Joanne's Metamorphosis

He went on. "In college I flew every chance I got; I got dual engine rated and had my instructor rating by the time I was 21. I traded up to a Baron. I joined an Army reserve unit in college to get more flight time. The Army would let me fly without having graduated; the other services wouldn't. One summer they ran me through an abbreviated flight school down at Fort Rucker Alabama--they don't do that any more--and I got my wings. I had as much flight time as most of the young instructors and had also picked up a civilian instrument examiner's rating. The following summer I went back to Rucker and got helicopter qualified since the Army was phasing out most of its fixed wing aircraft."

Jim continued the saga. "I had enough active reserve time and active duty time in training to get GI Bill benefits. I was giving most of the check rides in my Army Reserve unit and the CO took care of me so that I could get the benefits. My senior year in college I got checked out in jets, using the GI Bill, ultimately qualifying in the 737, and receiving my Airline Transport Rating. I volunteered for active duty on graduation and then volunteered for Vietnam. I spent a year over there with a Special Forces unit that had both choppers and fixed wing. I picked up over 1,400 hours."

There was more. "After the Vietnam tour, I went looking for an inter-service transfer; I wanted to fly jets. I was a Captain by this time--it didn't take long, thanks to the war-- and neither the Air Force nor the Navy would take me and guarantee jets; I had, too much rank, in their opinion. I went searching for favors. I had bailed out a Marine unit that was being overrun in Northern I Corps. The Major General in charge up there, by then a three star, had a lot of juice, loved me to death and got me into the Marine Corps. I had to go through their Basic Training, but not their TBS--Officer Basic School. Soon after I reported to Navy Flight School in Pensacola."

He continued. "The Navy had the wisdom to realize that primary flight training was a waste of my time and their money and zipped me through on a, special program in short order. Pretty much the same thing occurred with their advanced training. The flight evaluator looked at my log book and saw that I had more time than he had. On spotting the multi-engine jet rating up through the 737, he gave me a couple days of check rides and check outs and I was done."

Jim continued. "I was sent to fighter training shortly thereafter. I graduated at the top of my class, then to F4 transition, also top in my class. I went on to what became the Navy's Top Gun School at Miramar, also top of my class--a waste of time since most of my next tour in 'Nam was attack missions. Next stop Vietnam again for a thirteen month USMC tour. I was carrier qualified, but flew most of my missions out of the Danang Main air facility--not a lot of fighter work, mostly bomber or attack missions--today they're called strike missions."

Jim continued. "I came back to the states; the military was downsizing with the impending end to the Vietnam war and I didn't really want to ride a desk. I put in for an early out to go to grad school, and they granted my request. Hell, I had two tours in 'Nam, a few medals along the way and had exceeded my six year national defense obligation. It was an easy decision for the Corps."

More still. "I got my MBA at the University of Virginia, paying the bills flying for a small regional airline--twin Otters, small South American jets and a couple of 737s. When I got done with my MBA, the airlines just weren't hiring. There were thousands of pilots coming out of the services and many of the Air Force guys had lots of four engine time and got first crack. The pay and promotion ladder sucked--even if you could get in the door. I didn't want to be a commuter pilot for the rest of my life, so when that happy little recruiter came to campus from your favorite company and mine, I interviewed. I got hired and found the work rewarding and satisfying. Many of my friends who took airline jobs ended up out of work a few years later when Eastern dived. None of them to this day makes the money I do."

He wrapped up the story. "I fly for fun and occasionally do some charter work in the Citation, or outright rent it out to an old buddy of mine who has an air service. I got married after my first Vietnam tour. It was a mistake for both of us. We were divorced as soon as I got back from the second tour--no kids, no animosity and we're still friends. You already know I do a little bit of writing--music and fiction. I also patented a couple of products that our company sells. I don't waste money, I save money, and frankly, I could quit tomorrow, but I still get a kick out of it. I get a lot more accomplished for, our company in less time than most people. The hours certainly aren't killing me and I have time to do the things I enjoy."

Jim was winding up the saga. "I grew up on a little farm in the Midwest and my parents are great folks who always loved me to death. I don't do drugs, I do enjoy a good cigar now and again, drink in moderation, mostly red wine, am an ardent heterosexual and have no known diseases or physical defects. In answer to your earlier question, I just passed the 10,000 hour mark--flight time, that is. Any other questions?"

Over the weeks they had known each other, Joanne had told Jim her life story in detail, but this was the first complete, Jim Bio she had received. She was glad. She doubted that many people in the company knew as much about him as she did; she hoped it meant good things for them in the future. He had 10,000 hours of flight time; there were airline pilots that didn't have that kind of experience.

They closed out the IFR portion of their flight plan with ATC at St. Catherine and turned on the final leg of their flight which would take about twenty minutes. As the little Cay came into sight, she was awestruck by its beauty and surprised to see that it appeared to have small peaks almost surrounding the interior of the island. They descended to make a down wind pass over the runway and ensure it was clear. Jim made a call in the blind on Unicom; there was no tower, and she doubted that the radio was even monitored, but it would alert any other aircraft in the vicinity of the intentions of November 55555.

"Have you got any loose objects over there that aren't tied down?" Jim inquired.

"Everything is secure." She replied, having decided to go with a fanny pack rather than a purse.

"Lock your shoulder harness; the locals love a little air show." Jim told her, locking his own harness as he did.

"You don't get air sick, do you?" Jim inquired with a grin.

Not on your life!" She replied, also grinning.

They rapidly descended to about five hundred feet and hurtled down the small air strip just to the right of the runway. Just before the midpoint of the runway, Jim executed a perfect four point roll, timed so that he was straight and level again as they passed the end of the runway.

He pushed the throttles to full rated power and brought the nose of the nimble little jet into a near vertical climb. The jet had a solid thrust to weight ration--and they were light--so they held airspeed all the way to the top of the climb. Joanne wasn't really following the instruments, but at around 5,000 feet, Jim executed a perfect chandelle, turning over the top and lining the nose up with the runway.

It was a classic strike or attacks pilot's return to target maneuver--only their target was that tiny little air strip somewhere down below. He chopped the power; it grew strangely quiet without the whine of the turbines. He pointed the nose of the aircraft toward the ground and they began a rapid power off diving descent.

He rolled out of the dive around 1,000 feet, well less than a mile from the end of the runway with a steep angle of attack. Jim brought the turbo fans back on line and advancing the throttles to take off power. He deftly deployed the single-slotted trailing edge flaps and partially deployed the speed brakes or spoilers, located on the upper wing surface just ahead of the flaps. The rapid deceleration threw her forward against the seat harness. She felt the gear extend, but never saw his touch the gear levers. God, she thought, that is one short fucking runway.

There was a quartering head wind; while they were, tracking directly to the center line, the nose was not remotely pointed at the runway. She alternately watched the ground rushing up and the air speed indicator winding down. Stall speed, what was it? It looked as if 94 miles per hour had a little red tic mark by it on the air speed indicator.

As they slipped below 99 miles per hour, the stall warning began to whimper. Jim ignored it. At 95 miles per hour, it started to become annoying; he silenced it with a flick of his right hand, pulling the breaker. He simultaneously used the rudder to line up the nose of the jet with the centerline of the runway and leveled the aircraft with the ailerons.

The fact that the aircraft wanted to stall was a moot point; as the Citation II decided it no longer wanted to stay in the air and fly--as it fell below stall speed--the main gear gently touched the tarmac--exactly at the landing threshold. The nose gear followed a split second later.

The spoilers were now fully deployed as Jim gently applied the brakes to bring the jet, which did not have thrust reversers, to a halt. They stopped just before reaching the sole taxiway. They taxied over to a small hanger and tie down area. What a fucking rush, Joanne thought. This man hasn't even touched me and I damned near came in my pants. That was hot.

A dark skinned man was standing by with chocks and tie down ropes. Two other people, a man and a woman, in printed shirts, Khaki shorts and bare feet walked toward them with a drink in each hand. As Jim cut the engines and the power switches, the door opened and a well tanned and rather handsome man---probably a few years older than Jim-- put a drink in her hand, gave both of them a kiss. With mock formality he announced, "welcome to the Goose".

At almost the same instant a tall lean and equally tanned--and very attractive--woman gave Jim a big kiss and handed him a glass filled with a similar island confection.

"Nice show, buddy, damned fine show! It's been too damned long, how the hell are you?" The man said as Jim struggled from his seat and was immediately bear hugged by the exuberant man.

"I'll be a lot better if you'll get the fuck out of my way and let me get out of this infernal flying machine." Jim responded, with mock irritation.

As they exited to the tarmac, Jim began the introductions.

"Joanne, this is one of the deep dark secrets in my past. I'm not proud of it. This obviously inebriated and slightly over weight old fart is my older brother—one of two; this one's name is Frank. This lovely and exotic woman, who is far too good for him, is my beautiful and sexy sister in law, Maurine. Folks, my very dear friend, Joanne." Jim said.

Greetings and hug abounded as they worked there way toward an open Jeep, or Land Rover, or whatever. The dark skinned man who had tied down the Cessna was already ahead of them, putting the suit cases in the vehicle. I didn't even know he had a brother, and he said there were two. Is he here too? Were there sisters?

As they drove up the hill toward where there appeared to be buildings, Jim educated her on the Island.

"Joanne, my other brother, Herb, discovered this little Island almost twenty years ago when he was doing prospecting for an elite tour company. He fell in love with it and kept its existence away from his employers. Herb won't be joining us. He's in one of his recluse phases somewhere up in the back woods of Arkansas--God knows why." Jim told her.

He continued. "We did some research and discovered that the Island really didn't belong to anyone, although it was claimed by the French government as French territory. It took a couple of years, but we finally managed to buy it, or more accurately, lease it for a lump sum payment--every inch of it, for almost nothing. Technically it's still French territory; the French Government got the money and we got a 200 year lease with the understanding that at the end of two hundred years, if they want it back, they have to pay market value for any improvements."

There was more. "A few years back, we built a small bed and breakfast here. It's very exclusive. It's also outrageously expensive. We don't run it day to day. We hired a couple to do that, a retired NCO and his wife. We approve the guest list--and we're very picky. The airfield is listed on the charts as restricted, i.e., land at your own peril and be prepared to be shot on sight. We allow friends to pay to stay there at a substantial discount. We permit the occasional, celebrity, politician or tycoon, after we meet them and decide that we wouldn't mind having them around. Our CEO and his wife are on the list. They are a delightful and outrageously funny couple. We also invited his daughter and son in law to stay during their honeymoon--actually it was a wedding present from me."

He is just slightly better connected than I am within the company, Joanne mused.

There was still more story. "There are several small, well appointed, cottages and one main house where we meet for some meals, happy hour or whatever. You and I will be in the cottage you see to the far right of the main building. There are a couple of famous people up at the bed and breakfast this weekend, I don't remember who they are. The recently retired Commandant of the Marine Corps is here with his lovely bride of thirty five years. He's a special, personal friend--the man who got me into the USMC-- and he gets one of the cottages. Don't let them fool you. They're not young but they are a blast. Our parents had other obligations, so they won't be here this weekend. The other four couples that are here are all very dear friends. They are people I would take a bullet for. The feeling is mutual. They're from all walks of life; some are affluent, some less so, but all special people dear to my heart. My inner circle, if you like."

He was letting her into his inner circle. She felt very special at that moment. She was also in awe of what she had just been told about this magical place and the people who visited it. If I don't get laid this weekend, it will still be an event to tell my grand children about--if she ever had any children, let alone grand children.

They were deposited in front of their cottage; the Jeep sped off and the two of them went in to get settled.

The, cottage was exceptionally well appointed. A balcony provided an astounding view of the ocean almost 100 feet below. There was a fully stocked bar and a small, but very well appointed, kitchen. There was stuff in the fridge and more stuff on the shelves. A king sized bed graced the one bedroom; the bedroom included walk in closets and a sitting area.

The huge master bath included a whirlpool tub and large walk in shower. The sunken living room contained a sunken hot tub. It appeared to be already heated. What a fuck palace she thought to herself. I sure hope that's what he has in mind. She began to hang her meager clothing complement in one of the closets and attended to some hygiene issues in the bathroom.

As Joanne returned to the, main room, Jim came up behind her and encircled her waist with his arms. Now she really was in heaven. He kissed her neck, and began to speak, softly.

"Joanne, I think we've put this off long enough--too long, actually. That was my decision probably more than yours."

Joanne interrupted him, turning around and kissing him fervently and longingly.. "I want to make love with you like I've never wanted to love a man before. I sure hope that's what you had in mind. It's time for bed."

They joined hands and led each other to the master bedroom. They were naked and under the covers in seconds. They fondled and touched and stroked, discovering each other's bodies for the first time.

She worked her way down his body. She lovingly and softly blew him until he came in her mouth. They continued to make out and cuddle for almost an hour They drifted off to sleep once or twice.

Finally he rolled her over on her back, spread her legs and just fucked her, gently and lovingly. He softly tongued her breasts and kissing her face. They both came. It was a relaxed, lazy cum. They peed. They spooned and they dozed.

Then he took her ass as lovingly as any man ever had, cumming deep in her rectum after a leisurely and gentle-- but perfect--ass fuck. They fell asleep in each others arms. It was barely past noon.

Oh yes, she thought, this was going to be a weekend to remember. He was so damned sexy. He was an absolutely astounding fuck. After over two hours of mutual exploration and first rate fucking, he suggested that it might be time to grab some lunch.

She wasn't sure she ever wanted to leave this bed. As long as he was with her, she could be happy. They quickly dressed and walked over to join the others in the main building. She knew it would be difficult to hide the "I just got laid, several times" look on her face. She also knew that she was falling in love with this amazing man and was positive that it showed on her face when she looked at him.

As they arrived at the main building, it became instantly obvious that most of the other, guests had been doing the same thing. All of the women had the delightful, "I just got fucked" smile--so did the men--even the Marine Commandant.

They sat around and drank and ate for some time. These people were all characters They accepted her as if she had been part of this clan forever. These people all trusted each other implicitly. Jim had been right; the retired Commandant of the Marine Corps and his wife were fascinating and came off as much younger than first appearances might have indicated. He shared some funny anecdotes with her about Jim's service in Vietnam. She quickly realized that this man loved Jim, her Jim, like he loved his own son.

All of these people were quite obviously successful; some were equally as obviously, very well off. There was no caste system with this group; they were all equals who had a strong affection for one another. The crowd broke up around mid to late afternoon. Some folks were going to go out on a boat. Others were thinking of fishing or just walking down to the beach. A least one couple was obviously going back to their cottage to fuck some more. That would have been just fine with Joanne, but she settled for a walk to the beach.

As they headed up the beach, bare feet dragging the surf, Joanne spoke. "Is this beach clothing optional, or would that be inappropriate?" She playfully inquired.

Jim replied. "Once we pass this point up ahead we enter a very discreet cove. There are no other people living on this island. You can't see the cove from the main complex, in case you're modest. We're also the only people who chose the, beach walk activity and the boat that went out never comes around here--it's an unwritten rule."

Jim continued. "If you want to get a little sun on that pasty white, but extremely gorgeous, little ass of yours, go for it. I'll certainly join you." And with that, they both stripped, leaving their clothing in a box that seemed to have been secured to some rocks for this very purpose.

As they strolled along the water's edge, Jim placed his hand on her rear and began to stroke the cleft of her firm and, if she did say herself, quite attractive, young butt. Joanne knew she wanted his cock in her mouth, or in any other part of her he wanted to put it. She sincerely hoped he would choose her mouth. She needed to feel his hard organ filling her oral opening, needed to taste his hot cum splashing against her throat. Fuck it, I'm going down on him, right here and now. If he'd rather have my ass or cunt, it's his choice--just so that fine cock is inside my body. And with that, she fell to her knees and engulfed his rapidly stiffening manhood in her willing mouth.