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I’m Lisa, we took a good look around and we decided that we weren’t done being active yet. So, if we couldn’t do what we wanted to in the United States we would just find another place. We knew people, the people we knew, they knew people. It is said that everyone in the entire world has six or fewer social connections to everyone else. We tested the theory. We’ve misremembered a few things and changed a few proper nouns, but it’s 99 44/100 percent true.

I was fifty-nine when this story took place. Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one… These are really just numbers. Characters in this installment are my lovers Paul and his wives Eva and Lillian. My sister and lover Jamie… My brother and lover George and his wife Kristin… Mom and dad, Katherine and Gabe, and my little brother Ethan and his wife Claire… (San Mateo – in the Caribbean, February 25, 2020)

San Mateo (2837 words) A new beginning – down “south” (2/24/20) hetero – loving sibling incest – oral

This morning it was raining lightly and 72-degrees. On the first day of January. Almost the end of rainy season here in the Caribbean. We were standing next to our airplanes in a tropical paradise. Climatically it was very different than the midwestern and eastern United States where we had previously been working. 60,000 people lived here, the “only slightly fictional” city of San Mateo el Evangelista. Four days ago eleven expat Texans moved to town. Oh, San Mateo, it certainly is a real place. That just isn’t its real name.

Mandatory retirement was looming, and retirement sounded boring. So here we were having moved “south” to create and operate the equally “only slightly fictional” Aerolíneas Insulares. Developed from the original Goose of 1937 through the Widgeon and the Mallard, Grumman built 422 Albatrosses at Bethpage New York. The last one in 1962, delivering all of them to the Air Force, Coast Guard and Navy. Only 14 rebuilt by Grumman to G-111 specifications are FAA-standard certified, the rest are certified HU-16s and limited catagory.

But that didn’t matter to the government of San Mateo, so it mattered even less to us. Neither did the fact that we didn’t hold type-ratings. Hell, pretty soon we wouldn’t hold ATPs anymore either since we all seemed to be “excessively experienced.” Having to turn in our licenses on our sixtieth birthdays. I mean you wouldn’t want your pilot or surgeon to be experienced, would you? Our three amphibians were each outfitted with 24 seats and would be used to fly happy vacationers from the mainland out to the many island resorts in relative luxury.

The government of the United States sold three surplus airplanes to the San Mateo Sugar Company d/b/a the government of San Mateo. All of the required forms were filled out, then properly filed in triplicate, quadruplicate and quintriplicate. We were able to fly them, loaded up with our boxes of treasure. From Tucson Arizona 850 miles on the first day to Corpus Christi, stay for the night, then down the gulf coast another 900 miles the next day to San Mateo…

“W” wouldn’t have given any of us the time of day. Not even my father or three brothers who served Mama Green. Three of them were recipients of Combat Infantryman Badges. Dad had a European – African – Middle Eastern Campaign Ribbon from “the big one.” Paul and George owned Vietnam Service Ribbons. But a few calls and his Walker’s Point fishing buddy had three airplanes of our choosing, boxes of spare parts, manuals, ferry tanks and 4125 gallons of avgas. It ain’t what you know, it’s who you know.


Each airplane’s two Wright R-1820 ‘Cyclone-Nine’ single-row nine-cylinder air-cooled radial engines propelled us at 125 miles an hour in the most economical cruise setting. Producing far less than their rated 1,425 horsepower. In theory they would get our 15 tons about 3,000 miles before the tanks ran dry. In practice they got us to San Mateo el Evangelista with our main tanks nearly full.

Like caterpillar tractors, floatplanes and especially bahis firmaları flying boats are inefficient, but terribly effective. We carry our airports with us. Our eleven-ton airplane carried four revenue tons, the F-27s we had previously owned carried ten revenue tons in their eleven-ton airframes. But the entire nation of San Mateo has just two airports, SSM at San Mateo el Evangelista, which could handle turboprops and private jets, and SRK at Santa Rita, the International Airport where the widebodies come a calling. In our Albatrosses we can go anywhere there is water. In the Caribbean that’s everywhere.

“Certification… Ha, we don’t need no steenking certification, meester… ICAO… Ha, I laugh at your ICAO.” We just made certain that we had three honest unmodified short-wingers, dissimilar metal used in the long wing conversions led to intergranular corrosion. And we went to Nevada to learn how to water taxi and take-off. Our flights will be short and in-country. The shortest, Ambergris is a mere 33 miles away, a 17-minute flight. The longest of our seven normal destinations Peini, is 105 miles, 53 minutes away. Those times are door closed to door open.

Before leaving Arizona, we painted as our “San Mateo registration numbers,” FASM-44-01, FASM-44-02 and FASM-44-03 on our flying boats. FASM was fuerza Aerea de San Mateo together with two smaller Geese we were “the” Air Force of San Mateo, available for air-sea rescue missions if required. It said so right on our paperwork. Our number 44 honored N44RD, an Albatross that Reid Dennis and Andy McAfie flew around the world in 1997. It took them 73 days, making 38 stops along the way.

With the left throttle advanced just a tiny bit ahead of the right we left the ground at 85 knots retracted the gear while accelerating to 105 and climbed into the sky. Long before the superfluous metric system was created, mariners used nautical miles as a unit of distance. Later adopted by aviators, a knot is one minute, a sixtieth of a degree, of latitude along any line of longitude. A nautical mile is roughly 1.15 statute miles, so while our airspeed indicators read 108 knots, we were moving 125 statute miles per hour towards our destination.

I said, “our indicators,” for we were chalk two in a three-airplane line formation making its way east-south-east from Tucson Arizona to Corpus Christi Texas. An uneventful seven-hour flight that burned less than a third of the 1375 gallons of aviation gasoline that “W” gave to his fishing buddy, the full time CEO of the San Mateo Sugar Company which owns several resort properties. A man who moonlighted as el presidente de San Mateo.

I love formation flying but hardly ever get to do it. My wonderful big brother George was in the lead aircraft with Jamie. My little brother Ethan was sitting beside me in the right seat. Paul and Lillian were in aircraft number three directly behind us. Mom, dad, Eva, Kristin and Claire would meet up with us at our intermediate point tonight. In spite of our watertight boat hulls we took off from DMA, Davis-Monthan AFB, and landed at CRP, Corpus Christie International, as conventional aircraft.

We tied down the three Albatrosses at Corpus. Walking to the back door our cabin was basically divided into thirds, with nine seats forward of two three-seat sofas facing one another in the center followed by nine more seats at the rear. The sofas in the middle backed to the bump-out for the main landing gear. Alerted to our arrival by our having radioed ahead, we were greeted by Gabe, Katharine, Eva, Kristin and Claire who had driven down to meet us with a U-haul truck.

We planned to spend the night, so that we could fly south-south-east over the Gulf of Mexico and the Yucatan Peninsula the next day in sunlight. We would fly another seven hours and twenty minutes, arriving in San Mateo before sunset with 500 gallons of fuel remaining in each airplane. Landing in order, Paul and Lillian led the way with Eva on board, Ethan and I were in middle kaçak iddaa again with mom, dad and Claire, and George and Jamie were the last to touch down with Kristin.

I couldn’t get a consensus on landing in formation so one at a time we taxied over to the apron where we tied the airplanes down at their reserved spaces. Our new base of operations at SSM, aeropuerto municipal de la ciudad de San Mateo el Evangelista. The runway was built on fill in the Caribbean and our new home was right across the main drag in the top floor of a five story hotel building built parallel to runway 12/30.

We could stand on our front balcony and see many airplanes, including our three parked near a half dozen hangars, and the beautiful blue waters of the Caribbean Sea beyond. Our rear balcony looked over most of a resort and several neighborhoods beyond. Smaller windows on one end gave us a view of the airport terminal building, hotels, a beach and a golf course. The harbor, old colonial town and the hospital were visible from the other side of the building.

We had looked over our accommodations on a visit a month ago. While work had progressed since then, only the deconstruction part was complete. Reconstruction was not anywhere near done. For the time being we were informed that we would reside in six hotel rooms located together on the second floor. I had a room with Jamie which connected to George’s with Kristin, Paul and Lillian’s room opened into the empty room officially for Eva’s use. Mom and dad had a room as did Claire and Ethan.

We walked along the paved trail that encircled a fake lake with an imported sand beach that a dozen buildings including the rear of ours faced. Then we proceeded along the resort’s main pedestrian and golf cart thoroughfare. It was lined with four and five story buildings with little touristy shops and eateries on the first floor. We had dinner at Auguste Gusteau’s, a faux French restaurant before continuing along the gaslit street to the resort’s private beach.

It was a pleasant walk. Two hours after sunset it was 75 degrees in late December. Moderated by the sea the temperature has never exceeded 90 Fahrenheit and rarely falls below 65. All of us walked back to the terminal hotel together and I went to take a quick look for myself at the unfinished penthouse. George saw me leave and he followed me up the stairs. We walked around the huge deck atop the four-story northwest wing. The reinforced pad for the hot tub was in place, but the tub itself had not arrived.

We entered the penthouse from the deck, the walls marked for removal to create the great room had been removed and new tile had been laid on the floor. The appliances ordered for Kristin’s dream kitchen had not arrived. The penthouse was a cluttered construction zone with toolboxes and materials spread haphazardly through the place. There was some new foam padding in the areas slated to be carpeted. But no carpet had been installed yet.

The new walls had been taped and mudded, but not primed or painted. But a little thing like that was not going to stop us. You don’t need a counter, bed, sofa or a chair for steaming hot, life affirming sex, just a willing partner. I’m so lucky, I have some of the best. My brother George started to undress me. Kissing my breasts as he removed my light top before stroking my fur with the back of his hand as her removed my skirt. I joined in the preparations by helping to undress him, kissing the tip of his penis and rolling his skin back with my lips to get him ready for me.

I soon stood naked but for my flats with my back to the new wall facing my wonderful big brother. It was exactly forty-one years and three weeks after the first time we made love with one another. George leaned over and into me, and I put both of my arms over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. As he lifted my buttocks with both of his hands, I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. Then he stepped into the wall trapping me against it as he put his kaçak bahis two loving arms around my waist[LaJS1] .

I eased his burden by locking my arms behind his neck and squeezing his waist very tightly with my thighs, carrying a little bit of my own weight. I was able to move up and down accentuating the wonderful fluid motion of our bodies moving together in unison. Linked since George had taken the opportunity to slide his beautiful hard but gently rounded penis inside of me before he picked me up Joining us together as a sensuous new creature, Geosa or perhaps Lirge.

Holding me so tightly, my face to his face, his lips to my lips, I kissed him so very deeply and passionately as he was moving both of us up and down. His hard penis inside my wetness, alternately compressing and then stretching out my most sensitive of flesh with his most sensitive tissues. George started my erotic ride quite slowly and gradually increased his speed and the force of each thrust as he decreased the time interval between each delicious thrust inside of my rapidly warming, expanding, tingling, happy, vagina.

This was a real physical workout for him as he was alternately bending and straightening both of his legs to thrust into me while simultaneously wiggling his hips just a little to add a very nice sideward motion to make certain that I was enjoying every bit of the part of him that was inside of me. After three or four minutes of action I was really feeling good, but we had to switch. He was starting to slow down a little bit. Nothing great lasts forever. Leaning against that unfinished wall helped my brother last longer.

Without removing his penis from its home inside of his sister, George shifted a tad pushing his right kidney firmly into my left buttock and thigh while helping me place my right leg along his left. He bent his knees a little bit as I just barely touched my toes on the floor. Relieving him of the burden of supporting most of my weight allowed him to increase his tempo again, he started fucking me harder. Kissing me and gently biting me on my shoulder.

Soon George was thrusting very hard with his penis very deep inside of me, and as he did he was rubbing his pubic bone enticingly up and down across my swollen and tingly mound of Venus and the blood-filled nerve filled wishbone that is my clitoris with each pounding thrust. It was just so very delicious and I was getting so very close to an orgasm. He stared into my eye with lust and pure love for me as he held me so… So very tightly to him and continued to thrust over and over, harder and harder into me.

Then it came. I came. I came very hard from the stimulation that he was providing. My loving brother held me his sweet sister so very tight as my eyes rolled back and I saw blindingly bright lights projected behind my eyeballs while I tried hard to keep my balance. I need not have bothered with that. George would never, ever, let me fall. He held me so very tightly crushing my body into his while at the same time not squeezing me too hard. Embracing me as I kissed him and reveled in the skillful way in which he made my body react.

Simultaneous orgasms do not happen by happenstance. Having forty-one years of experience with your lover gives you an incredible level of insight into his abilities, tendancies and proclivities. I learned George’s precursors to orgasm long ago, I learned to reach a plateau right on the edge and then to hold off until he caught up with me, because it is fun timing it together. Today George was the leader, and he held off until my orgasm arrived. Then as the spasms of my ring muscles gripped him hard he came with me.

I stood in a state of pure glee upon one leg, my back leaning against the unfinished wall of the great room in our soon to be completed new home. My wonderful big brother’s semen was mixed with my vaginal secretions and his lovely semi-hard penis was still inside of me. As I looked all around the penthouse and outside at the lights of the city I heard ole Sachmo, the great Louie Armstrong’s voice in my head…

“I see skies of blue

And clouds of white

The bright blessed day the dark sacred night

And I think to myself, ‘what a wonderful world””

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