Leaving on a Jetplane
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 18: Happy Birthday To Me
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 18: Happy Birthday To Me - Ian, the son of British immigrants, finds his life changed after a family tragedy and decides to make the best of his ambitions and dreams. And nothing gets you to new adventures as fast as your own airplane...
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Sharing Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Exhibitionism Massage Oral Sex Nudism
Sofia and I spent a wonderful evening. For once, she did keep all her clothes on. A fancy restaurant followed by a visit to a crowded discotheque were apparently a bit too public a place to show more than ample cleavage, even for her.
We never spoke about the incident again. It was ancient history, but I was thoroughly reminded how much Sofia meant to me, even though we didn’t spend much time with each other any more. I had Ira and she had Bea. Our lives had developed in different directions, but I realized that I would not want to lose her from my life completely.
I was almost sad when that final week flew by so quickly. Only my missing Ira badly made me gravitate towards not being late for the flight home. The business types had all left on the day I had flown Mark to Austria, so Esther, I and Sofia pretty much had the entire place to ourselves. Ira would probably wonder why so much of my clothes were still as neatly folded as she had packed them. We had not worn anything for the entire week.
Having had that reminder of snow in other parts of Europe, I made the most of the unusually mild weather. I definitely understood now why Sofia and Esther were such compulsive nudists. It was a great feeling if the weather cooperated. Needless to say that the absence of any clothing did also make spontaneous bouts of sex a much more streamlined process and Esther had definitely made the most of the remaining time. With more than enough practice over the week we had soon found the right rhythm that allowed her to have one of her comically long orgasms without rendering her unconscious in the process.
But the day finally came when Sofia and I had to leave. I was not the least bit surprised when Esther handed me the keys of her Merc and asked me to leave the car keys with the FBO’s office at the airport. She would come to fetch it in the afternoon. I knew she wanted to shed her tears alone, in the sanctity of her office instead of making a scene at the airport.
I gave her a long kiss and promised I would be back by June at the latest, when the holiday season was about to start in earnest. If my phone call to Fred was any indication, we would probably fly here every week over the summer with a plane-load of guests for Esther’s hotel.
Bernd had already been waiting for us when we arrived at the airport and he was already half the way into preparations for the flight. The flight plan had already been filed and approved. I was positively surprised to see that Bernd’s filed route avoided flying over Kassel. That was an area with unpredictable weather as I had learned the hard way last year when I ended up diverting to Groningen.
Sofia did her usual topless coffee serving routine when we were flying over Prague.
Since the autopilot was flying the plane and Bernd was very good at multi-tasking we had some time for conversation. During ascent and descent the sterile cockpit rules prevented that from happening.
“So how’s things at home?” I asked. “Any news Fred hasn’t told me yet?”
“Came in this morning,” Bernd answered. “Air Greenland offered us two Dash-7s for sale. Fred said you have been interested in those birds.”
“Brilliant,” I beamed.
“I’m not such a geek as Fred,” he confessed. “What’s so special about that plane? They look a bit ungainly and they’re certainly not looking fast.”
“You can land those things on a dime,” I explained. “They have fifty-four seats and we could easily have landed such a thing at the altiport we flew into last weekend.”
“You’re kidding me,” Bernd said.
“Nope, Tyrolean flew Dash-7s into Courchevel in the eighties.”
“Talk about a STOL plane,” Bernd said and whistled appreciatively.
“You rotate that thing at 80 knots and land it at ninety, even slower if the load is light or the real estate is sparse. She tops out at 221 in cruise, so she is a bit on the slow side, but the places you can fly that bird into are absolutely insane.”
“And what places do you want it for?” he asked.
“Magdeburg for instance,” I explained. “Right now people have to fly to Berlin or Hanover and then go by car or train for two more hours. They have a city airport but the runway is way too short for anything bigger than a Fairchild Metro or a Beech 1900, except of course, you can easily land a Dash-7 there. That’s what they were originally designed for.”
“Isn’t East Germany essentially dead economically? All the businesses died after reunification.”
“That’s true for most of the East,” I agreed. “Most rural areas are only a little livelier than the Gobi desert. All the new businesses have gone to the state capitals of the five new states only. You have T-Systems in Erfurt, AMD and Siemens in Dresden, Schuberth Helmets in Magdeburg. Flying into Magdeburg, Schwerin, Rostock or Erfurt would open up quite some possibilities, simply because nobody else does. A few feeder flights from those places to Frankfurt or Munich could turn out to be quite an untapped potential.”
“You’ve properly thought that through, haven’t you?” Bernd asked rhetorically.
“I have an expert at hand,” I said. “Bea is from East Germany originally and she still knows a lot of people there.”
“And I bet you’re also eyeing some Alpine destinations for the winter season,” Bernd pointed out.
“Tyrolean Airways has been bought by Austrian Airlines last year, the Dash-7s are gone. Who flies into Courchevel or Alpe d’Huez in France or Samedan in Switzerland? People with more money than brains. It won’t make a difference that ticket prices will be steep because the plane has four engines.”
“That was going to be my next question,” Bernd admitted with a chuckle. “That thing must guzzle quite a bit of fuel.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said. “Of course you need more fuel than on a two-engined Dash-8, but the Dash-8 can’t land where the Dash-7 can. And our target group are not exactly paupers.”
“I knew it was a good idea to apply for a job with your business,” Bernd said. “At least I won’t be bored stiff by riding an endless amount of uniform planes like at other airlines. And by golly, your flight attendants...”
We both had a chuckle about that.
I had missed Ira badly, and apparently that feeling was mutual. Bernd was left with the task of tying down the plane after we landed, because my gorgeous princess abducted me on the spot and took me to the task. We spent most of the evening rutting like rabbits in all kinds of positions, even some anatomically questionable ones.
Needless to say that I slept like a rock after Ira had drained every bit of energy from me.
A knowing chuckle was all I got over the telephone the next morning when I had called Fred to tell him that they better not schedule any meetings that involved me or Ira before late afternoon at the earliest.
It was not my usual routine to skip half a working day like that, but being exhausted from last night’s capers I quite valued the additional sleep and with Fred and Bea running the shop, I knew that my business was in capable hands in the meantime.
We eventually showed up at lunch time to a cacophony of knowing winks, giggles and chuckles from the office personnel. Even Bea could not help it, although in her case I suspected that it might have to do with herself having had fun with Sofia. After all, they had been separated for three weeks too.
The teasing finally died down when Fred and I started talking business. The next days were shaping up to be a rather quiet affair. Lucya would serve one of our more frequent customers on a flight to Barcelona in Spain on the PC-12, and I would do the Venice and Salzburg flights on my birthday the next day in the JS-31.
Except, apparently, I wasn’t. Fred rained all over my parade when he announced that I would spend the Venice leg as a passenger in the cabin. He wanted to give Bernd some additional flight hours on the type.
I was a bit confused by the sudden change of schedule, but sitting in the cabin was the next best thing. The whole point for me to be on this flight had been to be away from the office to avoid any ambushes of people making me uncomfortable with spontaneous renditions of “Happy Birthday” songs. I would have prepared to fly, but being a passenger was serving my escape plans just as well.
When I entered the plane as a passenger the next morning, I got the feeling that I had been played by my employees. For starters, there was no customer on this flight and when I saw the curtain obstructing the view into the galley in the back of the plane, I immediately put one and one together, assuming that I had come up with a result other than eleven.
Except for the car ride to work I had not seen much of either Sofia or Ira all morning, so a suspicion formed in my mind that I had been the designated passenger all along and that I was about to experience what it was like to be a customer on one of our ‘special flights’. Now, being served by a less than fully clothed Ira or Sofia was hardly a reason to be concerned, as long as they wouldn’t sing “Happy Birthday”.
My suspicion was all but confirmed by the shit-eating grins of Bernd and Fred as they entered the cockpit. I just grinned back at them and closed my seat belts. It didn’t really matter if it was Sofia, Ira or both hiding behind the curtain, I would not find out anyway until Bernd and Fred would extinguish the seat-belt signs again after the start.