In the cockpit of the bird.”

I was skeptical as to whether we really could do it in the cockpit of the SR71, but we managed. It was a tight fit—in more ways than one. There is very little room for my thighs beside his on the seat as he sat in the driver’s seat and I faced him and lowered my ass on his rod. In addition to that, his dick was so thick that this was a tight fit in my ass as well.

I pole danced for a short while, sliding up and down his pole, but then he took control. He lifted my legs up around and behind him onto the cowling of the plane behind the cockpit, with me leaning my back against the instrument panel, and he rode my ass hard in deep upward thrusts that had the jet rocking back and forth on its wheels.

This was every bit as good a fuck as I had been getting in Bangkok.

I learned that my well-hung and horny airman technician's name was Pete. I didn't learn this because he said anything to me that night. He, in fact, left me bent over the cowling behind the cockpit of the SR71 and gasping for air that night, never having identified himself.

But he apparently knew my name, as I was to learn later.

I was fascinated with the medieval castles that could be found in ruins on the small Pacific island. Okinawa had long been real estate that both China and Japan had contended for and, in turn, had forcibly occupied. But the castles of Okinawa were eerily similar to those of medieval Western Europe even though those two cultures apparently never made contact. Before I left the island on my short tour there, I wanted to explore those castles, and the opportunity arose when the Kadena AFB Outing Club posted a tour of one of the best-preserved castles near Bolo Point, on the island's west coast, nearly at the halfway point from north to south.

I didn't think anything of it when the tour leader called me to tell me there needed to be a change in the tour date. I didn't even think twice when he went out of his way to ensure that I could go on the tour on the new date and time.

On the appointed day, I appeared at the recreation building in the Quonset hut near the Koza City Gate Number Two to the air base.

That's when I got my surprise. The tour guide was Pete, the guy who had flown me a couple of weeks earlier in the cockpit of the SR71. He was even hunkier in the daylight than he had been in the airplane hangar late at night.

He introduced himself to me quite politely, acting like he hadn't known me already in the biblical sense, and told me it would be just the two of us riding out to Bolo Point in his jeep—that the rest of the hikers would meet us at the castle.

It was a good thing we took the jeep, because the castle was on top of a craggy outcropping accessible only by a narrow track through a sugar cane field. There weren't any other vehicles on the small cleared apron in front of the castle gate when we arrived; nor were there any other tour takers in evidence—or anyone else for that matter. This was really