Chapter 24: Fake Parts

According to Mark’s recollection, when he had done this particular excursion with Regina six years ago, one guy had crashed his bicycle into the undergrowth because he had been a bit too fixated on the unexpected site of a naked girl coming the other way.

We actually got passed by several people and their reactions had ranged from desperately trying not to look to people smiling at us, and one bloke on a bicycle gave Sofia a grinning thumbs-up. I knew this was making her day. Sofia wasn’t vain by any interpretation of the term, but she was certainly very appreciative of compliments for her body.

The little secluded beach was nothing spectacular, other than for the knowledge that both Mark and Jenny had been conceived in this place by way too young teenagers. We used the opportunity to jump into the sea though. This place was a lot less crowded than the large beach our tent was pitched on, which I took as a chance to do Sofia standing upright in the water.

Granted, it wasn’t the most comfortable way to have sex, but for the occasional passers-by on the cycleway it would look like two people standing chest-deep in the water, hugging and tongue-wrestling. The thrill of not knowing whether they had realised what we were actually doing, made both of us rather excited.

The site’s restaurant was the one of only three places that actually required clothing to be worn, so I was not surprised that Sofia had insisted on cooking our meals herself in the small kitchen area of our tent. She was hell-bent on not wearing anything for the entire time we were here, so a visit to the restaurant was off the table.

A second place with mandatory clothing was the small super market. It was surprisingly well stocked considering it was only meant to serve the camping site. That qualifier ‘only’ was put into perspective though when one considered that at the height of summer this site was a veritable tent town of up to three thousand people. With Sofia’s clothing embargo in place, the task of going shopping fell to me then.

Not that it was a burden, because I also had to pay a daily visit to the third place requiring mandatory clothing – the camping site’s administration building right next to the super market. Although on vacation, and having trust in my team back in Emden, I still received a fax with a written report every morning. Fred and I had agreed on that, because the company was in the middle of a major transaction worth a three-digit number of millions. I couldn’t stay out of that completely. That’s why I came to fetch the daily fax from the admin office every morning.

For most of the days it were just routine reports, like another of our new JS-41s had arrived in Dresden, or another two pilots had passed the check ride for the type rating. Occasionally Ira chipped in with a list of newly hired flight attendants.

Apart from that daily hour of busman’s holiday, Sofia and I spent most of the time doing not much, although the lunch time was a notable exception. The meals that she could produce with just two gas flames on a small camping stove bordered on the spectacular. The dish washing after the meals had become a nice routine too that involved a lot of kissing and groping.

Most of the time not used on feeding ourselves was spent exploring the vast camping site in search for quiet places to have sex, and we were usually successful. That had become necessary, because just two days after our arrival a family of four, including two young children, had pitched their tent not far from us and we didn’t want those kids to ask their parents what the strange noises coming from the other tent were, so all adult activity had been relocated to whatever quiet and secluded spot we would find on that particular day.

Our daily routine was interrupted on day eight though when Fred’s fax came in and I was informed that Mark had called to ask about a short-notice charter flight from Dresden to Carcassonne in France.

There was no way I could tell Mark no, considering that he and his ladies were actually helping us with the ferry flights, while they were busy themselves organizing a farewell event for Meri.

For a still rather small airline like ours, ferrying twelve regional planes from the US to Germany was an undertaking on an industrial scale that we would never have managed without help.

Trans States, the airline who had sold those planes to us had agreed to strip all the seats from them as we would be completely renewing the interior to Air Berlin’s specifications anyway. They also installed the ferry tanks and dropped off and stored the planes in Gander, Canada.