(Lisa)
I worked hard to get my private pilot's licence, and my commercial. As did Jamie. To fly people for money you need an ATP, air transport pilot, licence. Mine was officially issued on my birthday back in November of 1976, on the fist day it could have been issued. Jamie had to wait 11 days for hers although we both met the requirements many moths before.
Issued on my 23d birthday I had to surrender it on my 65th. "You might develop a health issue." the lying bastards... Oops. I meant federal bureaucrats... Well same thing... Six of one, half a dozen...
My brother spent most of 1971 in Laos. He held a compress to a buddy's leg as the medic kept him from bleeding to death. That man, sent to war, oops meant 'police action,' as a 19 year old will only be seen at a VA hospital if he says he was wounded in Vietnam. Because we had no troops in Laos! Same shitheads, different decade.
Nobody my age trusts the government. You kids shouldn't either.
About eight months after I flew my last passengers, and gave my job to someone who still fills out flight plans with a crayon, I got in the left seat of an airplane and "slipped the surly bonds of earth. And danced the skies on laughter-colored wings; sunward I've climbed..." (John Gilespie Magee)
It reminded me of how much I loved it. I am not sure if having a taste was a good thing.
(Jamie)
Shortly after the boys came back from southeast Asia they got jobs working in nearby San Angelo flying the night mail in Beechcraft 18s. Although they were honorably discharged veterans they were denied a military exemption to the 23 rule. That was reserved for the children of the powerful and or affluent.
We still lived in Edwards, so we went back and forth a lot. There was a Cessna 170 we earned our instrument ratings in that flew three times as fast as a car could drive to San Angelo. Mr Sanchez who ran the airport (and who had flown B-17 Flying Forts in the "Big One") let us take out the back seat to haul five instead of four.
But that didn't compare to the Bobcat. A Cessna t50. The plane we earned our multis in. 200 mph more than four times the speed of a car over the hills and around them. A seven place airplane, this one was set up as a rich man's toy. An overstuffed three seat sofa replaced five seats.
Two or three girls could make out in the back of the 170 but it was cramped, The Bobcat was a flying orgy. One clothed girl flew and up to four naked ones were in the back swapping spit and musky lubricant in a heavenly mix.
Eva could go down on me as Kristin ate Lillian, then we could swap, then change partners the sisters on each other and me on Kristin then Kristin on me. Finally I could pair with Lillian and Eva with Kristin. Six possible lineups per sex act, and we were young and adventurous.
Thirty-five minutes one way, even an hour ten round trip wasn't enough time for all of the lovely possibilities. The boys had every Sunday, and usually either Wednesday or Thursday off. It was a ritual until our little brother graduated and we moved to San Angelo too.
George and Punch often met us at the airport. Late Sunday afternoon the place was deserted. We had sex with them in "their" "dirty old Beech," or in the hanger or in the office. For a two week span we had a house on Lake Nasworthy (it even had canoes) when the owner took a temporary job overseas.
Lake Houston Texas - July 21, 2019