Poon Tang

Rick showed me around the hangar and then the outside exhibit area on the hangar apron. I hadn't realized how many different kinds of aircraft existed until then. I had been given an assignment by the magazine editor to write an article on the historical preservation activities of the Air Museum. It wasn't my choice actually, I was the junior reporter and all of the other reporters had been able to wheedle out it. It was automatically my assignment at that point and I had decided to make the best of the opportunity to grow professionally.

I arrived at the airport gate and followed the signs to the museum parking lot feeling a little anxious as all of the buildings seemed so oversized. I walked in to large hangar through a small door lettered for the museum and found myself in a hallway with several doors. I slowly walked looking at the name plate next to each until I found the administrative office. There wasn't anyone sitting at what appeared to be the receptionist desk and I called out to see if anyone was there. There was a shout and I walked towards the voice. I quickly found myself sitting in the Directors office taking notes as he answered my questions. After twenty minutes he walked me out into large hangar to a small office just inside the large hangar door.

He introduced me to Rick Hodges, their project manager, who appeared to be all of four or five years older than myself--quite a surprise as I expected someone much older. His office was loaded with drawings, photographs, and shelves full of reference books, and what appeared to be military technical manuals. We talked for a few minutes after the director explained what I was doing and that he should take the time to assist me as much as possible. The director turned to me with a smile and left saying he was leaving me in good hands. I couldn't help thinking he was absolutely correct, but probably not for the reasons he had in mind--Rick was as handsome as they came.

We talked for a while, then he suggested it might be more interesting if we looked at several of the museum's restored aircraft. Rick showed me the newly restored B-24 Liberator named 'Betsie' by doing a walk around, pointing out the aircraft's basic features, then took me inside the aircraft and explained the function of the different compartments and instruments. I was really impressed with his knowledge of the aircraft and how it functioned--there was not a single question I asked that he hadn't answered with confidence.

His explanations also brought home to me the reality of how crude a World War Two four-engine bomber actually was; there were no amenities as I was accustomed to on a commercial airliner. The thin aluminum skin on steel ribs were covered with green batting in a few places and some armor plate in others, was Spartan, basically a hollow shell with guns, a bomb bay, navigation equipment, and a cockpit. Not an inviting place to spend time in my opinion, particularly in subzero temperatures with an oxygen mask on.

By the end of the tour, if nothing else, I had gained an appreciation for what the men who fought in bombers had endured during the war. Rick had done an excellent job of relating a few stories about the raids this bomber had been involved in--drawing me in with his vivid descriptions. I asked if he knew where the name on the nose came from and he replied it was named after the pilot's sister.

He looked at me with those wonderful eyes and an enticing smile that showed beautiful white teeth. I found I was quite happy to spend time with him after no more than a few minutes inside the cramped quarters of the plane. Of course, trailing behind him gave me some wonderful views of his really nice looking ass and solid frame. As we prepared to climb down from the cockpit entry-way he looked at me with a wide grin. "That's it. I'm sure more than you ever really wanted to know about a B-24 Liberator."

We climbed down out of the B-24 and started to walk toward the static exhibit area inside one of the massive hangars that held part of the museum's collection. The exhibit hall and theater held photographs, pieces of equipment, and miniature aircraft models to educate the visitor using a multimedia approach that I thought was very well done.

As we walked I looked over at a smaller two-engine aircraft sitting on the far side of the huge hangar; like the B-24 it had a twin tail configuration. I asked what it was.

"A B-25 Mitchell bomber." Was his ready reply. I noticed the faded name painted on the side of the nose--'Poon Tang.' It seemed a strange name and I wrote it down in my notebook. He then explained that was his current restoration project and that it would be nearing completion in another month with new paint and installation of restored cockpit seats and some flight instruments.

I wrote the story the next day, accompanied with a few photographs I had taken, and turned it in to our stodgy editor. A day later he told me it was well done. I beamed--it was hard to get a compliment out of the man.

I decided to return to the museum on the coming weekend on my own time as there were exhibits I hadn't really had time to explore fully. I found myself fascinated with the museum's focus and the history of the aircraft it displayed. I had taken the time to research the name of the B-25 and found myself with mixed emotions- 'a woman or women regarded solely in terms of potential sexual gratification'.

I reminded myself that these aircraft were operated during the war in entirely male inhabited areas where women were not present. So the artwork and names didn't receive the kind of scrutiny they would garnered had they been stateside where the general public would be present, especially women.

I was looking at the exhibit dealing with women who worked in the aircraft factories during the war, this when younger men were mostly on active duty and not available for manufacturing work. I was reading the text when I heard a male voice behind me.

"Well, I didn't expect to see you here again so soon."

I turned to see Rick standing a few feet away with a broad smile. He was dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His tanned face and limbs suggesting a life spent outside whenever he could get there. I smiled a hello--though inside I was more than smiling as I felt myself warm. I quickly passed my eyes over him hoping it wasn't evident I was checking him out.

"So, is there anything I can do for you? You know, pull a plane out of a hangar for a photograph, buy you lunch, take you to dinner?"

I turned with a smile trying not to show my delight at being hit on. "Not so fast flyboy." I laughed. Hoping to disguise the warm tingle I was feeling and an intense desire to touch him.

"Okay. I'm not a pilot, only an aviation historian. I guess I shouldn't have hit on you so hard, but you have to understand I'm not used to having a pretty, single woman show up very often."

I felt myself flush a little. Damn he was handsome and confident. Not that I hadn't noticed before. I didn't want to admit I was thrilled with his pitch as my mind worked hard to come up with something to say that seemed relevant, and not overtly suggestive.

"Do you know what Poon Tang means? You know the name on the B-25."

"You remembered it was a B-25!" He exclaimed obviously surprised.

"Yes, a B-25 Mitchell medium bomber. It was named in honor of William 'Billy' Mitchell who led the Doolittle, or Tokyo Raid, on Japan in 1942," I added.

"Yes. I do know what it means. But, I didn't want to tell you when you was here to write the article. I admit, I didn't expect you would remember all of what I told you. I guess you're not only pretty, but intelligent and inquisitive too.

"You know most female reporters are," I said with a smile, feeling good about his offhand comment, one I was sure was meant as a compliment. I saw his face flush a little.

"I didn't mean to imply you was..."

I touched his arm before he could finish. "I think you should take me to lunch before you dig that hole you're in any deeper."

He looked at me with a sheepish grin. I was definitely enjoying seeing him work a little harder to gain my attention. We walked to the snack shop and sat down after selecting our food. We talked for almost two hours before I indicated I had to leave. I thanked him for lunch.

Rick didn't ask for my contact information until I had taken a few steps towards the exit. I pulled my small note pad out, wrote down my name, phone number, and handed it to him with a smile. I walked away and didn't look back. I knew what he was watching as I smiled to myself--I knew he had a nice ass too, a fair trade.

He called me two days later and asked me out to dinner. We spent the evening walking in a local park and talking. Over the next three weeks we met once, or twice during the week, and at least once on the weekend, working around our busy schedules.

Five weeks later we shared our first kiss under the wing of the B-24 as we stood behind the large main gear tire on a moon lit night as we attended the museums' charity dinner. We had been holding hands and when I looked at him his eyes meet mine and held. I knew what was going to happen, closed my eyes, and leaned towards him.

I wasn't totally prepared for the hot sparks it generated. I had expected a run of the mill reaction but found my body quickly filled with hot desire--my heart beat hard as my lips pushed onto his with seeming abandon. I felt his firm muscles as my bare shoulders touched his skin, the cool, light breeze touched my hot skin as I pushed my breasts against his chest. His hand came to my lower back and I felt the urge to push my pelvis square onto his leg and rub up and down. An urge I was unable to restrain--I was thankful the large tire hid my carnal need. At least I thought it had.

That night we went to his apartment and we went as far as we had ever gone. If it hadn't been for the fact it was the first day of my period and my flow was heavy I would have gone all the way. We made the most of it with some of the most enjoyable fondling and kissing of my breasts ever. What he could do with his lips was worthy of an article all its own in a woman's magazine.

It was four days later when I visited him near the end of the day at the museum. I was standing near the B-25 waiting when he came into the hangar carrying a small olive drab colored blanket. I wasn't sure what he had in mind but it didn't take long to find out.

When Rick invited me inside and we climbed the rear hatch ladder I knew I was the first woman ever to have been inside this B-25. According to museum records, it had been manufactured near the end of the war, had seen combat in the Pacific Theater, was used for miscellaneous duties until retired by the Army Air Force, was purchased by a private firm who never flew it, and was then left at the side of a runway where it sat for years unused until the museum made an offer on it. The name Poon Tang had remained on the nose faded, almost unreadable.

I climbed the ladder behind Rick and followed him to the waist gunners' position in the main fuselage. Rick reminded me of the significance of my presence inside represented as he smiled and asked. "Would you like to be the first and only woman to do something else in this B-25?" As he spread the blanket down on the deck.

"You mean be kissed?" I smiled.

"Not exactly."

He reached over and unbuttoned the top button of my blouse. I smiled and started to unbutton the rest, took it off, and reached behind me to release the clasp of my bra. He pulled it off my arms and touched my breasts gently. My body responded immediately. "Connie you are so beautiful."

I removed his shirt and we started to kiss passionately. My arousal grew as he kissed my breasts and slowly licked and pulled on my nipples with his lips. I was relaxed as I knew there was no activity in the hangar, only the two of us. I tugged at the belt of his shorts and pulled the zipper down as I felt my warm tingle grow hot. I felt down inside his briefs first with my fingertips, then my entire hand. I felt my desire grow hot and wet as his hard cock filled my hand.

This would be our first time and I didn't see a reason to say no. No, that's not true--I wanted him. Having had to wait had simply made my need more intense. I lay back and removed my shorts, then my panties with his help. Then I watched as he removed his briefs, his erect cock stood ready. He looked at me with a smile as I felt myself start to ache.

"You're now the first woman to be entirely naked in this B-25," he offered with a smile.

"It's nice to be the first and only for at least one thing in your life." I replied quietly.

We kissed passionately, caressed, talked suggestively for over ten minutes before I felt I was fully ready. The small ache behind my labia demanded attention as it grew to something resembling a throb. I lay back on the blanketed surface of the deck, my anticipation building.

He loomed over me and I knew it meant I was also going to be the only woman to be banged onboard. It seemed a little silly, but at the same time it sent a thrill through me to know we were going to do something together that was almost unheard of. Women simply never made it onto combat aircraft.

His entrance was wonderful as I felt his broad tip enter me. He stayed shallow, just inches inside, thrusting gently until the pleasure pushed me to want more. I urged him on and after some gentle thrusting he was deep inside. We started moving together, the pleasure starting to warm me nicely. I closed my eyes and relaxed as he rocked me gently. I wrapped my legs around his waist, lifting them off the deck. His arms came under my legs to help me for a minute. The change in angle resulted in more stimulation and when his arms came under my shoulders I was well on my way. I clutched at his back as he pushed in deep enough to make me give involuntary little sounds once in a while as he thrust into me firmly in a regular rhythm.

Minutes passed and I slowly began to feel a build-up of hot pressure. I was gasping now in time with his thrusts, giving a quiet 'ugh' occasionally as he slid over my slit. Then I heard the sound of voices entering the hangar. I cursed to myself--just as I was getting exactly what I wanted. I whispered to Rick, "Someone's coming. Stay still."

He slowed almost to a stop. His breathing hot in my ear. My pulse drumming loudly in my ears where only I could hear it. I slowly lowered my legs down onto the deck. Then Rick pushed in slowly. I could feel him hit my clit softly. The wonderful sensation was impossible to ignore. I wanted to feel it again so badly. But anxiety gripped me, I put my mouth right in his ear. "Stop. Don't move."

Rick released the downward pressure and lay on top of me silently. The voices came closer-- male voices. I felt a sense of fear and trepidation grip me as my body tensed. I didn't want to be found naked with a man buried deep in my pussy when I was supposed to be writing a follow-up article on the air museum next week. I felt Rick rise up off of me slightly and gain his elbows. His mouth came to my ear and he told me in a voice so low I could hardly hear. "Connie you are so damned tight."

I pushed my face up forcing him to raise up farther. When I could see his eyes I mouthed silently. "Shut up."

He smiled, and lowered himself down onto me again and pushed his cock deeper, hitting my clit and grinding in a circle. He knew exactly what he was doing--my clit gave a hearty shout of approval and appreciation. I heard the voices approach the open rear hatchway ladder a mere ten feet away. I felt myself tense further and held my breath. They weren't going to look inside were they? Damn Rick! If I hadn't been so hot for him I wouldn't be in this position right now, I thought to myself.

I recognized the museum director's voice and that of another man I didn't know. They were talking about how well the restoration of this aircraft had gone and how it had come in under budget thanks to Rick's knowledge and management skills.

While I appreciated those attributes myself, I really wasn't as impressed now that I lay under him, impaled on his penis. It seemed to take forever before they moved on towards the open hangar door. I was just beginning to relax again when Rick started humping me again.

I whispered into his ear. "Don't you think we should stop now?"

"Why? They've gone and you're still nice and tight."

"Really, that's it?"

"Connie. You're going to be the first woman ever to have an orgasm in this plane. Now relax, I want you to enjoy this."

He was right. I would be and he was doing a good job getting me there--as I felt the pleasure starting to rise again. I closed my eyes, let my breath out slowly, and concentrated on what I was feeling. My mouth opened as the pleasure continued to grow and closed my eyes tighter. He was thrusting slow and steady rocking me gently. "Okay. It's feeling better now," I said quietly.

I raised my legs again and wrapped them around his waist as he slid his cock across my slit, hitting my clit almost every time. I was so juicy I could hear a wet smacking noise as his cock and balls met my pussy. He pumped faster and hit my labia a little harder for a minute. Then slowed and stopped to let me rest a little as I breathed hard. Then, I pushed up slightly to signal him I needed more, I didn't want to wait. He renewed his efforts and I grasped his shoulders with my hands as my chin rested against his shoulder, my eyes closed. I smiled to myself--we were good together.

We kept going and I felt the pleasure building steadily. After three minutes I was almost there, my breathing a bit irregular, my hands searching for a hold on him anywhere I could as he continued his steady beat sliding over my clit. I placed my hands on his shoulders as I felt myself tighten around him, my hands clutching his back as I drew closer.

Then came the tremendous flood of pleasure as I orgasmed, my fingers dug into his flesh. I felt myself shudder a little as he came into me with smooth firm strokes, I uttered soft, spaced, slightly squeaky ughh, ughh, ughhhs of pleasure as I felt my contractions grow with each thrust. I was jerked away as the wave of pleasure started to fade by a voice seemingly within a few feet.

"I thought I heard something? Did you?"

It was the director's voice from just outside the aircraft. Rick was gasping in my ear, his cock still fully buried inside me. They had come back and neither of us had noticed.

"Maybe," came the other male voice, "but I don't hear anything now."

"Oh well, probably nothing. This hangar can make some strange noises. Come, I have one more thing to show you."

I heard their foot falls as they walked away. I was still holding my breath even as my heart beat hard in my chest as a soft whisper came into my ear. "Mission accomplished, Honey. How about I treat you to dinner?"

I held him close for a few seconds longer wanting to make sure there was no one near. Then I rubbed his back a few times and whispered. "You just couldn't resist poking me while they were standing there just a few feet away could you?"

"I was poking you?"

"You know exactly what I mean. What would you have done if they had looked in and saw us?"

"I don't know. That's a hypothetical. Though I could have told them this was the sweetest tight pussy I have ever had in a B-25."

"And that would have solved something." I said incredulously.

He smiled broadly, but said nothing. I watched as he rose and pulled out of me all slick and glistening. We dressed slowly and quietly. When I climbed down the ladder I felt special. No other woman could claim to have done this where I had done it. Of course, it could never be revealed--it would have probably ended my job at the magazine and his at the museum. Just the fact that we had been darning enough to do it was thrill enough for me. Our first time was something I would always treasure--I was the first and only.