Family Ties

I raised her own mic and then kissed her, gently at first, but with growing heat and desire.

She moaned and leaned into me when I cupped her breast through her sweater. My thumb brushed the hard nub of her nipple, which made her gasp.

I grinned and sat back. She said something I couldn’t hear, so I gestured to her mic and pulled my own back down.

“I like flying private,” she repeated.

“Even when the pilot kisses you?”

“The headsets get in the way, though. So do sweaters and bras.”

“Yes, they do, Mr. Naughty.

“You could take them off,” I suggested.

“That’s okay. I can wait.”

She rolled her eyes.

“So, anything else you want to know about camp?”

“Did you ever… you know… get… um… excited?”

“All the time!” I laughed. “I was the king of hiding a sudden hard-on.

Remember I told you I called my dick ‘treacherous organ’? Well, that’s why.”

“And I jerked off a lot.” Her eyes widened in surprise, so I nodded. “I’m still like that. I have a really high sex drive.”

“Even when you’re dating someone? I mean, someone you’re actually…

you know… sleeping with.

She blushed at the compliment. “But we haven’t even…”

“Maybe not in real life,” I said, “but we have in my head. Lots. You’re a total nympho in my fantasies.”

“I’m gonna kill Wren for using that word,” she said under her breath.

“Because it isn’t nice.”

“I don’t like any of ’em.”

“Tramp. Slut. Whore.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Society has some really screwed-up notions about women who like sex.”

“If a man has sex a lot, he’s a stud.

“Sort of. I mean… it just is. Women aren’t like men.”

I snorted derisively. “Whoever told you that is an idiot.”

“That’s a lot of people,” she muttered.

“Yeah, well, it’s a dumb idea. Women can like sex as much as men. But even then, everyone’s different. Some people like it a lot—yours truly—and some not so much. But sex isn’t bad by itself, as long as it’s consensual. I mean, it’s just… sex.

“But… it’s more than that. It’s love. It’s the union of a man and a woman.”

“Okay, now you’re spouting Catholic dogma at me.”

“Yes, you are,” I said without heat.

Atlanta Center saved us before the discussion could turn into a full-blown argument. The controller called and advised me of traffic at my ten o’clock. I turned serious immediately, and Christy knew enough to let me fly the plane instead of continuing to argue.