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You wouldn’t have thought a flight suit could be sexy, would you? Shapeless, drab green, multi-pocketed, utilitarian, coarse…. But they are.. especially when spread out on a rock in the sun with a naked women sprawled upon it looking at you with a sort of sweaty sexed up smile on her…
Let me tell you a story…
Many years ago, before the Middle East became a synonym for “place where the US foreign policy gets all fucked up” and people get blown up, I was there being an oil engineer. My team used to do the geomorphology (a long word for, “find the oil”) for one of the major oil companies. This used to involve a convoy of trucks heading off into the desert with some sophisticated electronics, some unsophisticated explosives, and a map. You’d make a bang, measure the reflected waves, and bingo- plant a flag which said dig here. With the advent of helicopters it became easier to make the trips out into the desert, and the whole thing lost its adventurous edge. A 10 man team became a two man job, and the two men sometimes became (gasp) mixed- gender wise.
Which is why, in its infinite wisdom, my company teamed me up with Sara, a Canadian bush pilot who had decided to get away from a bad relationship, and a seasonal job ferrying heli-skiers up the mountains, to carrying gritty oil men around the desert. This woman could fly anything, but here, she was flying a Bell Jet Ranger like you and I would ride a bike…. And all that mountain flying meant she loved to chuck that thing around at low level and scare the shit out of camels, Bedouins, and passengers. Before being a geologist I’d spent some time in the military, so I loved that shit. All my colleagues preferred to walk, or ride with one of the other, more sedate pilots.
Now, at that time in the Middle East, Sara, being a woman, was basically confined to camp. Even so, it was a dry camp, and a dry town, and hell, even a dry country. So the only legal pursuit were films, projected onto a white sheet, drinking tea under the most stars you’ve seen in your life, and the fine art of conversation.
The fine art of dry conversation, among a bunch of engineers, soon became the fine art of hiding the manufactured booze in orange juice, and hitting on any woman within a country mile. In most cases this meant conversations with the chicks in Hustler, or Playboy, but when Sarah landed and walked into the social club, this became all too real. Some of my more dysfunctional colleagues couldn’t cope with a real woman, and retired to the pool table, and some clustered round her like she was the new teacher and they wanted to be teacher’s pet.
I stayed out of it.. I wasn’t frightened, or bewitched, and I knew that sooner or later I would have to fly with her and we could see what each other was made of then. In the mean time I drank my “orange juice” and watched Cary Grant. Also, I had a woman back home who loved me, who I loved, and with whom I was building a log frame house in the high desert of Northern California.. Things had changed since being in South East Asia—I wasn’t going to chase every piece of poontang, I was there to work, earn money, and go home.
But we did end up by flying together. I briefed her on where we had to go next, she impressed me by having done all her checks before I met her at the hard pad, and she took me out over the desert. I laid my charges, I took my measurements, I came back to the chopper, and she fired up the engine and took me home…. Despite Hollywood, you cannot have a conversation in a helicopter. The pilot is too busy and you are running over your order of business. Then you do you business, then you come back. The pilot has pilot stuff to do after landing, and you have engineering stuff to do, and so it’s not a social event.
But because we’d done it such a no nonsense way, we were done long before the other teams came back, so we got to know each other in the shade after the work was done.
I liked her. I liked her attitude. I liked her sense of humour, and I liked they way she would fend off the boys when they got too fresh. A direct flash of a glance, a questioning “excuse me?” and people would know they have stepped too far and would retreat.
She was also nice to look at. Tall, dark, with curves in all the right place, with nothing too over the top: I guess about 5’9″, athletic slim, not skinny, with shoulder length dark hair framing a smile that was worth working for, brown eyes that showed the intelligence behind them, and feminine hands.
Who am I kidding? She was gorgeous, but was one of those glorious women who didn’t know it, or, if they knew it, didn’t act it. From her unruly hair to her slim, hard working legs, she was a stunner, but not a princess. Wonderful curves held tight under her t-shirt, and a lovely ass which, to get to the point of this story… was my personal reason for appreciating the design of flight-suits. When they are pulled tight, these functional pieces of work wear show every detail of what is underneath. As Escort Akbatı we got into the routine of working with each other, I’d play a little mental game with myself…. Lace or g-string, racy bikini or ….. All you could see was the clean white t shirt, and boots, but my game kept me amused whenever I wasn’t too busy… I kept my guesses to myself, and thought no-one had noticed… turns out Sarah chose not to notice… but that’s the subject of a further story.
It worked out that she became “my” pilot and I became “her” engineer. We’d both get up early, with the dawn and watch the sun come up as the engines warmed up. I’d hold her coffee as she did her stuff, and then we’d pass the mugs out to the flight engineer, and swing out on our way.
The desert colours are amazing. Every film you see doesn’t to them justice. The rocks and sand go from red like plums to green like grass… the textures and the shadows.. and especially in the dawn, before the colours get all burnt out and too bright…
We started going further and further away from base—flying over the dark shadowed rocks, watching our shadow emerge from the darkness and race us up and down the Wadis.
As we got further and further away, and our flying time increased, I wouldn’t be able to start laying my firing lines out until it was quite hot. Then it would take some time for the readings to come back in, and then I would go and collect my firing lines, and we would go home. The heat of the noon sun, while not as bad as all that, meant that, if you could wait an hour or two, you would. It’s a dry heat, unlike that of the jungle, and the lack of trees or grass to rustle in the wind meant that it was often so silent you could literally hear a lizard a hundred yards away.
We’d take lunches, and sit in the shade of the chopper and chat. Sarah would ask questions about the seismic equipment I carried, and she would talk about cyclic pitch, and collective pitch, and effects of throttle, and how they are all related to each other.. Occasionally she would let me fly… well, not fly exactly. But follow her as we took off, hovered, and cruised home… I got into it, and she was happy to sit back as I amused myself, and her, with my wild oscillations. She’d just watch, and talk me through it over the headphones.
And then one day, it happened. I’d had a hard day laying lines and making bangs, and was happy just to nap in the shade while the machine did its thing, and to let the heat of the day pass before going to collect my wires. Sarah had had a hard day watching me and reading her book. I spread out my canvas sheet, and bunched up my sweater for a pillow, pulled my hat over my eyes, and sacked out to wait for the sun to pass overhead.
My eyes closed under my hat. I heard Sarah come out of the chopper and walk around to the shade. I could sense her looking down at me, but didn’t stir.
“You don’t mind, do you? You looked so comfortable, eh?”
I didn’t, really, so I moved over, and felt a body come and lie down on the groundsheet next to me.
Her flight suit smelt clean, and fresh (compared to my work-shirt, made sweaty by the morning’s hikes anything would smell clean and fresh). I drowsed, she drowsed, we drowsed.
I woke to an itch. She had rolled over in her drowse, and her head was on my shoulder, and her hair tickled my nose. My arm fell naturally under her head, and she sleepily snuggled in.
It got hot, and quiet.
When I woke up I still had my hat over my eyes. In that little gap between the brim of my hat and my cheeks I could see her lying on her side facing me,– her suit was unzipped all the way, but she was wearing the white t-shirt of the series I had seen drying by the laundry… it had ridden up a bit, and I could see the waistband of her white panties (which I hadn’t seen, I guess she did them herself in her quarters).
I kept my breathing steady…. and waited. The breeze came and took away the perspiration and she wriggled a bit, and snuggled back into my shoulder.
We slept. At least she slept. I guess. But I just argued with myself about what was happening.
By the time the Sun had crept around to move our shadow away, it was time to get up… My disciplined drinking habits (a quart an hour, whether I wanted to or not), had caused a painful erection and so I eased myself up… only to catch Sarah looking at the tent in my khaki’s.
“Wow” she grinned up at me from the canvas.
“‘Wow’ yourself” I said (wittily) and laughed at her rumpled hair, mussed and cascading over her green suit and the white t-shirt, and the glimpse of the white panties. Why is it, what you don’t see is more intriguing than what you do?
“How did you get that tan?” It was true… she had a dark gold tan all over. It glowed through the t shirt and was only hidden by the material of her bra.
“This one?” she lifted a corner of her t-shirt…. Man, I tell you, I don’t know what she was thinking, but Aksaray escort I was lost when I saw the smooth ridge of her pelvis emerging from the white cotton of her panties, and framed by the nomex suit in the shadow of her shirt..
“That one” I said… and impulsively licked the end of my finger and traced the line up on her skin. The dry desert air cooled it immediately and a line of goosebumps appeared. The 14 year old in me thought ‘cool!’ and my erection returned.
Somewhere, somehow, the world slowed down, and we went into a different universe.. Where actions don’t have premeditated consequences, time is chopped into moments that don’t connect, and the sky is always blue blue blue. The world stood on its head and my blood roared in my ears.
“Same place you got that one” she said… and reached for my shirt collar with her finger, tracing a line down my neck to where my buttons were trying to keep my heart in my chest…
‘Uh oh’ I thought. “This one is a farmer’s tan” and took off my raggedy shirt to show how white my body was.
“This one’s the tan of a pilot who knows she has one and half hours of sunbathing before her engineer comes back from the bush… and who makes so much noise with all his equipment that even when you came back early I can put my suit back on in time.”
“Nooo… you get naked when I go to work?” my mind and eyes glazed… she laughed. “just topless, when we’re far away, and just some days… and stop looking like a teenager… you can look now.”
And with that, her suit slid down her arms to be held up at the belt by her hips, when they were free, she grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it off over her head… oh man, she was gorgeous- and even now, years later, I can still see her smooth belly, and muscles in her arms as she lifted it over her head and the curve of her breasts, wrapped in a plain white sports bra. She shook her hair loose and looked at me, wickedly.
You know ‘Wiley Coyote” feeling? He’s skidded off the road and over the canyon, and is about to plummet down to splosh in the river far below? I had it. My friendly, but distant, relationship was about to change… and suddenly we were shirtless in the desert and I was with a hot chick with a wicked glint in here eye coming towards me. My mouth went dry.
“Wait!” – I cursed my dry mouth. “How did this happen?” The brakes had failed on my truck of reality and I was trying to get a grip on the slippery road to somewhere strange. Clearly I was part of a plan, but had no clue as to where this was going.
“Shush”, she put her fingers on my lips, suddenly serious- “I know about Helen”- I flinched, this was my woman back stateside and honestly, I hadn’t thought of her in to two minutes that this was going pear-shaped. “This stays out here in the desert. I like you, but I like you enough not to want to fuck up your life. But I’m horny as hell. I’ve caught myself heading towards making some really stupid mistakes with some of the guys in the camp. I’ve stopped myself in time but I need your help. I need a human touch. We’ve spent 4 months together and there’s another 2 months left in my contract. This is about trust, faith and passion…. You’ve been nothing but a gentleman. I can trust you to be discrete; you can trust me to be discrete. I think we have the same sort of view of life, love, and passion. It’s too short, and too precious…” She tailed off. Looking slightly at me, she’d put into words all there was to say on her side, and on mine. The only question was; were we going to dive into this, or back away and retreat to our self contained little worlds?
I took out a cigarette—this was before they became dangerous and anti-social.. Fumbling in my shirt gave me valuable seconds. I hesitated…
“So what did you have in mind”
“Whatever you like, I think. Right now, I want to be touched by someone who cares about me. I want to remind myself I’m a woman. I want to be held. I miss the erotic side of me and I can’t do it alone anymore. I want to feel the heat of another human. I don’t know what I want exactly, but I’ve got an ache I need your help with.”
I thought about the last few months away from human touch, and how soft her skin looked. I thought about a million things in a millisecond. Helen, honesty, faith, trust, and limits….
She hit me about breast level and wrapped her arms around me—my arms went around her shoulders and I stroked her hair… “okay, okay, okay” I hummed into her hair.. “take it easy…”
And so it began.
Skin on skin was nice. Her breasts swelled into my ribs and the ridges of her cotton straps were cool compared to the heat of her skin.. She smelled clean (compared to an engineer who had been working up a sweat all morning..) and her hands went up and down my back, feeling the muscles in my back and scratching gently. She nuzzled my shirt and buried her nose in my chest. I could feel her breathe me in. I smelled Ankara escort bayan like a man who had been working all morning in the hot sun, but if that’s what she wanted to smell, that was fine with me.
I kept my hands above her waist: So far, it wasn’t that far from dancing, except I was shirtless. I took a half step backwards, to keep my balance after the impact of Sarah. I failed; my foot caught in the groundsheet and I went down.. She came with me and landed on my belly.. My hand slid under her flight suit and cupped her ass- I caressed the skin and her panties— “Oof”. She got up on her elbows and looked at me… “okay—now you’re my prisoner” I laughed—5’9 and 140lbs of her holding down 6 foot 200lbs of me. I didn’t stop stroking her ass. Smooth cotton, smooth curves to die for. The buttock fitted right in my hand as if it was designed that way. My fingertips lay along the shadow of her crevice, my thumb along the waistband, where the coolness of the cotton met the warmth of her honey skin.
I rolled her over- “prisoner eh?” now we were lying side by side… nose to nose – body to body, her bare legs wrapped around my chinos… I stroked her hair.. “listen,” I said “we can do this, but we have to be honest. There’s passion here- we can feel it. You’re gorgeous and I trust my life with you every day, and don’t even think about it. But I don’t want to change my life nor do you want to change yours- The ski season is waiting for you in Calgary, and Helen is waiting for me in San Diego, but it feels like a long way away and anything might happen between now and then. I agree– you and I should let the passion animal in us out of the box, it needs tenderness. You don’t want to be fucked. I’m in no rush to break my promises either. But we can find where we are comfortable and balanced and not go doing crazy things..—and your ass feels perfect.. but we shouldn’t…”
I looked up at the sky and the side of the chopper silhouetted against it. It was perfectly blue and perfectly shadowed. I made a bargain with whatever gods I had left- Let me be a good thing for this woman.
I took her hand and kissed it, and licked it and the salt off it diligently… very diligently. She spread her fingers and made a gentle noise like a kitten… I took her fingers and spread them, and flicked my tongue over the web of skin between them… “Oh Jesus” she whispered, “that’s it” I worked every inch of her hand, her fingernails, her thumb, her knuckles, in my mouth, and with the tip of my tongue… I kissed the fleshy part of her thumb, and bit the web between thumb and first finger. I took her first finger into my mouth and rolled my tongue around it, getting it as warm and wet as I could. I took the second finger in too, and sucked it like I wanted her to be doing to my cock. I bit all up and down her third finger, and she pushed her hand further into my mouth…. All the time I could hear her growling and hmmm-ing… and could feel her wrap her legs harder and harder around my leg. I could feel the heat of her pussy through the cotton of her panties, her suit and my khakis, and could feel her slide up and down in tiny movements against my leg.
She shook, and arched her back, and the zip of her suit ground against the muscle in my thigh, caught between her thighs. She wrapped her green clad legs around me, and with a quiet “ah ah ahh ahhh ahhhh” she came against me.
She buried her head in my shirt again and clung on for dear life. I stroked her hair as she quivered like a little frightened bird in the hand.
“Was that what I thought it was?” I said,
“Yes… how did you DO that? I guess I must have been wound tighter than I thought?” She giggled… she wrapped herself tighter against me… and I pulled her in closer. Well, I thought as I looked over the top of her head at the rotors against the sky…, that’s another element of infidelity crossed, and I didn’t feel a thing..
Oh yes, I was hard. My god.. I don’t masturbate much— I don’t really see the point, and whether it was an illusion or not, my balls ached blue… and now I could see the point of masturbation- if I didn’t take care of some pressure now, something was going to burst.
“Sara… sit here and stay here, no matter what, okay – you’re so lovely and I want to make love to you so bad, but I don’t want to regret it later so I want you to stay right there on the ground sheet…”
I got up, and loosened my belt. And slid my pants down to the ground- my boxers went down with them, leaving me in my socks on the rock and sand of the desert. I leant back against the warm metal of the chopper… and wrapped my hand around my cock.
I was standing at the edge of the sheet, and she almost at my feet… I can see her now, looking up at me from the ground sheet. Sitting cross legged with her hair even more mussed and her white shirt by her side.. the light dawned and she nodded.. “Come for me” she said.. “just come for me- I want to see you come for me..”
She took off her bra over her head and it joined the puddle of tshirt. They were perfect, brown, tanned, taut skinned, smooth, and untouched.
She pushed her hands under her breasts and caressed them— she pulled on her nipples and twisted it—her face twisted into a gasp and wince.. and then she did it again..
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