Life is a Runway

"In his name, you are very welcome, Fay. Anyway, I intend to retrace his steps here, in October. But the battle of the Scheldt is not commemorated much, this year. So I figured I should at least try to meet the rest of the division's veterans at Juno Beach. There aren't many left, you know... Grandpa was 90 when he passed away."

"What was he like, your grandfather?"

"Quiet is the first word that comes to mind. I think the war broke him. He must have been a hard man on his wife and children but us, the grandkids, we were his saving grace. You know, it's funny in a sense: Dad is a stubborn pacifist who had always disapproved my joining the Air cadets but Grandpa... when I told him about my glider wings, at 16, he did not say a single word until he fetched an album in his old chest and showed me a picture. It was a snapshot of him standing in front of the wreckage of a Horsa troop glider, taken right here in the Arnhem region... then he told me he had never, ever, been as proud of anyone." Samuel paused, a little choked up by the recollection. Fay was equally speechless.

A moment later, he finished the story. "When Grandpa died last fall, his entire war chest was bequeathed to me. Since I was kinda searching for myself, I figured this would be a welcome focus in my life right now... and so here I am."

"Why do you talk about yourself in this way? You look like a smart and very competent pilot..."

"Thank you for the kind appraisal but... you see, that's the thing, Fay: I can't be a pilot anymore. I had it all figured out, you know, ever since I was a kid. Plan A was school, good grades, Air cadets, Royal Military College, F-18s. But something unexpected blossomed in me during my teens: all of a sudden, jets were no longer cool objects of awe, but bomb-dropping war tools. At that time, I was already a glider pilot so I switched to plan B: I kept on going in the Cadets, got my motor pilot license and, when I was old enough, stopped teaching on gliders and became a tow-pilot; that's why I have hours on L-19s and got the spot here at the club, by the way. And, once again, life happened: I got my commercial rating and, while flying for a small charter company, I realized I could never be a hardened bush pilot because, to me, flying is still a romantic miracle. The other pilots all took it for granted and gave in to whatever whims the clients had. So, after I scared myself to death five or six times flying overloaded floatplanes on too short lakes and in insane weather during hunting or fishing seasons, I gave it all up."

Fay would just not interrupt him. "Now, what do you do when all your life plans fail? And you have no instruments to draw a new one? My only certainty was that I would NOT join the rest of the family at the local Irving sawmill. So I drifted... and I met so many youth employment aid and social workers along the way that it inspired me to begin a school certificate in social services, last fall. As fate would have it, that tidbit opened the door for my summer job here, at the ICC; my fluency in French and English did the rest. So, like I said... here I am, armed with a new mission and a new mantra: Life is a runway."

"What nonsense is that?" Fay chuckled.

"It's a play on words on a Canadian rock song... maybe you've heard of it: Life is a Highway... Tom Cochrane; anyway, you and I are pilots, right... so when we are on a runway, we only want to leave, to take off... but even if the flight is wonderful and pleasant, you always return to a runway and, somehow, are always relieved when you have landed safely. Maybe you're right and it is nonsense... but it sure picked me up when I was down, or lonely here, in a country where I know neither people nor the language."

"Oh... huh... wow! Sorry Sam... actually, the way you put it, I find this quite inspirational. And don't browbeat yourself, you know me now!" THAT was her real smile, almost blindingly bright. He was mesmerized shut for a second or two.

"Well, honestly, Fay, besides your name, your glider and your speed demon, I know nothing about you."

Her answer came alongside the welcome sound of her downshifting to an almost reasonable speed, at the outskirt of The Hague. "That oversight will be corrected tonight, after the meeting, Sam. I promise."

---

The arrival on Hogeweg street was the beginning of a string of revelations. In a city where space is at a premium, the first surprise was that the car had inland parking space. The second one occurred while stepping out of the car. For the first time, Samuel and Fay were standing side by side: she was slightly taller than he was, maybe 5ft. 11in. to his 5ft 9in. and then there was her look. Samuel had seen a bevy of boys, girls, men and women wear flight gear and sunglasses for the last ten years. Most of them look cool. She, however, looked scorching hot, with her blonde hair cut short and elaborately styled with streaks and highlights. And then there was her presence. Samuel did PT and ran every morning... he was fit; Fay, however, was in absolutely top shape, with her calf, leg, chest and arm muscles all toned and perfectly highlighted by her figure-hugging apparel. To top it all off, there was said figure, an inviting and pert pair of mounds that just begged for freedom and to be palmed or cusped.

That visual survey lasted a noticeable amount of time. He was ogling; she knew he was ogling; and she let him. On Fay, that brought about the icing on the cake: a pair of small protruding nipples straining against her garment.

"Sam... much as I would love to stay here as your visual feast, I have a couple of things to prepare before our guests arrive. Come on in and feel free to visit the house." She did not wait for a reply and walked in, through the main entrance, a single and not very extravagant door on the side of the mansion, beside the parking space.

To Samuel, roaming in the Aarden residence was a letdown of epic proportions. Not because of its splendor, which was nowhere lacking, but because it was a sharp reminder of the chasm separating their respective life orbits. Seven living rooms, with four actually furnished as bedrooms, four walk-in bathrooms, an inside pool, a circular sauna room, a kitchen of restaurant efficiency and opulent discretion, an inside garage space, two verandas, two boudoir rooms at the attic level. Enough space to afford wastage on atriums and a circular three-floors staircase. Natural lighting everywhere. Nothing but immaculate cleanliness and the absence of any marks or sign of wear and tear. In a continent where he had seen an untold amount of quaint small lodgings and antique castles, Samuel was now losing himself in a modern emblem of North-American decadence.

Fay was letting a Pinot noir breathe and had finished placing a tray of catered canapes in the main living room when Samuel regained the ability to speak. "Your house is unbelievable, Fay... how long have you been living here?"

Back was the mechanical voice. "This is the current family residence. Papa bought it, not too long ago... for a smudge under six million euros, before you ask. It remains my pied-a-terre when I reside in The Hague. My own flat is in Groningen. This arrangement covers both of my work locations and suits me."

Samuel was back in an imaginary coffin and Fay had just hammered the cover shut: the woman could casually talk about more than eight-and-a-half million dollars. It was the doorbell that brought him back to life. After being presented to the National team captain and the other three pilots - Lilian and Annermiek would fly in the Club class and Doortje would fly in the Standard class, leaving Fay to fly in the 18m class - Samuel stayed quiet and took mental notes. Not that he had many to take, as he was obviously not the main focus of the meeting. By the times the ladies left, he knew:

1. that none of them had a clue about the transit of the L-19, which meant he would have 36 hours to single-handedly prepare his flight plan from Terlet to Zbraslavice, including a waypoint for refueling and clearing customs upon entering Czechia;

2. that they would live in motor homes or trailers on the field; it was quite obviously assumed that he would bunk with Fay;

3. that, in fact, there seems to be very little affection between the Fay and the rest of the team.

Samuel heard the click of the closing door, immediately followed by an audible sigh from Fay. "At last, these stuck-up bitches are gone..." she now returned her attention to Samuel with a warm, tender smile and asked "... now, where were we?"

(Ground control to Major Tom... your circuit's dead, there's something wrong... can you hear me, Major Tom...)

"Sam?"

"Euuuh... correcting an oversight, I believe, was your offer."

She chuckled shyly. "You are cute. And I feel sore. Come, we will talk in the pool."

"I don't have any swimwear."

"I will lend an old pair of m... huh... the collection that we keep for visitors. From the looks of you, it will fit."

Again, it never even occurred to Samuel to not comply. Ten minutes later, they were sharing the pool and doing laps. Fay had brought a second bottle of red wine with their glasses.

When the laps sufficiently relieved Fay of her anxiety, she just stayed in the water, leaning on a side of the pool, and resumed their conversation. Samuel was all ears and extremely thankful both their bodies remained immerged, as he feared that staring at her any longer in her shiny-golden lycra two-piece bikini might make him spontaneously combust, not to mention cum.

"How well do you know our gas industry, Sam?"

"Well, Nigel at the club mentioned Shell... but to me that's only another brand of gas stations competing with Irving and Esso. You mentioned Groningen a while back... I once read there's a big gas field there. Sorry Fay, that's about it."

"That's all right, really... for the Aardens, gas is your local sawmill... but it has rewarded us very well, as you can obviously see. My grandfather was part of the survey team that discovered the Groningen gas field, in 1959. Technically, the gas industry is a Crown corporation but, to make a long story short, the glory of that event and its economic impact secured everyone's future within Royal Dutch Shell; then, the next generation had successes in their capital investments and profited of the economic stir resulting from the creation of the EU. I am proud of our affluence, Sam... we have earned fairly every guilder and euro of it. But it is not who I yearned to be."

"Then who did you yearn to be, and why do you speak about it in the past tense?"

"When I grew up, Sam, I had several... identity problems... including some that required treatments. But I had two driving and unyielding passions: gliding and fashion. Since glider pilot is not a career path, I set my heart early on to become a fashion model..."

"And... you're not? Forgive my stupidity then... to me, it seemed obvious!" She seemed to be blushing... then again, she was drinking wine liberally.

"You are not stupid, Sam, you are very kind. But the fashion industry is strict, especially for runway models, and I did not exactly... fit the mould."

"You have got to be kidding me! Fay, I have seen you walk and you have seen me drool over you since yesterday... whatever you would wear, I would ruin myself to buy! The fashion moguls are foolish to reject you!"

"Stop it Sam... please... you are making me self-conscious."

"Then know the only reason I will stop complimenting your beauty is because of your request!"

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome. So then... it would seem that we have in common a past with a backup plan... what was yours, Fay?"

"It was not too much of a stretch to extend my love of gliding to earth sciences. I am a geoscientist at Shell. I started in exploration but, since the 2012 earthquake in Huizinge, scientific research - our exploitation joint venture NAM coordinates research with 25 universities - and liaison with Government officials have become my main involvement."

"Wow... angelic beauty, wealth, smarts and a socially important mission... Sorry Fay, I just don't buy it!"

"Buy what?"

"You... since we met, you have had this perpetual shield of... aloofness and indifference, or maybe spleen and ennui; Fay, you should be on the cover of whatever geology magazine it is that votes for the hottest scientist in the world. You should have a husband and probably a couple of boy-toys on the side... at the very, very least a ten-kilometer long line of suitors... yet you are swimming with lonesome pathetic old me. What am I missing, Fay?"

"I asked you to stop this, Sam..."

"This is not a compliment, Fay, this is a very valid question... probably brought about by red wine, for which I will apologize profusely later if you don't simply shun me for it."

"I would never shun you, Sam... but there are personal things from me you don't know... and that I am still reluctant to disclose."

"Considering we are about to share the same 15 square meters for three weeks, unless you are a serial murderer or a pathological sadist, I, for one, would very much want to know."

This time, there was no mistaking the redness accompanying her shy smile: she was blushing... and the blue sparkle of her eyes was hypnotic.

"Sam, I'm cold now... please follow me in the sauna." She was very pleased at seeing his breathing grind to a halt.

They got out of the pool and walked to the sauna, without bothering to dry themselves. But Fay did bring the wine along. Before Sam could get a grasp on the situation, Fay turned her back to him and deftly removed her bikini, covering only her derriere with a plush white sauna towel. She turned back without hesitation, and quite topless, to face a whimpering Sam.

"Well, Sam, do you still like what you see?"

"Ohhhhh, no fair! You have asked me not to compliment you any more... and you are so divinely beautiful, Fay, I..."

She scampered, tauntingly, in the sauna. "In that case, Sam, you should do the same and follow meee!"

Samuel had an erratic breathing and a heart bursting all over the place in his chest, while he traded the swimsuit for a towel, and he felt ridiculous trying to hide his erection. Also, as he was convinced this was nothing more than a wine-induced fling, he was a little ashamed of his eagerness to follow her. No matter... by now, he was so drawn to her that he could not stop himself.

He sat beside her. She took his hand. He shivered... actually it was so strong and palpable, it was almost a quake.

"What is it, Sam?" She was eyeing hungrily, and obviously, the tent in his towel.

"You touched me, Fay... I believe it is the very first time you ever touched me..."

"And?"

"That makes you real... that makes THIS very real, Fay..."

"I am real Sam... and I WANT this to be real. Do you want me, Sam?"

Sam, for the first time, gazed upon his tent in the towel, and replied shyly. "You know I do...and, truth be told, I cannot resist you... you already own me Fay... do what you want to me and I will feel blessed for it."

"Sam, YOU are a silver-tongued devil... and right now I want that tongue, hi hi!" She kissed him almost violently and immediately probed his mouth for his tongue with her own. For Sam, the exponential rise in arousal of the last hour was proving to be just too much... he howled in their kiss and Fay felt it resonate within her, straight to her heart.

She was feeling a stir under her own towel and thanked the heavens Sam was busy channeling passion in droves inside their kiss and was also, ever so gently, pressing his palms on her breasts, as if offering her a chance to refuse this next step.

Quite the opposite, she caressed his soft black hair to invite him further. He got the message loud and clear and felt the relentless thrill of caressing her breasts, feeling their jiggle, pressing them together and using some free fingers to lovingly twitch her nipples, which were hardening and pulsing at his every touch.

---

Fay woke up, to a thundering headache and a sting of pain from the incoming daylight. She had no recollection of how she ended up sleeping in her bed, dressed in night robes she had not worn in ages... and quite alone: only her bed space was undone. To the scream in her head was now added a wail of fury from her heart... that did not help. Upon a cursory search of her immediate surroundings, she saw proof of life on her nightstand: a bottle of pain relievers, a pitcher full of iced water, two sauna towels and a note. She took her time propping up her pillows in order to read the note. Thankfully, it was written in large block letters.

"My dear Fay,

I am sorry to leave you alone to wake up, but since today is my final day before our transit to Zbraslavice, I could not miss my last appointments at work. I did not know where to call to signal your tardiness or maybe absence from work, so I also apologize that I could be of no relief in that area as well.

I hope you are not in too much pain or confusion. For the pain, please know that your last dose of Panadol was at 4h30 AM. Again, I am sorry for wasting one hour looking for Tylenol in your home, before having the presence of mind to more closely read the labels in your pharmacy. During the night, I have given you as much water as I could for the hangover. I am aware of the Dutch maxim of a warm beer in the morning, but I could not bring myself to do it and I leave that up to you, should you wish it.

For the confusion... please remember, in the future, that the addition of two bottles of wine, foie gras, swimming and sauna does not agree with you. After some very passionate kissing and the beginning of what seemed destined to be very passionate flirting, and maybe more (I was really hoping for more), you lied down in the sauna and fainted. I was relieved that your pulse and breathing remained normal, but only when you vomited in the sauna atrium did I know for sure you would pull through this unscathed.

I took you to what looked like your bedroom and found some clothes to dress you in. As I am no model dresser, this was not a subtle operation. You were really out of it! I stayed at your side the whole time except when I was looking for the stupid pain relievers or cleaning up the vomit - you have such a tidy home and I did not know whether or not your parents were coming back soon.

Which brings me, of course, to the towels. Fay, I know now what you were so reluctant to share with me. I am very aware that this conclusion was not what you planned, but I am touched you were considering it in the first place. I will spend the rest of my days being worthy of your trust. Your private parts will forever remain private, as far as I am concerned. If you will allow me a single comment on this topic, I will say that your penis is as magnificent as all the rest of you.

Since you were obviously intoxicated last night, it goes without saying that I do not hold you liable to me for anything... I saw no wedding ring, but I do not even know if you are seeing someone! Yes, we were foolish and carefree, and our moment was beautiful; you will maybe not remember this, but when we touched for the first time, we told ourselves this was real. For my part, please believe me when I reiterate that our bond is now very real to me. If you want a friend, then your wish is already granted for life. If you want more, then we have things to discuss during, or after, the Championship. I am not a fool and know how the world works. The Lady and the Tramp is only a kids' movie and I have nothing to offer you but complications and family tensions. So, really, and I mean it, Fay: no pressure. You get a do-over if you want one.

I suppose the next time we speak, we will be together in Czechia. After work, I will have some sleep to desperately catch up on, some pain relievers to take for myself and a flight plan to finish.