Polly & Anna Ch. 00

Polly+Anna - Chapter 00 - by Polly+Anna (1500 words) Uncle Mike (1/29/20)

My Uncle Michael taught both me and Anna to fly in his little Cessna 172 back in 1992. Mike is a character, probably not the person that my parents wanted me to look up to and aspire to be. But by then my older brother was nineteen and being groomed to run the family business. So, while they discouraged me from following mom's older brother, they didn't dwell too long on that one particular influence.

By this time Anna and I had already graduated from a very well-respected private academy and we moved in together. Just two eighteen-year-old girls in their own place. Jesus, that sounds like a LitE story. Mike had served in the U.S. Air Force and introduced us to a sweet little aviator tradition, something that he was quite fond of. While they called them Key Parties, it was later sensationalized by the American press as "wife-swapping."

To hear Mike tell the tale it all started back in in the 1920s, a decade often called "The Roaring Twenties" when the United States as a victor that was minimally affected by the horror of what was at that time THE World War came to international prominence. The Army and Department of Commerce paid to paint the rooftops of barns and other structures with location names and the first "charts for airmen" were published.

Back in the 1920s and 30s flying - even more than sailing, was a dangerous profession. In 1934, in flying just over ten million air miles during peacetime, the United States Army suffered ten pilot fatalities. 'The Wreck of ole 97,' An old Army Air Force ditty goes...

"Oh, ladies, ladies, take fair warning.

True, from this time, now on.

Never speak harsh words to your high-flying pilot.

He may leave you and never return."

So, these pilots, facing death daily as the ancient mariners had, came to a solemn understanding. They decided that they were all family. That the surviving pilots would care for the wives and children of their fallen comrades. That meant financially, emotionally and in the case of the wives left behind, sexually. It was really kind of like an Old Testament Levirate marriage, where a surviving brother was obligated to care for his brother's widow.

Since they were family after a tragedy, why wouldn't they be family beforehand as well. A tradition emerged of all the virile young men of a unit, married and single alike, "taking care" of the sexual needs of all the wives of the unit. Born were "key parties" in which an "airman" would be handed a key and "obligated" to provide sexual fulfillment to the wife in the home the key opened the door of.

Uncle Mike had been in SAC, the U.S. Strategic Air Command, in the 1960s. Officially its mission was nuclear deterrence. In practice it meant driving a Chariot for one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. So, just as mariners had done since time immemorial, they poked their fingers in the eyes of the Angel of Death and lived their lives to the fullest, while not knowing if there would be a tomorrow at all.

It seemed back then in those turbulent years more than ever that the world, literally the whole world, could end at any time. Everyone on base knew that while it was not the intent of their mission: if every aircraft in their wing survived and hit every target in the Soviet Union with every "device" that they carried, the combined radiation could potentially end all known life on this, the third rock from the sun.

We had been flying around the north with Uncle Mike. From the old Orange Walk Airport over to Corozal, to Pine Ridge and to San Pedro out on the Caye. Anna and I sat in the front seats and took turns flying, practicing our landings and charting hours towards earning our Commercial Pilot's Licenses. Mike sat in the back and gave us useful instruction while looking down our camisole tops watching our pert young breasts.

Sometimes, after our lessons we would go back to Mike's house and have dinner. He had a nice patio with a swimming pool, we would usually eat out there. Mike enjoyed looking at us, he never touched us. The attention was flattering so we would show off. We would sit around his pool, and drink rum drinks while he had a few beers and tell us stories of his mis-spent youth in the United States.

They would fly "Steel Trap" missions, 50 or more B-52 bombers would launch from their Mississippi base, be topped off by KC-135 tankers over Tennessee and Kentucky and fly marathon 60-hour missions. They would first proceed to a 'go-no-go line' above the Arctic Circle, where a coded message would stop them and prevent Armageddon since they were armed with real thermonuclear devices. Then they flew a preset course for two-and-a half-days, simulating a crisis situation.

A dozen tanker aircraft kept the bombers aloft through multiple air-to-air refueling hook-ups, while themselves periodically landing to refuel. When the aircrew returned home safely they celebrated with a Key Party. Teenagers recruited beforehand watched the children. Keys to the other homes and cards with sex acts written on them were mixed and distributed. The men took turns taking care of the wives and girlfriends until the participants, exhausted but happy 'tapped-out' for the night.

"Here, Christopher," Uncle Mike said as he used the grease pencil to draw on his newly promoted friends' shoulders. "There you go, gas jockey."

"That's, Mister Gas Jockey, Sir, and Esquire to you, "said Major Chris Galloway, "learn how to address a superior officer. And this is the most piss-poor drawing of a maple leaf that I've ever seen."

"Superior officer," said Mike, "not a superior pilot. We are the mission; your tankers support us."

"Eu contraire, mi Capitan," said Chris smiling, "Those of us who have the God-given ability to fly in a level straight line get the gas stations. The rest of you miscreants are just glorified taxi-drivers for their bombardiers who do the real work."

"Owch!"

"Okay, who is next up?" Said Captain Ericson, holding a door key and a card.

"I am," said Sergeant Hendrix.

"Oh, my, who let the riff-raff in here," said Lieutenant Jacobs.

"Eek, it's an... An... Airman," Kendall Hendrix played along.

"They couldn't make our friend Kendall here an officer," said Chris, "his parents were married."

"But not to one another!" The six naked men said laughing in unison.

"Besides," said the Sergeant, "SAC regs require that each aircraft have at least one responsible adult on board while in flight."

"Nope," said Lieutenant Leonard Jacobs, "we only put up with your sorry ass because you bring Shelia."

"Well," said Kendall, "my wife is decidedly the hottest piece-of-ass any of you reprobates have ever fucked."

"That she is," said Mike, extending a Fiestaware bowl. "Pick a card Kendall."

"427 Mitchell," said Kendall.

"My house," laughed Leonard, "you get Karen..."

"And that worked?" I said, interested in the dynamics of the situation. "Nobody got jealous?"

"It worked just fine," Mike said, "see there was an abundance. People don't get jealous unless there's a shortage."

Mike went on to say that if... If Anna and I were lovers, and we took care of each other... And if... If we each had a young man who took care of us... And if... If we were to each have sex with both one another and both of those young men... If... If this sort of thing was to happen, would we find the time or be of an inclination towards petty jealousy?

He didn't think we would. He thought that we would all be swimming in a Great Blue Hole of love and affection and sex. That if each of us got our partners off as many times as we practically could. That if we were always there for one another. That we would be too happy and ecstatic and exhausted to be the least bit petty. His impassioned reason spoke with undeniable logic to me.

I looked at Anna, my best friend in the world, sitting nearly naked on a chaise lounge alongside Mike's pool and she looked back at me. We often had quite intimate talks about boys and sex with one another. Maybe Mike wasn't the end-all be-all of impartial judges, but he wouldn't be appalled at the concept of Anna and me... Hell, Mike would pull up his chair if I went down on my girl poolside.

Moreover, if we could entice a pair of young men to join us in an unconventional journey... It could... It would be possible to have it all. There would be plenty of incentive, plenty of reward for those wise enough to think outside of the box... For those who could love unconventionally. I looked into Anna's eyes and I wondered if Mike's words had the same profound effect on her as they had on me.