Amber 28

Before I could respond, she yawned again and was quickly off to sleep. I just lied back, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. Obviously I was looking forward to getting back into the air. But now, the flying had become a means to an end. I found myself looking forward more to just spending a weekend with my wife at the beach. With her reignited libido, I couldn't help but think about all the ways we would enjoy each other's bodies. I thought back on all the adventures we'd already had and imagined spending the weekend doing the most erotic things to each other.

If we hadn't just had sex, the things currently going on in my head definitely would've had me rubbing one out. But instead, with those thoughts in my mind, I rolled over and drifted off to sleep with the hope that they would continue on in my dreams.

- - -

When our alarms went off the next morning, neither of us wanted to move. Making use of the snooze button, we both slowly roused ourselves from a deep, relaxing sleep. Rolling over to face me, Amber just smiled and groggily asked, "Can I ask you a favor?"

Turning my head towards her, I replied, "Sure, babe, what's up?"

With an embarrassed smile, she asked, "Would you mind making some coffee for us? I'm going to need it today."

Laughing, I replied, "Yeah, of course."

Then with a relieved smile, Amber simply sighed, "Thank you," before sliding off the bed and headed back towards the bathroom. When the door closed, I slipped from beneath the covers. Still naked from the night before, I hurried over to the dresser and pulled on a new pair of underwear and some khakis. Finishing by tossing on a polo shirt, I went out to the kitchen and got our morning coffee started.

Soon, I heard the bathroom door again and went to take Amber's place. While I went through my morning routine, I was filled with excitement looking forward to my afternoon at the airport. When I was finally done, I went back out into the kitchen, where Amber was already seated at the table, nursing her mug of fresh coffee. When I got a mug of my own, I joined her at the kitchen table. As I sat down, Amber asked, "So what's your plan for this afternoon."

I shrugged before saying, "Actually I'm not completely sure."

I then went on to explain the currency requirements for flying legally. I first explained that American pilots' licenses never actually expire; however, I was overdue for what's called a 'biennial flight review.' Every two years, you need to go up with an instructor or examiner and demonstrate continued competence and proficiency. Usually, a BFR only requires an hour of flying and another hour of ground school. Throwing some unknown into my plan was the fact that I also needed an instrument proficiency check.

In order to stay current on instrument flying, a pilot needs to log a minimum of six approaches every six months. If that lapses, technically, any private pilot can ride along with you as a safety pilot while you regain your currency. Without knowing any other local pilots though, I instead opted for a formal IPC. Luckily, our local airport had a variety of different approach types and I could thus minimize my cost by not having to fly various other airports to shoot the six approaches. I wasn't sure if Amber understood what I had said, but she nonetheless smiled and asked, "So where do you go when you get to the airport?"

I explained to her how fixed base operators work. FBOs as they're referred to, are buildings ranging from small shacks to large, elaborate private terminals. Our local airport's FBO fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. Most FBOs have a flight school and rental aircraft but also serve as a place for visiting pilots to park and refuel.

Amber again smiled and said, "Well, have fun. I'm glad you're getting back to doing something you enjoy."

I chuckled as I took another sip of my coffee and said, "Well, that process started last night."

Giving me a knowing grin, Amber just groaned, "Fuck yeah it did."

Then draining the last of her coffee, she stood from the table. Coming up behind me, she briefly rubbed my shoulders before bending down and giving me a kiss on the neck. Afterwards, she sighed before whispering to me, "Thanks again for last night. I really needed that."

Then turning my head, we shared a kiss before I said, "Me too, babe."

Amber turned to head back into the kitchen. As I got up to follower her, she held up a travel mug and asked, "Want one?"

Going over to set my mug in the sink, I simply replied, "Please."

Taking the full travel mug from her, I glanced at the clock. Seeing how late it was already getting, I said with a fair share of disappointment, "Well shit, I guess we better get going."

Returning my disappointment, Amber asked, "So I should plan on you being late tonight then, huh?"

With a shrug, I said, "Yeah, sorry. It might be a long night."

Amber just smiled and replied, "It's fine, really. I'll just grab something to eat on the way home."

After gathering our things from the counter, Amber and I headed out to the parking lot. For the first time in ages, we drove separately to work since I wouldn't be going directly home at the end of the day. Having followed behind her the whole way, we walked into the office together and then headed off to our cubicles.

I didn't have much on my schedule for the day so I took a few minutes to sit back, enjoy my coffee and filter through a bunch of useless emails that had nothing to do with me. With a half hour until my first meeting, I called up the FBO to confirm that my block of time was still reserved. The nice lady on the phone said, "Hang on, Jose was actually just talking about you. Let me go grab him."

After a moment of sitting on hold, a cheerful man with heavily accented English came on the line. "Hey man, you ready to fly this evening?"

"Of course," I replied enthusiastically.

After a brief laugh, Jose said, "Well hey man, I'll wait around for you either way but I just had a cancellation. My 2:30 can't make it so I wanted to check if you were free, we could get started earlier."

Glancing at my schedule, I saw that my last meeting was scheduled to end right at 2:30. Conveying that to Jose, I said, "I can probably get there by 3:00."

Probably excited that his day was also going to end earlier, he said, "Perfecto, amigo."

With a chuckle, I replied, "Aye, nos vemos pronto." (Hey, see you soon).

Surprised at my response, he exclaimed, "Coño. ¿Hablas español?" (Shit, you speak Spanish?")

Now laughing myself I replied, "Pendejo, con un apellido como lo mío, por supuesto hablo español. Aunque prefiero inglés, puedo usar cualquiera." (Asshole, with a last name like mine, of course I speak Spanish. Although I prefer English, I can use either.)

With a surprised laugh, Jose said, "Bro, we're going to have a good time. Nos vemos indeed."

With a "Ciao," I hung up my phone.

From behind me, I heard Amber quietly mutter, "What the fuck was that?"

Turning around, I saw her standing up, staring at me over the side of her cubicle. Looking somewhat impressed, she asked, "So you mean to tell me that after knowing you all this time, you never told me you spoke another language?"

I just shrugged and with a smile rattled off, "Hablando dos lenguas me ayuda a usar mi propia lengua para darte mejor placer."

Impressed but clearly not understanding a word of what I said, Amber asked, "The fuck does that mean?"

Laughing at the situation, I replied, "Ehh, the humor is lost in translation. So in Spanish, the word 'lengua' can mean either 'language' or 'tongue.' So I said, 'Speaking two 'tongues' helps me use my own tongue to please you better."

Coming around into my cubicle, Amber grinned and asked, "So, do you have any other sexy hidden talents?"

Playing along, I shrugged and said, "Let's see, I can do math in my head, cook, fly a plane, speak Spanish... ehh, no, I think that's a pretty comprehensive list."

With a playful laugh, Amber bent down and gave me a quick kiss and whispered, "No, you completely forgot to mention your ability to give me some of the most satisfying sex imaginable."

I just smiled as Amber started to walk back to her cubicle. The rest of my workday was occupied with various design meetings and administrative nonsense. Despite not particularly enjoying the admin side of my job, staying busy helped the day go by quickly. When I left my last meeting, I walked around to my supervisor's office and, sticking my head in her door, said, "Hey, Janet, I've got two requests, please."

Looking up from a worksheet of calculations, she smiled and jokingly asked, "What is it now?"

I just shrugged and said, "Hey, I know this is late notice; but, Amber and I aren't taking any vacation this summer. We'd like to get away for a long weekend though. She and I will both be finishing our current projects by the end of the week. Would you mind if we took Monday off?"

With a smile, she shook her head and said, "No, everyone should take some time off. Please, do you want any more time than that?"

I just shook my head and said, "No, but I'll make you a counteroffer."

With a little laugh, she said, "Oh?"

Giving her a little smile, I said, "Well, I'm done for the day and I've got an important appointment I need to get to. Do you mind if I dip out a little early this afternoon... like now?"

With another laugh, she just smiled and said, "Nah, there's no reason to just sit around. See you tomorrow."

Returning her smile, I said, "Thanks, I really appreciate it. Have a good night."

I was on my way back down the hall before she could respond. Grabbing my things from my desk, I briefly stopped by Amber's cubicle and told her I was heading out early. With a loving smile, she quietly said, "Have fun. I'll see you when you get home."

With that, I headed out to the parking lot. After checking to see that I had remembered to grab my flight bag, I hopped in my car and took off towards the airport. On the way, I employed a trick I figured out early on in my training.

The worst thing about flying in Florida during the summer is that the planes don't have air conditioning. Sitting out in the sun all day, the heat in the cabin can be downright oppressive. Sure, at altitude in an unpressurized plane, there are vents that blow cool air; but, today's flying wouldn't be taking us high enough to get anything more than warm air blowing in our faces. As a way to accustom my body to it, I had started turning the A/C off on my way to the field.

Pulling into the airport, I followed the service road around until I arrived at the parking lot for the FBO. After grabbing my flight bag, which held my headset, logbook and lap board, I quickly walked into the lobby.

Sitting in a chair in the corner, flipping disinterestedly through a magazine, was a younger Latin-appearing guy in shorts and a wrinkled polo shirt. Looking up when I came through the door, he quickly put the magazine down and got up to greet me. Introducing himself as Jose, he showed me down a hallway to the classroom.

There, we spent the next few minutes going through my logbook. Seeing my total flight time but with a substantial gap since my last time up, he asked, "How long do you think it's going to take you to knock the rust off?"

With a shrug, I said, "Man, I know everyone must tell you this but I feel good. I'd guess that one trip around the pattern and I'll be back at it."

Smiling at my response, he said, "Pues, vamos a ver, mijo." (Well, let's see, my boy)

Then, after checking that no one was listening in, he said, "So check it out. As you know, a BFR is supposed to be an hour of ground and an hour of flying. But an IPC takes longer. There's no rule saying that ground school has to be done in the classroom. How about we go up, I'll put you through a BFR and then we can make a short trip up to Ft Pierce. There, we can shoot your first approach. They have a pretty good restaurant and while you buy me dinner, we'll chat about some recent changes in the regulations. Then we can get five more approaches in and call it a day."

With a little laugh, I said, "Works for me."

Jose stood from the table and handed me the bag to the airplane that held the keys and checklists. After passing it to me, he said, "It's right out in front. Go ahead and do the preflight and I'll be out."

I took a minute to use the bathroom and grab a bottle of water and then walked out to the ramp. Finding the right plane by its tail number, I popped the door open. As a warm blast of air hit me, I regretted not brining a pair of shorts to change into. But, standing there, I took in the aroma unique to training aircraft and old cars, that of a mixture of hot electronics, old upholstery, fuel and oil. That may not sound appealing; but to me, it was priceless.

After turning on the battery and setting the plane up, I did my walk around. While confirming that nothing was loose or falling off the airframe, I used a little vial to strain some fuel from the sumps to ensure there was no water or other contaminates that may have settled at the bottom of the tanks. With the walk-around complete, I opened a little door in the cowling and checked the oil. Finally, I climbed up on the wing spars and visually checked the fuel levels in each fuel tanks.

When I climbed down from the wing, I saw Jose walking out across the tarmac carrying only a small bag for his headset. We undid the tie-downs and then climbed into the plane. With a couple final checks, I turned the key and took in the most thrilling sound, that of the flat four Lycoming engine purring to life.

Jose and I put on our headsets and immediately popped open the side windows to get as much airflow as possible while sitting on the ground. With a nod of approval from Jose, I copied down the weather information and then contacted air traffic control. After informing them of our desire for one trip around the pattern, we were given our taxi instructions. I read them back and then released the breaks.

As soon as the plane started rolling, a feeling of total peace came over me. I was finally back to doing what I truly loved. After making our way to the runway, we did a quick run up of the engine and then got our departure clearance. Rolling out onto the runway, I quickly ran through the checklist and then pushed the throttle in. It didn't take long to build up enough speed; and with a little back pressure on the yoke, I felt the wheels come off the runway. As we climbed out to the east, I just quietly laughed to myself. Feeling back in my element, the touch and finesse came back as if riding the proverbial bicycle.

Flying the racetrack pattern, we soon got our landing clearance and I began setting the plane up for the approach and landing. Slowing down to start adding some flaps, we began our descent. When I turned onto the final approach course, the sight of the runway stretching out in front of me was captivating. Despite having not flown in a year, I tracked the centerline all the way in, cut the throttle as we crossed the fence line and with a little back pressure, flared the nose up as the main gear faintly squeaked onto the runway. Having been clearance for "the option," meaning we could either stop and taxi back for another takeoff or simply do a touch and go, Jose came across the intercom and said, "Good job, my boy. Let's go."

Reaching down and taking the flaps in, I smiled as I gave it full throttle and we were soon back in the air. On the climb out, I contacted ATC and requested a departure from the pattern to the west. That was readily granted and we made our way around the pattern and continued out a ways to the designated practice area.

There, Jose put me through a series of maneuvers to test my skill. We did steep turns, slow flight and then my favorite, stall entry and recovery. When I pitched for the sky and added full power, it felt as if we were just hanging there by the propeller. As our speed bled off, the stall horn began blaring in the cockpit. I continued holding the back pressure until, in an instant, the wings stopped generating lift and the nose suddenly snapped forward.

Releasing the back pressure, I added full power and then slowly brought the nose up. When Jose checked the altimeter and saw that I had recovered in less altitude than the requirements for a commercial check-ride, he laughed and said, "Ok, pendejo, that's enough of this shit. I'm starving; let's eat."

After turning the plane to the northeast, I checked the weather at Ft Pierce. Then pulling out my iPad, I pulled up the approach plate for the runway they were using. Using the information on that page, I tuned the navigation radios, briefed the headings and altitudes to Jose and finally the missed approach procedure. With a nod of approval, Jose handed me a set of glasses.

Feigning annoyance, I took them from him and put them on. Foggles, as they're called, are just a set of clear glasses like you'd use in a wood shop except they're opaque everywhere aside from a small clear section at the bottom. Using these, vision is limited to just the instrument panel; however, anyone who's ever used them will tell you they've cheated by using their peripheral vision to peek at the ground.

A few miles out, I contacted the Ft Pierce tower and was vectored to the approach course. Once I captured the localizer, which provides lateral guidance to the runway, I checked the plate again to confirm the decision height, or minimum altitude to which the approach was certified. After a tracking the localizer inbound for a few minutes, we intercepted the glide slope, which, as the name suggests, provides vertical guidance down the approach path. When I hit the decision height, I flipped up the Foggles. From just two hundred feet above the ground, the sight of the runway in front of us was nothing short of magical. The idea that I could fly hundreds of miles without seeing a thing and pop out of the clouds at just the right place never ceases to amaze me.

After executing another above-average landing, we taxied off the runway and requested to go to the restaurant. The controller then sympathetically informed us that, unfortunately, the restaurant closes at 3:00 every afternoon. Upon hearing this, Jose exclaimed, "¡Carajo de pinga! ¿Qué tipo de mierda es esto?"

Suffice to say that a direct translation doesn't do his level of frustration justice. When he had stopped his humorous rant, I keyed the mic again and just asked for taxi to the FBO. After parking on the ramp, we shut down the engine and headed inside. Although the restaurant was closed, we got permission to use their classroom and I ordered out for a pizza to be delivered.

Jose looked at me with embarrassment and said, "Sorry, man. I honestly had no idea they closed so early. I've only ever been here around lunchtime."

I told him not to worry about it. While we waited, we snooped around the lounge and found a stocked refrigerator. We each took a Coke and headed back into the classroom. Sitting down, Jose asked, "So, man, tell me about yourself."

I shrugged and said, "There's nothing much exciting to say. I went to college in Miami and worked to put myself through flight school. Honestly, I always wanted to be a pilot but it's just too damn expensive to build enough time to apply for my commercial and airline transport license. So I got my degree, work as an engineer and just fly for fun now."

Jose looked at me understandingly and said, "Yeah man, I'm working this job just to build time. I figure I'll have enough time built by the end of the year to get my ATP and hopefully get picked up by a regional. But yeah, dude, it sucks. Those dumbasses in Buffalo and Washington really fucked the next generation of pilots."

Jose was referencing a 2009 crash of a commuter plane in Buffalo that was determined to be the result of a completely incompetent reaction to an inadvertent stall during their approach. While devastating for everyone involved, the bureaucratic response by the decision makers in Washington was devastating for the pilot community in general. Due to the actions of that crew, the FAA implemented a rule that pilots now have to have 1,500 hours before applying for their ATP certificate. That means that all aspiring airline pilots now have to take low-paying commercial jobs such as flight instructing or local cargo flying just to build time.