TRIKED, TRICKED, TROLLOPED
There are some lovely beaches down in the south west corner of Western
Australia. Long stretches of pristine sand dividing the Indian Ocean from
the dense forests of tall karri trees. Hundreds of kilometres of unpolluted
and mostly unpopulated coastline stretched like a silver ribbon between
rockbound headlands. Very nice – except when your idiot of an husband has
bogged down the family four wheel drive on one of those deserted beaches.
Believe me, there’s no better way of exploring the strengths of a
relationship than sharing a shovel on a scorching hot December day,
especially when all your joint efforts to dig large holes in fine sand are
proving futile. Which was one of the reasons why our marital relationship
was sinking even faster than the Suzuki. Not that any of it my fault.
I hadn’t wanted to drive way out of town and down some bush track to go
rock fishing. As far as I’m concerned fishing is an old man’s occupation.
Jeff isn’t even thirty yet, nor am I, so I thought we could have found
something more interesting to do on a Saturday morning. Still, fishing was
what he wanted to do and the only alternative if he stayed indoors was
having him watch cricket on the TV – and compared to watching cricket,
throwing a fishing line into the sea is an epic adventure full of drama and
So here we were, bogged down before we’d even got to the fishing spot and
with no way of getting somebody to come and help us out. The nearest sealed
road was five kilometres away, five kilometres of bare dirt trail bulldozed
through the trees. No other signs of life on the beach, not even a boat in
sight anywhere and Jeff snarling at me all the time just because I happened
to be driving the bloody vehicle when it sank down to the axles. He was the
one who was telling me where he wanted to go! The most annoying thing of
all was my job – I’m a nurse and I was rostered on for the evening shift in
the local hospital. A fine fool I was going to look if I couldn’t even
phone in and let them know I wouldn’t be able to make it.
Then something entirely unexpected happened. I was walking back from the
treeline with an armful of old branches to push under the Suzi’s back
wheels when I heard an engine. At first I thought it was a car and then I
saw a small aircraft skimming along the shoreline so low it was well below
the tops of the karri trees. It was the strangest looking thing I’d ever
seen – not like a normal plane with a wing on each side. Instead there was
just one wing that looked something like the sail of a yacht, with red and
white patterns on it. Hanging underneath the wing was the rest of the
plane, what there was of it.
Have you ever been to a fairgound and had a ride in one of those little
plastic pods that hang down from the edge of a big wheel? If you can
imagine something like that, only smaller, with the pilot sitting in it and
and a windscreen down around his knees, you’ve got the idea. The only other
difference was a nose wheel at the front and two more wheels at the back
with pointy hoods over them. Yes, and the engine of course. The plane was
flying so low that I could easily see it mounted behind the pilot, with the
propellor right at the back of the pod, pushing the strange little
contraption along. I suppose it was travelling about as fast as a car would
on a normal road and as it came level the pilot waved to us with one hand.
The other one was resting on a bar – like a trapeezee bar, I guess – which
was the bottom piece of a triangle which came to a point underneath the
wing. There were two more metal bars that I could also see, from the front
and back of the pod and also joined together underneath the wing. They
obviously carried the weight of the pod and somehow the pilot was steering
himself around with the bar he was holding.
Anyway, whatever he was doing and however he was doing it, he seemed to be
having a much more enjoyable morning than we were. As soon as the plane was
past us the engine revved up and the plane climbed away at a steep angle
until my eyes were watering from the strong sunlight as I tried to watch
it. The show seemed to be over, although when I got back to the Suzuki Jeff
was still scanning the sky with his hands cupped around his eyes.
“That must be what they call a microlight, or an ultralight. Strange
looking thing, like an overgrown hang glider. That’s the way they steer
hang gliders, with a bar attached to the wing, they push and pull against
the bar to move the weight of the aircraft underneath in relation to the
centre of gravity.”
In case I haven’t mentioned it yet, Jeff is a teacher, a high school
teacher. . . oh, you guessed, did you? If there were any teachers on the
Titanic they probably drowned giving each other lectures on the way
icebergs are formed. Anyway, since he was only wearing thongs, I dropped
the tangle of branches on top of his bare feet as a means of self
expression. He expressed himself back to me and the plane was forgotten
about as we bickered at each other. Until we heard it again.
I was a little surprised to see it coming back again from the same
direction as before and even lower and slower. It looked to me as if it
belonged in a Star Wars’ movie, with its strange shape and the way it was
hanging in the wind like a mechanical hawk. I thought it must be a hell of
a way to fly, in a seat with nothing around it but empty air. Then the
engine noise dropped off and I quickly changed my mind about even thinking
about wanting to try it – the wing had dipped lower and it seemed the
ultralight was going to crash. The wheels wavered around unsteadily a metre
or so above the hard packed sand left by the ebbing tide, like a drunk
trying to get his arse back onto a bar stool. Then the ultralight settled
down onto the sand with the sudden deftness of a seagull dropping onto a
morsel of food. Little gusts of water sprayed out from underneath the
wheels as the pod’s weight fell onto them. The wet sand seemed to slow
their rotation down very quickly, the plane wallowing to a walking speed
about fifty metres away from us and the pilot revving the engine to keep
his wheels turning until he was level with the Suzi. Then the high pitched
yammering of the engine stopped and the propellor blades jerked to a halt.
The pilot carefully tilted the wing over, keeping control of it with the
steering bar he was holding until the wingtip nearest to us was resting on
Jeff and I were watching all this with surprise and interest. We kept on
watching as a tall and slender man in tight fitting blue flying overalls
unstrapped himself and climbed out of the pod. In fact it was only his
figure – or his lack of it – which showed him to be a man because his head
was completely covered with a wrap around motor bike helmet that had a
tinted glass vision panel in the front of it. By God, I thought, I was
right, not only does the plane look like something out of Star Wars but the
pilot dresses like Darth Vader.
Before he even touched the helmet the pilot took something out of the pod
that looked like a giant corkscrew, walked along the wing to the
down-tipped end and drove the corkscrew into the sand before tying a
lanyard at the top of the corkscrew to the wing tip. The intention was
clearly to prevent the wing being blown around. At close range my first
impression of it being like a yacht’s sail also seemed right. The whole
thing was just a collection of aluminium battens wrapped around with
coloured fabric. It seemed incredible anybody would trust their life to
such a flimsy support. Still, it wasn’t my worry, though as the pilot
finally removed his helmet I watched with interest to see what sort of a
madman he was. A pity there was no chance of him being Harrison Ford.
It was another surprise to see that he was pretty old. In his forties for
sure, though very well preserved, with a lot of dark hair turning grey at
the temples, a sharp angled face with a wide smile that showed off
excellent teeth and crisp blue eyes with crinkles of smile lines around
them. Behind the good looks there was confidence as well, self confidence
and self assurance. If I’d seen this guy in hospital whites I’d have tagged
him straight away not only as a doctor but as a highly skilled consultant.
Success smells on some men like aftershave, an enticing aroma which never
fades away. And as we were looking at him he was looking at us: at Jeff,
briefly, then at me, for a longer time.
“Hi, I’m Brett Reynolds.” A nice voice, sharp but well controlled.
Jeff introduced us: “Jeff Pearson, and this is my wife Sandra. You’ve
caught us at an awkward moment. We’ve got bogged down and can’t seem to get
out of it.”
“Yeah, I could see you were in strife. I can’t give you a tow but I thought
you might want some messages passed on. I couldn’t see any antennas on your
wagon and I guess you’d be well out of cell phone coverage in this neck of
“That’s right. We tried to use the mobile but it was a waste of time.”
The pilot was still looking at both of us but I knew that most of his
attention was on me. Not that I could really blame him for that because I
wasn’t wearing anything underneath my sweat soaked tee-shirt and my shorts
were cut about as short as they could be. In fact I felt quite flattered
that I could get a guy like that taking a lot of second looks.
“Is there anybody around here who could help you out?” Brett asked.
“Eddie Turner would come out,” I said.
“Yeah, Eddie would be great.” Jeff turned to the pilot to explain. “Eddie
Turner is a mate of mine, got a Land Rover with a winch on it. He’d come
and pull us out if we could let him know where we are. He lives quite a way
down the road though, in Kilkenny Ponds. Must be about fifty or sixty k’s
Brett smiled widely, showing off his teeth even more: “It’s rather less.
It’s forty seven point two kilometres from here. Or at least it is to the
Kilkenny airstrip as the crow flies. I suppose it must be another five or
six k’s into the town itself. I’ve got it nailed down on the GPS because I
flew out from there this morning. My car’s still there.”
“Oh.” Jeff smiled a little himself, clearly as relieved as I was at the
prospect of being saved a lot of walking and a lot of trouble. “Maybe you
could phone through to Eddie when you get back?”
“No problem. It’s a lovely day for a flight and I doesn’t matter to me
which direction I fly in. I can go back to Kilkenny Ponds now and call in
from the strip. With the wind blowing the direction it is I should be there
in about half an hour. What’s your mate’s phone number?”
Jeff told him and Brett wrote it down on the back of his hand.
“Could you do us another favor and phone the local hospital as well? Let
them know that Sandra won’t be able to come in for her shift tonight.”
Brett nodded and seemed concerned: “You’re a nurse, Sandra?”
“Can’t have the hospital short of nurses – you never know when there might
be an emergency. Why don’t I give you a lift back to Kilkenny Ponds in the
trike and then drive you into town?”
I didn’t quite realise what he meant by a trike until he nodded towards the
ultralight and my stomach flipped over like a tossed pancake: “Me! Go up in
The obvious fear in my voice made him shake his head in rueful amusement.
“Sandra, it’s not like bungy jumping off Sydney Harbour Bridge – it’s fun,
and safe. I’m a licenced and insured pilot and my passengers are all
insured as well. I’ve got a spare helmet and a spare set of overalls on
board, though you’ll hardly need them in this hot weather. Believe me,
you’d be safer on board a trike than you would be on a 747.” His eyes
crinkled up in another sudden smile. “And I should know, I fly 747’s for
QANTAS for a living.”
It was an exciting idea and and an attractive one in many ways, provided I
didn’t find myself gripped in total panic once we were off the ground.
Rather stunned, I walked over the ultralight and had a second look at it.
True, there were two seats in it, one behind the other, but that was about
all you could say there was in the way of accommodation. It was only at the
front of the pod that the top of the plastic windscreen came up to about
waist level. On either side of the front seat the bodywork was hardly ankle
high, and barely much more than that around the back seat. I imagined
myself looking straight down from one of them, down into a drop of hundreds
of metres, and my intestines wriggled around like a nest of angry snakes.
“It’s just like riding a motorbike, only with a better view and without all
the road hazards,” Brett said soothingly. “Why don’t we go up for just five
minutes and if you don’t like it I’ll bring you straight back down again.”
“How would I tell you what I was feeling with all the noise?”
He held up a cable that hung from his helmet, showing me a plug at the end
of it: “The helmets have earphones and a mike built into them. We can talk
to each other as easily as we are doing now. Believe me, you’ll never want
to come down once you’ve tried it.”
Then he sort of looked sideways, to where Jeff was standing a few paces
away, and lowered his voice a little: “Or would you rather spend the rest
of the day stuck here?”
I didn’t think Jeff heard that. Or if he did I’m sure he didn’t hear the
insinuation in it that I did, a hint of surprise that somebody like me was
wasting her time in this sort of situation. Or maybe I was hearing things
which weren’t really there. While I was standing undecided Brett reached
underneath the back seat and took out a helmet, then a neatly folded set of
overalls like the ones he was wearing.
“I can adjust the headband on the helmet for you, Sandra – there’s not much
I can do about the flight suit, I suppose. Normally, you’d need at least a
jacket to keep the wind off but not now. A day like today, the only cool
way to enjoy yourself is flying.”
Jeff came over and looked at the helmet and overalls I was holding: “You’re
surely not going to try this, are you, Sandra? You’d be scared stiff.”
If he’d wanted to stop me flying then it was the worst possible thing he
could have said. Of course he doesn’t really think of me as a weak woman –
he often says that he’d faint if he had to deal with some of the bloodier
situations that come along in my job. It was simply a typical case of a
male opening his heart and his mouth without remembering to put his brain
somewhere in the loop between them. And he knew it as soon as I did,
hastily trying to back off without totally backing down.
“I mean I’d be frightened myself, to go up in one of these things. Anybody
would be, to fly around hanging underneath a few strips of alloy and
fabric. And the hospital can certainly get by without you for one day.”
It was too late though, my temper was up. “I’m not going to miss a shift if
I can help it. Anyway, I’ll probably never have another chance to do
something like this and I want to give it a go, just to see what it’s like.”
“Aww, come on, Sandra, people crash in these things. It happens all the time.”
“People crash in cars as well and that happens all the time.”
He was genuinely concerned about me, not simply trying to carry on the
squabble we’d had before, I knew that. But I wasn’t going to let him stop
me now that I’d made my mind up. After all it had been pretty much of a
wasted day so far and here was a chance to do something I could talk about
for weeks afterwards, something exciting. It would have been hard to live
myself if I’d turned it down. The only real question, the one I was being
very careful not to ask myself, was whether I was as excited by Brett
Reynold’s obvious interest in me as I was at the idea of flying in his plane.
Adjusting the helmet was no problem: trying to get into the flying suit
was. It was cut for a man’s body, a big man, and I’m a short girl, yet the
seams around my hips almost reached breaking strain; I had to go behind the
wagon and take off my shorts before I could wriggle into the suit. The real
problem was in front though. As much as I tugged at the zip, I couldn’t get
it up past my breasts. Like my hips, they’ve always been too large for easy
packaging. Eventually I had to go back to the men with everything hanging
out over the zip and only the damp material of the tee-shirt between me and
them. Not only that, but carrying my shorts in my hand as well.
Brett’s mouth twitched a fraction before he looked away at the horizon as I
held the sides of the overalls together while Jeff pulled the zipper
together with brute strength. It was a minor demonstration of gentlemanly
modesty which ended as soon as Jeff wasn’t looking at him, because Brett’s
eyes immediately fastened on my squashed tits with frank interest. Like
Sylvester eyeing Granma’s canary, I thought, and hoping to find a way into
the cage. If that was really what he hoping for he was in for a
I watched in surprise as Brett knelt down behind one of the back wheels.
There were three protruding metal legs that attached the wheel to the pod
and in between them was a piece of metal about as long as my arm curved
into a ‘C’ shape. It was apparently held onto the top leg by a clamp at
each end, which he undid. Then he stood up and reclamped the ‘C’ onto one
of the support arms of the control bar. I asked him what he was doing.
“Just fitting extensions to the control bar so I can steer from the back.
You’ll have to sit in the front seat, Sandra, to keep the weight
distribution right. The control bar will be in front of you but I’ll have
my hands on these extensions to do the piloting. That’s what I like about
these ultralights, everything is very simple. A control bar and a foot
throttle and that’s about it.”
He bowed like a courtier and stretched out his hand towards the pod: “My
lady, your sky carriage awaits.”
After all the trouble he’d gone to I couldn’t refuse to give it a try
however nervous I felt. I wasn’t any more nervous than Jeff though, who
watched Brett strapping me into the front seat with a kind of desperate
look on his face as if I was going up in a space shuttle. Mind you, I don’t
think I would have felt much different myself if I had been about to blast
off. It was hard to believe that I was really going to go up into the sky
in this thing. Brett held the helmet over my head and quietly talked to me
as I smoothed my hair back.
“As soon as this is on, I’ll plug in the intercom cable and switch it on.
All you’ll hear is static until I plug in as well. Nod your head if you’re
OK and then I’ll untie the wing tip and straighten the wings. When the bar
is horizontal in front of you just hold it steady while I get in the back.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Fine. I’ve pinned the front throttle so it can’t be worked. The only thing
you have to worry about are the bars underneath your feet – they’re for
steering the nosewheel, so don’t press on them when we’re taking off and
landing. The rest of the time you can waggle them around as much as you
I nodded, and again after the helmet was on. It looked bulky but it was
surprisingly light. I’d never worn one before, never even been on on a
motorbike because I thought they were dangerous. No wonder I held onto the
control bar nervously when it settled over in front of me. I could feel my
hands trembling on the rubber handgrips and then realised it wasn’t just me
that was twitching but the wing as well, shivering and bobbing at the
wind’s touch. I saw Brett speak to Jeff, and afterwards Jeff took off his
own shirt and walked down the beach with it, off to one side on the soft
sand. I wondered what he was doing. Then Brett came back with the corkscrew
securing pin hanging by its lanyard from his wrist. He knelt down by the
front of the pod, grinned up at me, put his hands on my knees and spread
them wide apart.
I gasped in surprise, the noise muffled inside the helmet, and then
realised he was bending forward to stow the pin away underneath my seat.
Which was a totally innocent thing to do I guessed, but what wasn’t so
innocent was where his knuckles brushed against me as he slipped the
lanyard off his wrist. But again, it something that was over and done with
before I had a chance to even let go of the control bar. It might even have
been a genuine accident, but I didn’t think so. It was a clear message, as
if I already needed one, about what Mr Brett Reynolds would like to do with
Mrs Sandra Pearson if given even half a chance. Well, there was one thing
about it, at least I was a lot safer from his advances in his plane than I
would have been in his car. Uh!
I felt the pod settle down as he got into the back seat. The back ledge
would probably be a better way of describing it, higher than the front seat
and so close to it that Brett’s legs were stretched out on either side of
me with my elbows brushing against his knees. Never again would I complain
about economy class seats in passenger planes.
A moment later the engine started and everything began vibrating as though
I was sitting in a massage chair. That wasn’t bad but even with the helmet
on the engine noise was uncomfortably high. A hundred metres along the
beach Jeff was standing still, holding his shirt up above his head. I
realised that it was an indication of which way the wind was blowing.
My headphones clicked and I heard Brett’s voice very clearly: “OK, Sandra,
I’ve got the control bar now. You’ll probably want to hold onto the sides
of your seat to begin with. This damp sand will hold us back a little but
we’ve got eighty horsepower pushing us and we’ll soon reach flying speed.
We’ll take off about where Jeff is now. Is everything OK with you?”
I clutched the handgrips on either side of the seat and tried to swallow a
lump of solid air down my dried out throat: “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Good girl. Feet off the pedal bars and hands off the control bar for a
moment or two. Apart from that relax and enjoy the views. . . ”
The engine roared even louder, the ultralight began moving, I held onto the
arm grips with a death grip, we were moving faster, much faster, a small
wave was breaking along the beach, toppling over into white water, Jeff was
getting closer and closer, the vibration was getting worse – oh fuck, I
must be mad to be here!
Suddenly the vibration stopped, the engine seemed a lot further away and I
was looking down at Jeff’s upturned face. Then the control bar was pushed
away from me and the nose of the pod lifted up towards the sky as if it
were a rearing horse. I couldn’t help myself from looking down, to see the
sea suddenly growing wider with the breaking waves along the edge of it
like crinkled up tearings of white tissue paper.
“How are you feeling, Sandra?”
“Alright – I think.”
“OK, we’ll level out now, and fly straight on for a few minutes while you
get used to things.”
Getting used to so many conflicting feelings was going to take longer than
that. In one sense I felt totally exposed, with only the finger thick
vertical support bar in front of me and the wind drumming against my
overalls, yet behind the helmet’s faceplate there was a peaceful little
world where I could talk to Brett without any effort at all. The wind
seemed to be blowing away the noise of the engine as well, making a
combined background noise which wasn’t really bothersome at all. I suppose
it would have been a miserable experience on a cold day without thick
clothing, but it had been a scorching forty degrees down on the beach and
the blast of moving air was as wonderfully cooling as Brett had promised it
In another sense I was totally confined, by the straps, and by the control
bar pressed close against my chest. In another way – a breath takingly
marvellous way – I’d never felt so free in all my life. Who hasn’t been a
kid dreaming of finding a way of flying like a bird? Not being shot through
the sky miles high watching movies, but real flying, down around the tree
tops and hurdling over hilltops with giant’s steps, being able to lift your
eyes up to the distant horizons or down to something so close you feel you
can reach out and touch it. Of course we’ve all felt like that, and most of
us have grown up and forgotten the dream. And now, suddenly and totally
without expecting it, I was living my dreams for real.
Out on my left were kilometres and kilometres of trees, and an occasional
movement of something brightly coloured scuttling underneath them. I was
catching glimpses of the coastal highway between the tall trunks, or at
least of the cars driving down it. On the right I could now see through the
top of the sea, to dark patches with green stains behind them. It was
puzzling until I realised that the dark patches were rocks just under the
water with patches of seaweed growing where they were protected from the
waves by the rocks. It seemed so strange that an area I thought I knew
quite well looked so different from up here.
“How do you feel now, Sandra?”
“Pretty good.” I was surprised how calm I sounded.
I thought about how to answer: “Yes, but I’m too busy looking around to
think much about it.”
His chuckle came through the earphones: “Good answer. OK, we’ll turn around
now and fly back over your husband. Give him a wave to let him know you’re
OK and then we’ll head for Kilkenny Ponds.”
The turn was indeed frightening, at first, with the wing dipping over and
the pod skidding around. Then I forgot about it as we dived back over the
Suzuki and Jeff and I exchanged waves. Then another turn, but not so
stomach churning now I had some idea of what to expect.
Brett started singing over the intercom.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,
Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh. . . ”
“OK, Sandra, we’ll go up higher now and follow the coast for a while.
There’s something on the other side of the next headland I saw just before
I landed that might interest you.”
When we went over the headland I looked down the sheer drop of a cliff face
to where the sea was continually slapping against the land, and felt only
curiousity at the odd feeling of looking down at birds flying, the stiff
winged gulls whirling and turning along the cliff as if they were scraps of
paper caught inside a willy-willy. Somehow it seemed that the height wasn’t
bothering me, which was the last thing I’d expected.
“There you are, Sandra, down on the right. That’s something you don’t see
ever day, not even up here.”
We were passing over the headland on the other side and where Brett was
telling me to look was down in a corner of the sea between the cliffs and
the beach. Something was moving in the shallow water, a shimmering cloud
continually changing shape and flickering with sudden sparkles. Running in
and out of the cloud were dark lean shapes which seemed to cut passages
through it by their mere presence, the tiny individual slivers of silver
which made up the cloud constantly closing ranks again behind the intruders
as they moved on.
“What’s happening down there, Brett?”
“It’s sharks feeding off a school of sardines. Is school the right word for
sardines? Or should it be a can of sardines?”
I laughed and he laughed with me.
“Hey, Sandra, check out that boat ahead.”
There was a high topped cabin cruiser anchored off the beach, a kilometre
or so ahead. I thought how odd it was that the crew should be so close to a
bunch of sharks in a feeding frenzy and not even know about it, while we
could see so much more merely by being a couple of hundred metres higher
up. As it turned out, I soon saw more than I’d expected, because Brent put
us into other turn over the boat, and kept on turning, so the left wingtip
seemed to be pointing straight down at the deck while the boat looked as if
it were slowly rotating underneath us. It was an expensive looking boat and
a couple were lounging on sunchairs at the back. They looked expensive too,
in their own ways, he with his big pot belly, her with her blonde hair and
good figure. It was easy to see these things because neither of them had a
stitch on. Not that it seemed to bother them. The man casually waved his
hand to us without moving from his seat.
“I told you there was something interesting here,” Brett said. “She’s nice
but I’ll bet she doesn’t look as half as good as you would stretched in the
I decided not to respond to that remark. I saw the woman stand up and look
up at us, a glass in one hand, the other one also waving.
“Oh, dear, she’s drooping a bit now. What about the guy, what do you think
about him?” Brett laughed: “A real hunk, hey?”
“He hasn’t got anything I haven’t seen lots of times before.”
The man reached out his hand towards the woman’s bottom and began stroking it.
“Yeah,” Brett continued: “I think the lady with the natural blonde hair
could say the same thing. I suppose we’d better leave them in peace now.”
The control bar flicked over to one side to bring us out of the turn and
the boat was whirled away out of my vision.
“OK, Sandra we’ll go along the beach for a couple more kilometres, climb a
bit, then turn right. We’ll be going along a valley with a lot of cleared
land that’s used for grazing cattle. I wouldn’t want to be low over the
forest if the engine suddenly quit for any reason. Even a trike needs a
little bit of space to land in.”
Trike – he’d used that word before. I supposed it was because of the three
wheels underneath the pod. Again I could see more rocks, some of them
sticking up out of the sea in streaks of white water, and then a small
figure on a blue and white motorbike driving along the beach. The trike’s
nose twitched up, and when we passed over the motorbike it was dwindling in
size as we climbed higher. So many times I’d heard bike riders talking
about the wonderful feeling of the wind in their faces as they rode their
machines and now I understood what they were saying, but in a way even they
didn’t know. Compared to a sky trike, a Harley-Davidson as a freedom
machine was just a very efficient device for turning fuel into noise.
“Sandra, Eddie, says he’ll be on his way in about ten minutes.”
“What? What did you say, Brett?” I’d been staring down at the coastal
highway and a queue of cars held up on the twisting road behind a slow
“Well, to tell the truth, I have my mobile phone with me when I fly,
plugged into the radio communications circuit. There was no point in trying
it down on the beach, it wouldn’t have worked any better than yours did.
But we’re fifteen kilometres closer to Kelkenny Ponds now and mobiles use
line of sight radio waves, so the higher up you are the more range they
have. I got through to Eddie first try and told him exactly where your
husband is stuck.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I said. This all sounded pretty suspicious to me.
“No, I thought it would simplify matters if I cut you out of the circuit.
Anyway, he said to tell you that he’d phone the hospital and let them know
you wouldn’t be coming in today – oh, yeah, and he said he’d make sure he
set his VCR up to tape ‘Red Dwarf’ for Jeff in case they were late back.”
I turned all this over in my mind. One thing was sure, Brett must indeed
have talked to Eddie to know what Jeff’s favourite TV comedy programme was.
It certainly hadn’t been mentioned on the beach. On the other hand: “Why
would Eddie tell the hospital that I’m not coming to work today? We’re
going to Kilkenny Ponds, aren’t we?”
“Oh, eventually, yes. In the meanwhile though I’ve told your friend that
I’ve got an engine problem and I’ve got to land on the beach again.”
I was bewildered: “Have you got a problem?”
“I don’t have a problem in the world. I simply thought I’d spend some time
feeling your tits. As fair payment for the ride, you might say.”
“What!” he mimicked me. “Well, what you do first is to put your hands up on
the control bar. Then I’ll put my right hand around underneath your right
arm and grab your right tit.”
“OK, Sandra, then I’ll have to find another way of amusing myself.”
The next second the wing tipped over onto one side and the pod went into a
horrifying spiral which convulsed my hands into clutching claws on the seat
handles as I screamed in terror. It was far, far worse than being on a
roller coaster. Finally, at long last, Brett stopped throwing the plane
“Now, Sandra, before I ask you again, I’d like you to look up to where the
support bars are attached to the wing. You see that bolt there? That’s
called the Jesus bolt, because that’s what both of us will be screaming if
it breaks and we drop off the wing. Now, which would you rather have, some
more strain imposed on the Jesus bolt, or my fingers around your nipples?”
It was not a decision I had to spend a lot of time making: “I don’t want
the bolt to break.” I said breathlessly.
“Fine. An excellent career move. Now put your hands on the control bar and
sit quietly like a good girl.”
I did as he wanted. Immediately his hand slipped around my body and touched
the side of my right breast. It seemed to be as far as he could reach and
it served him right – let him be as sick as a dog with frustration. I
looked down at the pattern of fields and dirt roads below and practised
what I was going to say to the two timing shit once we were safely back on
“You know, you’re the first girl I’ve had in that front seat who’s got
boobs so big I can’t reach them properly from the back.” Brett sounded
proud of the fact. “I knew you were something special when I saw you from
the air for the first time. I’ve just got to get my hands on them properly.”
“Brett, I’m a married woman,” I protested.
“That’s OK, I’m not going to steal you from your husband, I’m just going to
borrow you for a bit, like a library book. What the hell, you must have
acquired a few dirty finger marks on your virginal white pages somewhere
along the line by now.”
“You’re a real bastard, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Sandra, but this thing is bigger than both of us. Your things
are, anyway. OK, what I’m going to have to do is to unfasten my harness and
lean forward so I can really get a grip on you. It’s no fun unless I do it
with both hands, so you’ll have to fly the trike. No matter what happens,
you hold the control bar level and everything will be fine. Of course if
you fuck it up I’m liable to fall out.”
I was as mad as hell at his insolence: “Well, fall out then, you prick, and
get yourself killed.”
I could hear him chuckling through the background hiss of the headphones:
“Sandra, have you really thought about that? I mean, if I do fall out,
you’re going to have seventy eight kilos of desperate man holding onto your
tits like they’ve been held before. And even if you eventually shake me off
it still leaves you up here on your own. How do you think you’d go at your
first solo landing?”
“Come on, Sandra, a nurse shouldn’t talk like that, a nurse should be
caring and gentle towards those in need, and I need you. But before we
start I want you to unzip the front of your overalls and then pull up that
tee-shirt so I’ve got plenty of bare skin to play with. I know you’re not
wearing anything else, I could see that on the beach. I don’t know how I
managed not to get stiff just looking at you then.”
“Brett. . .” It was a forlorn wail of protest.
“Twenty seconds to get ready for me, Sandra. Otherwise we’ll give the Jesus
bolt another strain test.”
“No, I told you, just Jesus. Come on, let me see you doing something – or
better still, undoing something.”
I took my hands away from the sides of the seat and tugged at the zip until
it was down around my waist. Then I struggled to free myself from the tight
folds of the flying suit until I was back where I’d started from, with both
of my tits hanging out, though held together tightly and pushed up almost
as high as my chin by the narrow opening of the garment. Just to make it
even more fun the zipper teeth seemed to be doing a good job of trying to
saw both of my boobs off.
“Come on, Sandra, what are you playing around at? You’ve got an impatient
man back here!”
“Shut up! I’m being as quick as I can. . .”
The tee-shirt was a tight fit as well, and as I clawed it up inch by inch
the loose folds collecting up underneath my throat fluttered wildly in the
wind. We were passing over a farm house, a tractor moving between the sheds
like a picture on toybox. I hadn’t realised how much higher we’d gone up
since leaving the beach. It was cooler, too, even cold. When I lifted the
last fold of my shirt up over my nipples the wind chilled them into a
firming response. Brett was going to enjoy finding out about that!
“Sandra, surely you’re ready by now? Or do I have to shake you up again?”
“I’m ready, you whinging bastard!”
“Both of them hanging out and bare?”
“Yes,” I confessed.
He chortled with delight: “Don’t worry if they’re getting cold, I’ll soon
warm them up for you. Now, put your hands on the control bar and do your
best to keep the wings level with the horizon. Don’t worry, it’s easy to do.”
Maybe it was for him but I couldn’t imagine it being easy for me. Yet when
I held the bar nothing much seemed to happen, except we began wobbling more
than before. I wondered if Brett was still holding onto the extensions.
Then I suddenly found out for a fact that his hands weren’t on the control
bar because they were slipping around my arms. And this time they didn’t
stop until his fingers were cupping both of my breasts and making my
nipples respond as if they’d been touched with live wires from a battery.
Yet for the first time in my life I was being felt by a strange pair of
hands and hardly noticing them beyond an involuntary bodily response. What
was taking up the really major part of my attention was stopping the trike
from toppling out of the sky. My eyes were flicking from right to left and
back again as I checked each wingtip, desperately trying to keep them
balanced against the horizon. In comparison to the difficulty of doing that
having Brett playing with my breasts was just an annoying distraction.
“Aaah, that’s nice. . . I never know which is best, flying, or getting a
grip on a new pair of tits for the first time. When you can do both
together that’s magic. And when they’re nice juicy water melons like yours,
Sandra, that’s a real bonus.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to drive this thing!”
“Better do a good job then, sweetie, because if we pile in now in this
position the accident investigation guys won’t need any black box to know
what happened. They’ll put it on my tombstone – ‘He had too much cock in
I couldn’t prevent myself from giggling at that crack, which stopped
abruptly as we hit an air pocket or something and the trike quivered like a
puppy shaking off water. I squealed as the horizon dipped and began to
slide around us.
“Don’t worry,” Brett told me calmly. “Push the bar forward – forward!” He
emphasised the command by jerking my nipples away from me. It was quite
painful but that was the least of my worries as I pressed as hard as I
could against the bar. Things seemed to change, not that I was quite sure
how, but we were still turning.
“Tilt the bar up to the right,” Brett ordered, emphasising the command by
scrunching my right tit in his hand as hard as he could. I gasped and did
as he wanted, until we were flying properly. Somehow we’d turned completely
around again though, because the sea was in front of us now.
“Handling techniques taught with sensory input reinforcement – works
wonders, every time. Hey, Sandra, you’ve starting some heavy breathing.
It’s about time you showed some reaction after all the effort I’ve put into
getting you turned on.”
“I’m frightened, not excited!”
“Like hell. I told you you’d look better than that sheila on the boat when
you were stripped off and now you’re wondering when it’s going to happen.
What you’d like is for me to land as soon as I can and then give you a good
general purpose fucking – with another afterwards for luck.”
He spread his fingers out as wide as he could and sank them into my soft
flesh as I swallowed air again, just as I had at the beginning of the
flight. I’d done it then because I’d suddenly found myself involved in
something I knew I was going to go through with and now I felt the same way
again. If we landed in a remote place and Brett kept pressuring me in the
same places as he was now there was only going to be one outcome, because
he was right, I was getting as eager to be laid as he was. Then he started
crooning a romantic little seasonal number:
“Rudolph, the red titted reindeer,
with your nips so tight,
won’t you pull my sleigh tonight?”
I called him a cunt.
“You’re lucky, Sandra, I’ve had a vasectomy, so we can do it the old
fashioned way, with me riding you bareback. You girls really need it pumped
into you before you get that final zing out of it, right? God, as soon as I
landed on the beach and saw you I knew it was going to be my lucky day –
one look and I was sure you were absolutely ripe for rooting. So we’d
better get on with it.”
His hands came off me: “OK, I’ve got the bar. We’re seven kilometres from a
nice little spot for a bit of quiet nookie out in the open air, so let’s
“Pancho – what does that mean?”
“Before your time, Sandra, before your time.”
The trike turned around tightly, back towards the hills. Brett kept
talking. “There used to be a fire lookout tower on that ridge ahead. It’s
been taken down now but the Forestry Commission made an airstrip a few
hundred metres down on the opposite slope. Just enough for a little biplane
to land and change the firespotters over every two weeks or so. It was
never worth the cost of putting in a road. So we use it now.”
“What do you mean by ‘we’?”
“Trike flyers. We’re the only ones who can get in that area now, unless you
walk, and not many people do that. It’s an ideal place for some open air
His assumption that I was putty in his hands to do whatever he liked with
made me grate my teeth in anger. I was torn between wanting to put scratch
marks on his back or across those smiling eyes of his.
“You know something, Sandra, sometimes I teach people how to fly trikes.
And one thing I have to show them is how difficult it is to fly on
instruments alone and why they should stay clear of clouds. To do that I
have a hood which fits over a flying helmet. It covers their eyes but it’s
cut away underneath so they can still breathe and look down at the
instrument panel. I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?”
I couldn’t understand what he was talking about: “What are you asking me
for? I don’t know anything about flying.”
“OK then, I’ll tell you something entirely different. When they were
training hunting falcons back in medieval days, they always used to tame a
falcon when it landed by putting a hood over its head. I think you might be
tempted to use your claws on me when we land so I think I’ll tame you with
the same technique, by putting my blind flying hood over your helmet. What
a piece of good luck I just happen to have it handy.”
The sarcastic bastard was really enjoying himself.
“Hold onto the control bar again, Sandra, and listen for any orders I give
I put my hands back onto the rubber grips. A second later a piece of black
fabric was pulled down around the helmet, then a cord around the bottom of
it jerked tightly underneath the helmet and around my neck. It all happened
very quickly. As Brett had said, a large rectangular piece was cut out at
the bottom of the hood but to see anything I had to literally look down my
nose – or past it anyway.
“OK, Sandra, I’ve got the control bar again now. Incidentally, that cord is
tied up behind your head now, and you wouldn’t find it a very easy knot to
undo. Nor can you undo the helmet straps underneath your chin while the
bag’s on. You’ve heard of the man in the iron mask? Well, you’re going to
be the lady in the plastic helmet until I let you out of it. Which will be
after I’ve had the pleasure of your company.”
He sounded about as happy as a man could be. Which, under the
circumstances, was probably justified. A nice day flying around, see a
woman you fancy, swoop down, pick her up, squeeze her teats, make her
helpless and then spend a happy afternoon giving the stupid bitch the
thorough shafting she deserves for her trusting stupidity. I wondered if he
was as inventive a lover as he was a liar and a flier.
The trike began turning and turning, presumably over the place where he
intended to land. With my head craned back as far as I could get it I could
just manage to look straight down into a frustratingly narrow field of
vision. There were the slopes of the ridge, littered with large stones,
then some trees close together, an open expanse of grass, a kind of large
wooden framework which must have been the base of the firewatching tower.
What looked like a sheet of canvas had been tied between the stunted wooden
legs to cover the ground between them.
I saw something else as well, small differently colored scraps of material
fluttering gently from the sides of the four legs, like bunting outside a
used car lot. The difference was that I was sure this bunting was
exclusively composed of girls’ panties. Not bunting, but little flags of
triumph, two or three tied to each leg.
“Can you see our windmarkers, Sandra? You’re not the first flying fuck up
here, not by a long way.”
“You’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met!”
“Yes, but am I the most arrogant man ever to fuck you?”
“You haven’t done it yet.”
“Well, Sandra, I hoisted up most of those panties myself, and yours are
definitely going to be the next pair to go up.”
“And did you have to blindfold the other girls too?”
He laughed: “Every one a blind date, Sandra, every one of them. Until it
was time for them to suck my cock. Then I let them see what they were doing.”
I would have given my life’s savings for a chance to get some of my own
back on the bastard. Even just to scream abuse at him, but it didn’t seem
like a good idea while he was landing the trike. Nor did it seem sensible
to have my head twisted over to one side as the grass came nearer and
nearer. Better to sit upright and ramrod straight in case it was a hard
impact. Staring into the black depths of the material over my face plate, I
held on and waited for the thump. There was one, hardly noticeable, then
the same vibration from the wheels as had happened when we were running
along the beach. Guilty, my feet came off the foot bars, where I’d been
resting them without remembering Brett’s instructions to keep clear of them
as we landed.
Then the vibration ended and the engine stopped. No more wind blowing past,
only the chilled skin on my breasts as a reminder of it and the hot sun
warming them already. The pod creaked as Brett got out.
“Hold the control bar, Sandra.”
This time, after he’d taken the wing tip ground pin out from under my seat,
he put his hand right up between the legs of the flying overalls and rubbed
me slowly. I think what he enjoyed most about it was that I made no
protest, no effort to stop him. The truth was that I was unable to make up
my mind what to do. I hadn’t resisted Brett in the air because I’d been
afraid of us crashing. I couldn’t do much to stop him now, even if I wanted
to, not being almost totally blind. Even if the mask and the helmet were
taken off, I’d still be on my own with him way out here in the bush. But
the first thing to do was to try to persuade him to undo the stifling mask,
no matter what I had to do for him afterwards.
“Please, Brett, let me take this helmet off. It’s like having my head in a
bucket with it on.”
“Later, Sandra, later. When you ask nicely enough I’ll let you give me a
blow job. Tilt the bar now and hold it while I secure the wing tip. Gently,
gently, that’s far enough.”
His shadow across my legs moved away as he went to secure the wing. Now I
could feel that a breeze was blowing up here in the hills, a hot gentle
breeze fluttering around the open flying suit and the tee shirt drawn up
tight around my throat, almost as tight as my throat muscles were inside.
It would have been wonderful to have felt the wind on my flushed face.
Something hit the ground, probably Brett’s helmet. He’d wasted no time in
taking his off, I noted angrily.
“Put your hands down by the sides of your seat, Sandra. I want to take a
good long look at the scenery.”
He was standing next to the trike. He had to be for me to hear him through
the helmet – anyway, I could see his shadow falling across my knees again.
God, he must be loving this! I imagined myself as he was seeing me,
helpless and undone, my big boobs scrunched up and hanging out like ripe
fruit in the sunlight, ready for the picking. Brett’s shadow blotted out
everything else as he bent lower and I was surprised when his hands went
down to unfasten my seat straps, rather than further up or lower down. It
occurred to me that perhaps he wouldn’t risk a struggle anywhere near his
precious microlight. He helped me out of the pod anyway, then led me away
by the hand as I stumbled along behind him, trying to keep my eyes on my
feet as we stepped through the rough grass. Spears of it stabbed through my
beach sandals and made me gasp in pain. One thing was certain, I wouldn’t
be running away, even if there had been anywhere to run to.
“Almost there, now, Sandra. A few more paces.”
A few paces it was, into the shade that I felt more than saw on the ground.
No dapples in it, no flecks, but a total shield from the sun. We weren’t
underneath a tree, so we must be below the canvas sheet I’d seen flying
overhead in the trike. The wind was still fluttering over my boobs though,
so it wasn’t like a tent, there were no canvas walls. We were still in the
open air, standing in the remains of the old fire watching tower. The ruins
decorated with all those intimate feminine articles presumably left behind
by other visiting trike fliers. My knees began trembling.
“OK, Sandra, shake them for me.”
“Put your hands up underneath your tits and shake them up and down for me.”
I tried to summon up my remained of my self respect. “And what if I don’t?”
Even with the thick plastic dome over my head I heard his chuckle: “Then
the helmet will have to stay on until you decide to do what you’re told.”
It was the obvious response, an easy and effective one. He knew how much I
wanted to take it off. I sighed and did as he wanted, gently juggling
myself for his benefit. Brett had won at every deal in the gane and now he
was starting to claim his winnings. And he was probably sighing too, if he
really thought I was as fuckable as he kept on saying I was.
“Now that’s a job I wouldn’t mind helping you with. In fact I think I will
help you with it.”
Yes, he did sigh, with satisfaction, as he put his hands back on top of my
nipples and plucked them into hardened points. It was skilfully done work
which had me holding them up to him for the treatment to continue. He
obliged with his tongue, his lips and his teeth. A very odd experience, not
to be able to see but to be seen, to be almost blind and yet to be right
out in the open air. I wondered if there were any bush walkers in the area
with binoculars held to their eyes as they watched the performance.
Especially when Brett suckled me so fiercely that I had to hold onto his
shoulders to stop from overbalancing.
“You bastard, Brett, you bastard . . .”
“I think it’s time we stripped you off some more, Sandra.”
I felt his hand tugging unzipping the front of the flying suit, all the way
down to the bottom. He was moving around me, behind me I thought, then knew
I was right as he tugged at the collar of the suit and pulled it down along
my arms and off over my hands. The suit fell down, leaving me with the
tee-shirt still hauled up over the tops of my breasts and my panties. I
felt their waistband pulled back behind me and then I yelped as he twanged
the elastic against my spine.
“Beautifully posed, Sandra, beautifully posed. Just one slight adjustment
and you’ll look perfect.”
One fast tug and the panties were down where the flying suit was, below my
knees, with Brett laughing aloud at my instinctive and totally useless
attempt to grab them as they were plucked away.
“Christ, Sandra, you’re built like a brick shithouse. Love those legs, you
must be a bloodstirring sight in a miniskirt. Now let’s see if your cunt
feels as good as your tits do.”
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that I out in the middle of the
bush, naked between the pulled up shirt and my knees, with a hand creeping
up between my legs, another on my right nipple and a mouth over the left
one. And what did I do about it? What I did about it was to grip Brett’s
shoulders again to keep my balance while I stood there like a knocked kneed
cowgirl so the exploring fingers could have all the room they needed. Oh,
and as a final touch of encouragement, he must have been able to hear my
grunts of satisfaction coming from beneath the helmet. Even to my own ears
I sounded like a pig snuffling through garbage. Brett snorted too, he
snorted with laughter when he stopped sucking my nipple because he knew I
was shivering with eagerness for everything and anything he wanted to do
“OK, Sandra, take two steps forward and put your hands out in front of
you.” His voice was brisk and commanding.
“There’s a table there, a wooden one we found here. On top of it there’s a
mattress. Don’t worry about it slipping, it’s tied to the table. Turn
around and sit on the end of the mattress, then lie down on your back and
spread your knees out to show off your cunt.”
“You’re a real charmer, Brett, aren’t you?”
“Right now, I’m not interested in massaging your ego, Sandra just the rest
of you. Get your arse on that table and spread them, because I’m coming for
you, ready or not.”
I did as he wanted. The edge of the table appeared underneath my chin as I
shuffled forward, and the mattress as well. It seemed low enough for me to
able to lift myself up on it without much difficulty. It was also thin, and
old, and dirty, and sticky. None of which was surprising considering what
it was used for. Yet although I’d reached the stage where I needed to have
the same thing done to me, it was still a humiliation to be sitting there
with my clothing twisted up around my legs as though I was sitting on a
“On your back, Sandra.”
There was no point in trying to argue. I leaned back on the tacky mattress
cover, to find that the helmet supported my head quite comfortably. Through
the gap underneath the hood I peered down my body, but my tits blocked out
almost all the view, except for an occasional glimpse of movement at the
end of the table. Then I saw his dark hair for a second as he lowered
himself between my legs. His hands spread my knees even wider apart than
they already were.
“Ah, my favourite food – a gently simmering cunt that needs a long slow
The first touch of his tongue set me quivering. After the first few minutes
I was not only shaking but surprised that he was taking this much trouble
to put me on heat when he already had me helpless. But he was and I was.
The only real trouble was that the helmet was on the wrong person – I could
hardly find the breath to encourage him underneath it, and he must have
needed it badly as I pinned his ears back with my thighs. Big licks, slow
licks, fast licks, quick licks and all artfully crafted licks, with an
occasional halt while he took off my sandals, the flying suit, and then my
panties. Each pause left me seething with impatience for him to start
again. Another pause then, as he used his fingers to make sure I was
properly on the boil after being the well nibbled entree.
“I’ve got you where I want you now, you big titted bitch,” Brett gloated as
he worked me, the table creaking underneath my spine. I wondered if I was
the heaviest girl that had ever been laid on top of it and whether it was
going to collapse when Brett started fucking me.
“Now I think we’ll take that helmet off so I can watch your face while I’m
sticking my cock into this mincing machine yours.” His fingers were doing
the mincing, churning around inside my inner muscles as I began to go
crazy. “But we have to go by the rules here, so there’s one little job left
He seemed to more self control than I did. Probably because he was older. I
didn’t care what rules he was talking about. Not until I felt a tingle from
a length of thin metal links thrown over my stomach.
“Before you ask, sweetie, I’ll explain what I’m doing. There’s a length of
fine chain looped around the table top with a small padlock securing it.
I’ve undone the padlock and now I’m going to refasten the chain again,
around the table and around your middle. There’s no way you’d ever got hips
or tits like yours past it, so you’ll stay on top of the table until I undo
the padlock. But I will leave it slack enough so you can turn over, or
crawl up to the end of the table to give me a blow job.”
His entire hand seemed to be inside me now.
“I think they’re satisfactory arrangements, don’t you, miss big tits?
Because there’s no way you’re ever getting off this table until I decide to
let you off it.”
“God, yes, anything you want, Brett, anything you want.”
He didn’t answer. I tried to look around and saw nothing, though I heard
movement. I guessed that Brett was taking off his flying suit. Afterwards
he put his fingers underneath my neck and undid the knot behind the hood.
It seemed to take a long time before it came loose. It seemed to take even
longer for him to snap open the chin strap and to ease the helmet off. The
light was dazzling and the rough material of the mattress was scratchy
against against the back of my head. Above me the canvas was flapping gently.
“Well, hello, Nurse Pearson.”
I screamed in shock as hands grabbed my wrists and elbows. There were men,
naked men, all around the table. But the only one I had eyes for was the
one between my held out legs, the swarthy man with black hair all over his
body who was carefully sheathing his cock inside me as if he was slipping
into a hot bath.
“Doctor Gottlieb,” I whimpered. Only the most detestable medical man I’d
ever met, the one with the ugly cow of a wife who was always trying to make
up for his miserable marriage by trying to chat up the nurses. I despised
the ugly creep and now he was fucking me in front of an audience!
“And the doctor is in!” He jammed everything he had into me and I gasped.
The bastard had more to him than I’d ever expected, but when it came to
bastards. . .”Brett!”
He was at the end of the table, looking down and laughing. “Don’t worry,
Sandra, I’m next. But when I called all the guys up on the radio and told
them I was going up to the tower with a red hot nurse one of my mates said
he had a passenger who was a doctor at the Kilkenny hospital. We thought it
might be a good gag to have you meet like this – the Doc was all for it,
especially when he found out who you were. Of course I didn’t let you see
the parked up trikes when we landed but you’ll get to meet all the guys
pretty soon. You’re our Christmas box.”
Two of the guys had already grabbed hold of my tits, as a convenient way of
encouraging me to rub their cocks for them. Two more of them were holding
my legs as Gottlieb ploughed away between them and I writhed away under his
increasing weight as he spread himself on top of me. Never, never, never
would he allow me to forget this and all the other things he was to going
to see. And they’d all been standing there with their hands over their
mouths, nearly bursting with laughter as I’d shaken my tits for Brett and
let him strip and lick me. If it had been his tongue! I burned in anger,
and in fear at the thought of Jeff finding out about this.
“Brett, you fucking bastard!”
“Sorry, Sandra, but that’s not really my name. I’m really Monthy Python,
the pilot with the big cock, and this is my flying circus.”
He had a can of coke in his hand, he held it up. “Can’t drink when I’m
flying, but a Christmas toast everyone. Here’s to a happy time stuffing our
Christmas turkey.” The men guys cheered and wooped in encouragement. “And
God bless us all, everyone … ” Brett leaned forward, watching what
Gottlieb was doing with a sardonic smile on his face ” … even Tiny Tim!”