how we both act like primates. That would be accurate.
It is interesting to me how initially scientists classified primates. Basically the more human the 'higher' they were: prosimians, simians, apes, great apes and at the top, humans had their own little family, homo. But that will change one of these days once we get past the prejudice of how close we are to other primates. Genetic studies have found that we share 97% of our genome with the Bonobo chimp. That close is almost brothers in the animal world. We and the Bonobo should probably be in the same Genera rather than different families.
It is amazing how genetic studies are changing the world around us and most people don't even know it. The National Geographic's genome project has found that all humans came from the same little place in Africa and we are all cousins. Wait till those crackers in Alabama have to face the fact they are just pale skinned Africans and cousins to the black folk they hate. Even better, what about the LDS church whose theology excludes Africans as descendants of Cain? What do they do when they find out that all of these good white Americans are Africans? Who's going to be left to be the bishops? I guess God will just give them another revelation like He did when the LDS church wanted Utah to be a state and Congress wouldn't admit them with multiple wives and God changed his mind about plural marriages. It is funny how Congress could get God to change his mind.
Even better is that all the genetic work on offspring is finding out how little monogamy there is in the animal kingdom and human society. You can lie to a spouse but you can't lie to a genetic test. If testing ever becomes widespread, it is going to be interesting finding out how many kids who don't look alike don't take after their father, they take after the postman.
Pretty soon the capuchins wandered off I'm sure disappointed that this funny looking monkey didn't have anything good to eat. I went back to the main gate where the shuttle was waiting for me. I tipped the driver for waiting and off we went to the hotel.
I left early the next morning, the clouds still hovering about at 1,000. I took off and turned out over the Pacific, climbing to gain altitude and get above the marine layer before shooting up out of the clouds and turning back to climb up over the mountains that form the spine of Central America. Once over those I saw the blue Caribbean spread before me. I went northeast past Panama and the canal. Originally, the canal had been slated for Costa Rica or Nicaragua but the problem was the Costa Ricans wanted part of the control. Since the US was paying for the damn thing Teddy saw no reason to give anyone else control. A lobbyist for the Panama company, trying to bring the canal to Panama, convinced the U.S. Senate that Nicaragua had a volcano about to blow up, not true which says a lot about how our Congress does business, so the Senate voted for Panama in complete ignorance of the facts but in the pay of the lobbyists.
You probably have noticed that those countries were vying to bring the canal to their country even if the US owned it. Of course they were because of the immense amount of US dollars which would be spent to build it and to operate it from then on. All the crap about we imposed on them is fantasy. They all wanted it built in their country, badly.
Teddy Roosevelt negotiated a deal with Columbia, who owned Panama at the time, but the Columbians reneged on the deal. So Teddy, never one to be dissuaded in his efforts, was able to encourage the Panamanians to rebel against Columbia and he immediately recognized Panama as a new country. In exchange for our support of their rebellion we got the land around the canal. With our navy sitting in Panama, there wasn't much Columbia could do about it. We had just kicked Spain's ass in a war and Columbia knew we would mop them up pretty easily. So the canal moved south and we owned it until the idiot Jimmy Carter gave it back.
I know it's pretty popular right now to consider GW Bush as the worst President ever and with his assault on personal liberty and Constitutional rights you can make a pretty good case to rank him last. But at least he did what he tried to do in Iraq. Carter fucked up everything he touched. That's what you get put an engineer in charge. NEVER put an engineer in charge of anything to do with managing people. Their minds don't work right for managing people. Engineers are used to formulas that if you do A plus C then B happens every time. With humans, you do A then C and you get B. But the next time the guy had an argument with his wife that morning and you do A then C and get G. What the hell? It's just the way people are. And it confuses engineers who are used to unbending rules rather than all too fluid people.
Carter is still an idiot and he makes just enough comments to remind anyone with an ounce of brains he is an idiot and he continues to embarrass the Democrats who have to embrace him as one of their own.
Look, we stole Panama fair and square from Columbia and there was no reason to return it, especially to the Panamanians. If we were going to give the canal back to anyone, it should have been the Columbians. The Panamanians have their own country; that was enough as far as I can see. They were happy for a hundred years milking money from the Americans in the canal zone until the military dictator got greedy. Hell with them. I don't see that their greed was any more precious than our greed and we had the first dibs since we built the damn thing and helped the Panamanians get their own country to boot.
I skirted the coast of Columbia and Venezuela and landed on Curacao. I had chosen to fly through Curacao because it is a Dutch island. The why of that will become apparent soon enough.
A few miles from the airport, there is a little resort, Campo Alegre, Happy Camp. The nice thing is that Curacao is a Dutch colony. The Dutch are funny people; they don't think sex between consenting adults should be illegal like so many busybodies in the US do. So part of the attraction of Campo Alegre is a variety of beautiful women who want to have sex with a guy. Yeah, the resort is a little pricy but since it does include hot and cold running women, the price really isn't out of range considering the fringe benefits. As Brendan Behan said, "The big difference between sex for money and sex for free is that sex for money usually costs a lot less."
There are several of these resorts on Curacao. They import women from South and Central America and Russia for those who don't like brunettes. The women come for a few months and make more money than they could in a year at home. Since they aren't professionals or subject to arrest like the girls in the US, they have a freshness and realness that hookers in the US don't have. The girls want to be doing what they are doing.
I checked into the camp and got a room. Then I was shown around, the pool, the gym, the Internet Café and finally the girls. The girls were lined up on a little bridge outside the gym. As part of your daily rate you got one girl all to yourself. Extra girls cost extra. So if you really wanted to blow the budget you could get as many women as you could handle. If I ever win the lottery ... But as it was, one was fine with me. There were two blondes and several other girls including a redhead, though I figured hers to be a dye job. One, a raven haired beauty, could have been a Miss Universe contestant. I chose her and was introduced to Lucia. Her English was better than my Spanish and we got along fine, especially when we went back to my room. She stripped off my clothes, pushed me down on the bed and got me hard with a quick bj, wrapped my whopper in rubber, then fucked my brains out riding me like a South American cowgirl. I could tell she was really enjoying it as well.
Afterwards, we lay in bed and talked. She was from Venezuela and came over to earn money for college. She was working for the summer and I was her first real customer. So far, every guy had taken a blonde. She was considering dying her hair. I thought the guys were idiots if they took a blonde over a beauty like Lucia.
When we had recovered I went over to work out in the gym. Lucia went with me. It was a little unusual to have an audience for your workout, but it was nice that she was so beautiful. I admit I worked the machines a little harder than I usually do. I lazed away the rest of the day by the pool recovering from my weight workout and in the Internet Café.
After dinner, Lucia came back to my room. It was a warm evening so we had the patio door open and a soft breeze blew in from the ocean. I took her in my arms and we kissed. Our clothes were quickly scattered on the floor and we fell into the bed. It was my turn this time to be the aggressor.
Her tits were firm but not artificial: fleshy and responsive. I love it when I can feel a woman's nipples getting hard and growing between my lips. She held my head against her breasts as I licked and sucked them. I had my thigh against her loins and she humped her hips so that I could feel the heat and wetness between her legs.
That drew me like a magnet down there. Her pussy was shaved causing her labia to stand out, engorged and wet. I spread her open and licked up one side and down the other, tasting and smelling her muskiness. I ran my tongue over her pussy, delving deeply into her before moving up and teasing her button. Now, her hips were bouncing around in time with my tongue, touching, then withdrawing from her clitoris. I stuck my tongue into her channel and the muscles grasped at it. She was pulling at my shoulders urging me to fuck her in Spanish. I leveraged up between her legs, lined up my cock, and slowly filled her.
I don't know if it was because she was an amateur or because she was turned on and didn't think about it, but she didn't grab a condom like she had the first time. Maybe our talks had convinced her that I was safe. In any case, I sank into her hot pussy and started the old in and out. I really wish my Spanish was better because she was a talker but it was all in Spanish. I assume she was telling me how great a lover I was ... Wouldn't you? And she was evidencing her enjoyment, bouncing to meet me and urging me on with her hands and lips, kissing and pushing. Gradually we went faster and harder, the sweat breaking out in the warm room, until I felt my climax coming. I held back, and back, and back, until I knew I couldn't hold back anymore. I let it come and it came blast after blast from deep in my loins. When Lucia felt the first blast it pushed her over the peak into her climax, crying out she dug her fingers into my arms leaving welts as she pushed back on every stroke until we both collapsed in exhaustion, gasping for breath. I rolled to the side and snuggled as she came into my arms. We fell asleep.
I woke with Miss Venezuela next to me, or that's the way I thought of her. She joined me for breakfast and I had a chance to see some of the other 'campers.' Not surprising they were all men, middle aged, have to be to afford this, and most were from Europe.
I checked out about midday wishing I was going to stay several more days but the daily rate was high. I could have had a new girl every day and I wish the bank balance would have been able to stand it. I said goodbye to Lucia and got a wet sloppy kiss of thanks. Me getting thanks for fucking a beautiful woman. Wow.
The flight from Curacao to Caracas on the mainland was 39 minutes. I only climbed to three thousand feet before leveling off. The clouds were scattered at seven thousand. The ride was a little bumpy below the clouds. I have found out that under scattered clouds it is often bumpy. I don't know why. I guess it is the sun heats the air at different rates under the clouds and where there isn't a cloud and that differential causes rising and falling air. As the plane moves from one column of air falling to one raising the old carnival ride gets rough.
Simon Bolivar International is a weird airport. It is like two airports that got put together but don't quite match. There is a pretty standard looking two runway airport parallel to the ocean north of the city. Then there is another runway and taxiway that they stuck down but misaligned with the other, like you cut and pasted but missed. Why would you have two runways pointed out so that they cross as soon the planes are in the air? Nuts.
ATC brought me in on the separate runway with a pretty good cross wind. I turned base and saw that the runway ran uphill with a pretty good hump in it. Before I started flying I always assumed runways were flat. Wrong. This one had a real upwards slope.
When I was learning, my flight instructor took me to a runway built up on a mesa. The first time I landed, once I was down, I looked down the runway and thought, 'Shit the runway ends right there, ' and hit the brakes hard. The instructor yelled at me to get off the brakes so hard. Turns out the runway had a hump in the middle and I couldn't see the end so I thought the end was close. We slowed and crested the hill and the end of the runway was another thousand feet away.
The runway at Bolivar was sideways to the wind and uphill. Why they build runways next to the ocean sideways doesn't make sense. Of course you are going to get strong crosswinds. Duh. I wrestled the plane down with a lot of cross control. As I started to flare the wind suddenly died, allowing me to get the tail wheel down and weight on it, I could stay straight.
The city of Caracas was built away from the ocean because of the pirates in the Caribbean. Yeah, there really were pirates of the Caribbean, but they weren't like in Disney. They were mostly British and Dutch sailors preying on the Spanish bringing back to Europe all the gold and silver they stole from the Aztecs and Incans. The Dutch and English were just playing Robin Hood stealing from the thieving Spanish, at least, that's the way they saw it. The city was built up in a valley with mountains around to screen it from the pirate raiders it so it sits in a picturesque location. It is also the Capital city and the economic center of Venezuela, kind of like Washington and New York rolled into one.
Since I didn't have much reason to stay in Caracas proper, I stayed at the airport hotel, planning to leave the next morning.
But God can be fickle. I checked weather the first thing in the morning and there were heavy clouds all along my route. It was expected to clear up the next day so I extended my stay in the city. I wandered around the airport area for a couple hours finding a hole in the wall lunch place that had excellent food; empanadas, fish, and other things that I don't even know what they were.