Halfway, WA

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This is my response to a letter from my old boyfriend Doug's current girlfriend. Asking me to write about him and our time together years ago.
Halfway, WA
Hi Laura,
I don't write stories for other people. My father taught me that. He built, rebuilt, and did civil conversions on airplanes as a vocation, and an obsession. In point of fact, my screen name comes from the very first airplane that I ever owned. Back when I was three-years-old he titled an Avro Anson that he acquired at a disposals auction In my name.
He always had a plan, and everything that he did always fit together just right. Once things were up and running and the system worked right if a potential buyer preferred a change dad would usually alter it to specification. But the alteration was done on a system that functioned perfectly beforehand. It just worked out a lot better than trying to put a whole bunch of pieces that weren't necessarily fully compatible together.
But, Laura, I'm writing this because I'm afraid that I might be the "Sheila," you refer to. See here's the situation: David, that's your David isn't it? Ole Dave was taking one of our "Heritage Flights." I loved working that end of the business. It was really fun, we used historic airplanes that were a significant part of our history. Back then it was a sweet Vickers Viastra. We did everything wearing period dress, using antique cars and operating flights from old airports and terminal buildings that we'd had restored to past glory.
The whole operation was based out of Forrest out on the Nullabor Plain. A spot in the desert that wasn't really so much of a place as it was a dot on a map. There's an old "Airways" hotel with an attached dining hall, next door to a big hangar and fuel depot alongside a railway siding. A few restored fettlers cabins now rented to guests sit opposite the siding. Before we took it over it was just a fueling stop for general aviation traffic and it still is albeit with better accommodations.
But West Australian Airways built the field back in the day when the planes flying between Perth in Adelaide flew only in daylight and couldn't make the whole 1450 mile — and it was statute miles back then — distance in a day. They stopped for the night and were tweaked and refueled. Flying was for the well-heeled, a hotel was built there so that passengers could have a nice dinner, play badminton, have a shower, and sleep in a nice room. Then continue on their journey in the morning when it was light.
It was fate that brought us together. Well, if you can call a series of dumb errors fate. David was a go-getter. He wasn't truly interested in the whole "reenactment sort of thing." But for an afternoon he found it rather fascinating. I myself was traveling in style wearing a period dress. The twin engine Vickers was a lovely 1920's era biplane. Airways' first all-metal airplane in fact. I was to take over management of my employer's operation of the hotel for the next six months.
It was a pretty nice posting for somebody in my position as I knew all of the pilots who flew the route, the cabin attendants and some of the many "frequent flyers" who came out to the desert for a weekend "away from it all." David's employer at the time had apparently booked the flight through some ignorant ass of a travel agent. Someone who neither knew of our operation nor read the fine print. Because they bought him a ticket via Forrest departing Adelaide on Tuesday morning and arriving Perth on Friday afternoon.
Owing to the fact that there were only a dozen luxury wicker seats on each Viastra and that the error wasn't noticed until we landed for the evening, he asked me "just how far out of town the airport was." Dave was the only passenger who didn't expect to get off of the airplane and enjoy a couple of days "way out in the middle of nowhere." Of course, like all the others his ticket included two days of dining and lodging as if he were Lord Morris.
There wasn't really any choice but to stay. Since his company wouldn't pay to charter him a duplicate flight that would get him into Perth on Wednesday morning for his meeting, they certainly wouldn't pay to get him home either. He wanted to exchange the Friday ticket for an eastbound flight, but we were booked in advance for the next three months. He just kind of had to grin and bear it and miss the meeting that his boss had wanted him to attend. I can say that he took it much better than I would have.
He finished his phone calls, where his company's travel department carefully explained to him how it was his fault that they hadn't done their job. Then, being the only two unaccompanied people on this particular trip, we shared a table, and had a nice dinner where we continued a conversation we had started on the flight. We walked along the edge of the field looking up at the clear desert sky. He wound up not needing that very nice bedroom that had been booked for him.
He was younger than I, no virgin but not as experienced, and a little bit shy. But he had wonderful stamina in bed. Dave was different from all of the other people in my social set. Meaning work-mates, charting those two groups didn't form a Venn-diagram, just two concentric circles. The other gals who worked for us were pretty much as open and as adventurous as I was. It didn't take any arm-twisting at all to get him to join in a three-way with one of them the next day.
There were some hard feelings on Thursday afternoon. Not between David and I, but between him and his job, or should I say his now former boss. Of course the bastard wouldn't take any responsibility for the rat-fuck. Dave didn't ask me too, but he looked so dejected that after his last, well, next to last, phone call to his office, I asked my dad if we can use somebody with his talents.
Perhaps at this time I should mention that dad owns the company. Okay that's not strictly speaking true, he owns nearly all of the issued shares of the holding company that holds all of the issued shares of this firm. A concern that my older sister is the Managing Director of. David thought it would be a nice change of pace, so he agreed to try it out for six months. Which was the duration for which I was posted. We called the spot "Halfway." Well, when we wen't calling it three-way, four-way, or five-way. What happens in the desert stays in the desert, and that's not just in Nevada.
David had never been in a three-way with a girl and another guy. So I got to check that one off of his "bucket list" a few days after he hired on. He rather enjoyed buggering me while I was sucking some Bruce off. Or getting blown himself as I got reamed, but really, what sorta bloke wouldn't? Have you guys ever done that? I have to tell you, that if you haven't you're missing out on one of the great experiences that this life has to offer. Namely having two studs ramming you together from both ends and then withdrawing and stretching you out at the same time.
Well of course that's not the only way that Bruce, Bruce, and Sheila can do it. A few days later we tried out a sandwich. With me in the middle of course. Something else you should definitely try if you haven't already. Being pressed together like that is pure heaven. At first it was a delicate situation, because like so many he had been raised to believe that if two swords ever came together, even momentarily, the Earth might fall out of its orbit. Then an inexplicable thing happened: two foreskins stroked against one another during the in-and-out and all life on Earth didn't end.
Of course each day two planes met at Halfway. Each flight had two pilots and one hostess and most of the pilots were guys, so the count was unbalanced. Most of the guys were either unattached or their wives were cool with them getting a little strange — well not really all that strange because over time I'd gone down on most of their wives and they've done the same for me — while they were in the desert. So it was that maybe a week after our first two-way we had a three-way.
I have to tell you that David's athleticism and his willingness to play the game at any position are definite assets. He was equally adept at straddling my face and pushing it down my throat to tickle my tonsils, or taking one of the two other positions. He had plenty of strength to hold me on top of him while he penetrated me from behind and another guy did me from the front. I mean if you think about it logically, we really wouldn't have all of those nice nerve endings and everything wouldn't fit together so well, if we weren't meant to be doing it. Right?
Lots of times the three-way was me, him, and a girl; the four-way was me, him, and two girls. Lots of times we did a three with another guy, or a four with two other guys. There are like a hundred different ways that all the different positions can work out. He loosened up a whole lot during that time. I mean, he was a happy carpet-muncher the first time we ever did it. And he was happy to do it with the other gals who came through. And of course, since we were doing everything in a group setting it all got to be a little bit sticky, not that there's anything wrong with that.
I mean licking pussy is licking pussy, even if the pussy has just taken a load. For some reason, I have found that it's always easier for guys to start with their own and work from that point. I mean there's nothing wrong with it. I'm more than happy to let guys come in my mouth and swallow. So there shouldn't be anything wrong with that guy removing his own spunk from the place that he left it. If I'm letting him make a deposit inside of me as a pal of ours is dumping another load down my gullet, well, that's not a big deal either.
David enjoyed watching me get it on with the other girls. So we took baby steps. First, a little three-way mutual masturbation. Then me on my knees with both of their magic wands in my mouth. Me folding foreskin over another foreskin while kissing and licking both heads. Yeah, pretty soon he came around and became just another one of us crazy fuckers. Turnabout has always been fair play in my book. I'm happy to do most anything for a guy or girl who wants to watch me, So, I don't think there's anything wrong with my asking either.
I mean we all have free will, and we can all say "no" — although that is far less fun than saying "yes" — what usually happens is saying "not right now" instead of "no." It's acclimation, getting used to, and feeling comfortable in the situation, getting comfortable with yourself and understanding that all of that crap that society likes to dump on you … It's just their way of controlling you and keeping you from being happy and content because then you might not listen to "them."
What control they have if they control our physical bodies. We … We're all just a bunch of lovable reprobates. We cared about each other and were willing to do just about anything with anyone so long as it was agreed upon, for our mutual enjoyment, and nobody got hurt.
So anyway, I just thought I'd write this little letter to you, Laura. And let you know what a wonderful experience I had for those six months with Dave in the desert. How I miss him right now. I mean, the opportunity I had to go set things up in Honduras was a terrific career opportunity, and I pretty much understood why he didn't want to leave Halfway. We keep in touch by e-mail and I still get paper letters and cards from him — the anachronism from our time together rubbed off well — but I'm sure he tells you that.
Dad is most pleased, he says that Dave has been the best Residence Manager he's ever had — better than his own daughter in fact — he figures that David will eventually retire from there, never going anywhere else, never wanting to go anywhere else. I'm just happy that he's with you and that right now he has somebody steady. He isn't relying upon people coming through the place with us having to suspend tourist operations due to the pandemic. It's not nearly so much fun just going out to pump avgas for the itinerants.
Yeah, Dave's a great guy. It might have been different but I just don't have it in me to settle down in one place and stay there forever …
Hold it, it says "Doug" here …
Never mind, different guy, Doug was in Rimouski.

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