| Amy Conquers The Air
by Munchin'Mark ©
- 1912 -
Amy languished in her small world at the London home of her parents. Her governess had left to teach a new, younger pupil and the servants removed any tasks which might stave off her perfect boredom.
Very rarely her father, an influential businessman and, some said a future peer, would permit her to attend one of the social functions with which the elite classes would introduce young ladies to society. In the hope of introducing her to a prospective husband. There was little for which Amy could want, but her life was dull for lack of them.
One ray of light in the life of this young heiress was Violet, another debutante who had more liberal parents than Amy, who would come visiting on occasion and entertain Amy with upper class gossip and news.
One day the two friends were taking tea in the summer garden at the Kentish estate of Violet's family. Apart from the waiter, who was at a discreet distance, the young women were alone. It was one of those rare occasions on which Amy felt totally free.
"Are you still writing that diary?" asked Violet as she proffered a plate of scones.
Amy took one daintily. "No, I cannot be a diarist and be honest. The pages would bore any reader to death."
"Still looking for excitement? I thought that James Molinueux was courting you?"
"He thinks that he his." Amy took a sip of tea, "all that he ever talks about is his expectations. Although he did write some poems."
"That sounds more like it."
"Not really, They are very bad, except for some witticisms which I recognise as the work of Oscar Wilde."
Violet laughed genteelly, "really?"
"Oh yes, what wasn't truly pathetic was truly plagiarised. Still, surely you have been having fun."
"Hmhm, I'll say. Have you ever been to the racing at Hendon?"
"No. Shall I take it that you have?"
"Yes. Every Saturday this month. They have motor races and aeroplanes too!"
"Father says that they are a dangerous waste of money, even balloons."
"Well, please do not take offence, but your father is just wrong. They give exhibitions each week. It has become fashionable for ladies to take rides in the air with those airmen." She paused, "I know, you and I shall go to this week's races. If need be, lie to your father. Anyway, that would add spice to your diary. Come on, what say you?"
Amy smiled. Which was a lovely sight. "Oh, all right."
Hendon racetrack and aerodrome was on the outskirts of London, capital of the Empire. And it looked the part. Here amongst the terraced suburbs the sizeable complex was amok with colour and sound. Music played and food stalls provided refreshments. The clientele were well dressed, the men in suits of various colours and sporting bowlers or boaters depending on exactly how old they were. Women dressed in fine dresses of delightful greens and creams, their wide hats and parasols were the very image of refinement.
Around the important garages was the smell of petrol and oils, and the sound of various engines. Here there was an atmosphere of youthful exuberance, as adventurous young men worked on the machines from which the twentieth century would bloom. Motor cars and motor cycles were becoming more and more commonplace, but both were still exciting. But beside them was the latest craze. With wood and canvas and piano wire the aeroplanes spoke only of fragility to the many who distrusted them. But each Saturday at Hendon, they conquered the air. They flew careful pleasure flights. They flew races, timed excursions around and around pylons, sometimes almost they touched the ground with their wingtips as they competed.
Amongst this carnival to technology Amy moved in a happy daze. Violet would guide her here and there, showing her some new attraction, of either of engineering or of manhood.
And so they watched several races. The pylon races were exciting in their novelty, and the road races were thrilling in their impression of vitality and speed. There was one crash, but the driver was uninjured. Amy felt Violet tap her arm.
Beside one of the garages a pair of men were tinkering with an aeroplane. They checked bracing wires, undercarriage and parts of the machine which Amy would have never considered much less known the name of. Violet whispered in Amy's ear.
"The one on the left will be the pilot," she said. "Isn't he divine?"
Amy nodded silently. He certainly was a fine specimen of a man. Apart from a bit of oil, he was clean cut in his appearance and mannerism. His features were possessed of a rugged charm and his hands moved about the aeroplane with a sureness and a gentleness that found Amy imagining that it was not a mechanical contrivance over which they moved, but her own body.
Violet moved toward the men, towing a slightly reluctant Amy with her. The mechanic saw them and nudged the pilot. As he looked at her, Amy saw a brilliance and a vibrancy in his eyes, such as she had never encountered. Indeed it made her feel hot and weak at the knees.
"Good afternoon ladies," the pilot greeted them, his voice was pleasant and aristocratic. "Such a fine day it has turned out to be."
"Indeed yes," said Violet, "is this good flying weather?"
"Oh yes," replied the mechanic, a good natured young man with a cockney accent. "A sunny day with only the slightest of breezes. In this she will soar like a bird."
Amy was momentarily thrown out of a reverie involving the pilot, "I'm sorry, who will soar like a bird?"
The pilot laughed, Amy liked the sound, it was a hearty laugh. "Our Farman here." He tapped the lower wing of the biplane. Amy looked at it, it seemed to mostly consist of vertical wooden struts with wire between. On top of the lower canvas plane there were two seats a depressingly small engine. Behind the seats a large propeller provided a means of achieving powered flight.
"Do you mean that you can take people into the air with this?" She asked.
"Oh yes. Would you care to take a flight?"
Violet was about to speak but Amy beat her to it. "Yes, I should love it."
The pilot jumped forward and knelt beside the aeroplane. "Please allow me to help you aboard, dear lady."
As she was manoeuvred into one of the chairs Amy felt a thrill at how close the man was, his firm hands actually touching her as she climbed up and as he fastened a safety belt around her waist. Then the pilot climbed into his own seat and signalled to his mechanic to start the engine. There was a sharp crack and a roar as the engine caught and a sudden breeze cooled her skin as the propeller behind her began to spin. The vibration of the engine made her wriggle in her seat. There was a bustle of activity as the pilot and mechanic checked and prepared for take off. And then the pilot gave a signal and opened the throttle. The machine rolled forward, gaining speed. There was a brief spell during which the aeroplane's motion across the floor jarred her, but the pilot pulled back on a control and they rose smoothly into the air.
The experience was incredible for Amy. The ground fell away before her eyes and there was a faint pressure which pushed her into her seat. Below she saw the buildings and racetrack, like a model, with tiny people moving about them. Around her she saw London and beyond some houses the countryside, towards which they were flying. To her right she saw the pilot, alert to what was happening, with a grin on his face. He was so masterful.
On the ground Violet watched them fly away. Then she addressed the mechanic.
"So you work with your hands then?"
"Oh yes. I've been in his Lordship's employment for five years."
"So you are a skilled man."
"You could say so."
"Come, let's go into the garage and you can show me your tool."
"Don't you mean tools ma'am?"
In the air Amy was looking around her. They were over fields which she had never suspected could be so close to the streets of the capital. But there was a change in the note produced by the engine. She looked at her pilot. He made a signal that it was OK and glided to land in a field.
After the sound of the aero engine, the silence was complete. After helping Amy down onto the ground, the pilot took a look at the engine.
"Is it anything serious?" Asked Amy, sitting down on the grass.
"No, not really. We can fly back but I shall have to have a proper look at it when we get back."
"Good, please can you help me up?"
"Certainly." He took her outstretched hand.
Amy was never quite certain how it happened, but as he took her hand, she pulled and caught him off balance. He landed on top off her. Not heavily as he had managed to put out his other hand. He looked into her eyes.
"Don't be." Amy kissed him ardently. And he returned it.
Amy lived and died in that kiss. She felt the mixture of strength, desire and gentleness in him, she smelled the aroma of pomade, fresh sweat and petrol on him. She explored him as he explored her. His hands slipped around her waist, they caressed the swell of her breasts. And each movement sent a wave of pleasure through her body. She took his hand and with a slow firm movement guided it under her skirts.
She trembled with anticipation as his slightly rough fingers traced up the inside of her thigh, above her stockings, across her silken skin and up to her knickers. She sighed as they slid along the outside of her thigh, supporting her leg and speeding up her breathing.
Her own roving hands reached his trousers. One slipped inside and felt the heat of the erection that her crotch knew was there. Amy touched it and looked into his eyes.
"Yes," she said.
Still kissing, she pulled up her skirts and he undid his trousers.
Despite what everyone including Violet thought, Amy was not a virgin. One of the last lessons she had received from her governess had involved a young gentlemen from a theatre and a large bed. As it was she relished the sensation as the pilot entered her, filling here and moving in a calm, but still impassioned way. She moved in such a way that his actions stimulated her. As they had sex, they continued their kissing and held each other in their arms. He was very accommodating or his time, using long, slow strokes that prolonged it all until Amy could feel herself orgasm. She stiffened as pleasure overwhelmed her, and then finally subsided. Her actions were enough for her lover and he pulled her to him as he came. Not a word was uttered throughout.
"You were gone a long time." Said Violet in a reproving voice.
"And you were inside the garage with that mechanic when we got back."
"Well he was just, showing me something."
"Indeed? And David was showing me some sights."
"I can imagine." They walked a bit further. "It is lucky that you chose a green dress today, you need to be quite close to see the grass marks."
"Perhaps you would like to share this parasol, close to our backs."
"In order to hide that oil handprint on your waist."
"Violet, let's go to more sporting events."
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