Hold my beer, Carlos Santana

I recently found myself on a 6-day trip to the Dominican Republic. I was flying with a good friend of mine and it’s usually trouble when we get together. The last time we were on a long trip together, we got so drunk I had to be reminded of doing donuts in our rental car in the middle of an intersection in a driving blizzard… In Canada.

We checked into our all-inclusive resort near Santo Domingo and headed to the bar. After a little research, we discovered there was a casino down the street with shuttle service that would come pick us up. I asked the lady on the phone if they had live poker and they did. I immediately knew I wouldn’t be seeing much of my crew for the rest of the trip. 

We made our way to the casino and I bought in and found my seat at the poker table. For 2 years during flight training and the time following, poker was my only form of income. I ran a game in college and got really good at it. I never drink while playing poker. I used to and realized it often cost me a lot of money. Had it not been for this simple fact, the trip could have gone completely different.

I quickly established myself as someone not to fuck with at the poker table. I bought in for around $200US and cashed out just over $1000 4 hours later. This was repeated the next 2 nights. The level of play was just horrible. Tuesday night, the casino hosted a tournament. I finished 2^nd out of 42. I should have finished first. I was far better than anyone there. The final hand came down like this. The blinds were 10,000/20,000 and I was on the button, also the small blind. I was the small stack by about 50,000 and had about 300K in front of me. I looked down at KJ in the pocket and raised it to 80,000. My opponent called. The flop was King, Ace, Jack, giving me 2 pair. My opponent made a minimum bet of 20,000 and I moved all in. He immediately called and turned over A9. The turn was a blank, helping neither one of us, and the river was a 9, giving him a better 2 pair and winning him the tournament. I congratulated my opponent, collected my winnings, posed for a couple of pictures and was even asked for my autograph… Twice! Regardless of my second place finish, we needed to celebrate!

Panchito had been driving us back and forth from the hotel to the casino the last few nights. This trip would be different. We found Panchito at the casino bar drinking a Presidente, the national beer of the DR, and told him we needed a strip club, now, if not sooner. He downed his cerveza and we headed for the door. We jumped in the van and headed west, out of town. We soon rolled up to this joint and it had the appearance of a compound. It had a high wall around it with a small gate big enough for a single person. The wall had a huge pink heart on a black background. It was about 2:30 in the morning.

We walked through the gate into a large courtyard with an unoccupied pool. It reminded me of one of those places that MTV would film from at spring break. There was a bar by the pool and some sort of implements nearby, probably some sort of sexual device, which I was not yet privy to. Immediately to my left were 2 guys making out with a couple of hookers. I gave them a hello that went unreturned and made my way toward the door. We passed a set of steps that led upstairs to 3 “bedrooms.” The bar was small, hot and had a faint smell of mildew. We didn’t receive the warm welcome that I had grown accustomed to upon entering places of this sort. The walls were lined with about 8 girls that had obviously had a busy night. To the left was a stripper pole that wasn’t being used. That was about to change, if I had anything to do with it! We ordered Presidentes, Patron shots and a girl for each of us, even one for the flight attendant. 3 girls reluctantly made their way over and sat next to us. We took some shots and attempted small talk with the hookers. I was quickly getting bored. I dared our flight attendant to start dancing on the pole and she jumped up there like it was her fucking job. You should’ve seen the shit she was doing to that pole.

Our arrival had drawn the attention of the local constabulary and before I knew it, there were 8 cops, not one of them over 22, standing in the doorway, doing their best not to gawk at our flight attendant, who was now vigorously dry humping the pole. I started BS-ing with the cops and asked the “chief” if I could rent his handcuffs for a little while. He agreed after he assured me he had the key. I hid the handcuffs in the waistband of my shorts and sexily danced toward my flight attendant while slowly unbuttoning my shirt. She grabbed me and pulled me onstage. Before she knew what the fuck was going on, she had been handcuffed securely to the pole. In the meantime, I stepped outside for a smoke and low and behold, what did I find? A shiny red motorcycle with "POLICIA NACIONAL" written prominently on the gas tank!

I stood outside the bar, smoking my cigarette and contemplating my next move. I nervously looked back at the door of the bar and all of the cops had made their way inside to watch the action. I could hear several of them hollering. It was now or never. Fuck it! You only live once. I straddled the bike, put my beer in the handlebars and flipped on the starter. I pulled out the kick-start and to my surprise it fired right up!! I slipped it into gear, let out the clutch and… Fuck! Stalled it. I pulled the clutch again, kicked it, let out the clutch, slowly this time, and I was off!! I sped down the road about a quarter mile, shifting gears, to the first break in the median. I turned around and sped back toward the bar. By this time, the whole squad and half the girls were outside flagging me down. Fuck ‘em! I flew passed them to the next break in the median and turned around again, back toward the bar. This was awesome! I hadn’t been on a bike in years! By this time, 4 of the cops were in the middle of the boulevard, forming a human roadblock. The gig was up. I was caught. I slowed the bike and pulled back into the parking lot; ready to receive whatever punishment they were going to deliver. The chief grabbed the handlebars and in Spanish, said, “What the hell are you doing? It’s almost out of gas!” Almost out of gas, I thought!? Holy shit! I thought I was going to jail for sure. “Here buddy, here’s $10, go buy some gas and let me take it for another spin.” He agreed. After a couple more laps, I came back and bullshitted with the guys for 15 minutes or so. I met the cops, one of which was named Carlos Santana. “Here, Carlos Santana. Hold my beer while I go for another spin.” I grabbed one of the girls, threw her on the back and we rode off.

Friends For Life

I was in Egypt in late 2010 for 2 weeks. This was prior to the Mubarak uprising and the country seemed fairly stable. I had the privilege of flying a woman and her granddaughter on their yearly trip. I took over the flight in Reykjavik, Iceland and landed in Cairo 5 and a half hours later. The passenger and crew were staying at the same hotel, something I’ve never been fond of. It’s always a little disconcerting for the passengers to see the flight crew out of the plane and in a more relaxed atmosphere. As it turned out, we never crossed paths so it wasn’t a big deal. With these passengers, I wouldn’t have cared anyway. They were really nice, having a great time together and easy to get along with. I was cleared for a low pass over the pyramids on our way into Cairo and they both came up to the cockpit for a better view. I felt it thoroughly impressed them and at that point, could probably do no wrong.

We bid farewell to the passengers, cleaned the plane and fixed the obligatory cocktail. This being a Muslim country, I knew our drinking options would be few and far between outside our Western hotel. Had to get ‘em while we could. After a lengthy time clearing customs, we were finally on our way to the hotel. None of us had ever been to Egypt and we were all excited, especially after having just flown over the pyramids, one of the 7 wonders of the world.

Flying over the Pyramids

We checked in and I immediately went to the concierge desk to arrange a tour guide. My flight attendant was very gung ho to see the sights as well and was willing to throw down some cash to have an unforgettable experience. I was in agreement.  The next morning, our own van and our tour guide, Sameh, met us bright and early. We called him, Sammy. This kid was about 30-years old and knew everything you’d want to know and more about Egypt. He also spoke fairly good English. He was the perfect guide. Gave us only as much info as we could handle and didn’t bore us with bullshit. He took us to the Egyptian Museum where we saw sarcophaguses, King Tut’s golden headdress and some amazing relics from antiquity. This place was amazing. I could have spent a week there. Unfortunately, we only had 4 days. We hustled through the constant Cairo gridlock and made our way to Giza and the pyramids.  What a joke this place was. I mean, they’re a must see, but the panhandlers and salesmen hocking their wares are relentless. They try their best to break you down, and it usually works. But I’m no sucker. A quick lesson. When negotiating, always settle on a price in your head that is AT LEAST half of what their offering price is. When they come down closer to your price, you go lower. They will quickly see how it is going and will be willing to immediately be at your original price. For instance, if you’re being offered a shitty souvenir for $10, offer $4. When he counters at $7, hem and haw and say, “you know what? After looking closer, it’s really only worth about $2 to me.” You’ll never pay more than $4. Thank me later.

 So we went to the pyramids and got a great tour from Sameh, often interrupted by shills trying to rent us a camel or take a picture with a turban on our head. Ok, so I fell for this one. I mean, how can you pass up an opportunity to get a picture taken on a camel in front of the Sphinx with a God damned towel on your head? You can’t! I mean real Lawrence of Arabia shit. We did the pyramid tours, saw the Sphinx and passed by the KFC and Pizza Hut just outside the gate on our way out. Ridiculous.

The next day, we hired Sameh and the van again to take us to Alexandria. Well worth the trip. This Mediterranean town in Northern Egypt is completely different than Cairo. We toured the catacombs and saw the Library of Alexandria, aka, Indiana Jones’ playground. Every book relating to Egypt or any other ancient civilization for that matter is contained in this ultra-modern library. We bought some souvenirs and split back to Cairo. On our way out of town, I snapped a random picture of a Christian Coptic church on the outskirts of town. 3 months later, it was fire bombed by Muslim extremists, killing 26.

2 days later, we flew our passengers to Luxor, in the middle of the country and where I had an experience that I will never forget for the rest of my life. Sameh had a friend who was a tour guide in Luxor so we hooked up with him to see all the sights that Luxor had to offer. We saw the Valley of the King’s and I stood in Ramses’ and Tutankhamen’s tombs. We visited the Temple of Hatshepsut, the only female Pharaoh of Egypt; we stood in front of The Luxor Temple, which is adorned on one side by a huge obolisque.  It seems that another one on the other side of the entry would make the Temple completely symmetrical, and in fact, there used to be a matching obolisque. When Napoleon visited Egypt, he admired it so much that is was given to him. It now stands in Concorde Square in Paris. We visited the Karnack Temple and admired its amazing carvings.

That night, I perused the gift shop at the hotel and quickly struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper. He was a late 20-something Christian man, one of only about 10% of the population of Egypt. We hit it off and he invited me to come meet his friends for tea after he got off work, around 9. I accepted.  I met Saren, the shopkeeper in the lobby at 9 and we walked outside to the parking lot where he had his motorcycle parked. He told me to jump on the back on hang on… Ehh… Okay. Off we went.

We rolled up to he and his friends’ teashop and we went in the back where a bunch of guys of about the same age were sitting on the grass in a circle of chairs, smoking Hookahs and drinking strong tea. I was introduced to them all, each of them Christians and they were proud for me to know it. They were overly friendly and accommodating. This place kind of seemed a Christian sanctuary in a sea of Muslims. It was for them, at least. Saren introduced me to his best friend Menah, whose father was the priest of the local monastery. One guy was real curious about US immigration. When I asked him about his curiosity, he said his wife was living in the US and was pregnant. He wanted to know what he had to do to be with his wife and child. He had been denied a visa several times. I didn’t have an answer for him. Menah asked me what my plans were for the following day. “I’ve got a great umbrella next to the Nile that I plan in sitting in all day”, I said. He laughed and asked if I’d like to come meet his father and see his monastery. I was a little leery, but accepted his invitation. He said he had to work and asked if we could go after he got off around 5:30. “Fine!” I said. I really didn’t want to go.

The next day, I sat on the banks of the Nile, admiring the beauty around me. It was a perfect day, sunny and almost cool. I drank pina coladas that the bartender kept putting increasingly less alcohol in. It was starting to become a Mexican standoff. If I’m paying 8 bucks a drink, there sure as hell better be some booze in it and don’t try to regulate my intake, asshole. As I sipped my drink, I contemplated an excuse to get out of going to see Menah’s Pops and his monastery. After a while, Joe, the guy I was flying with, came over and had a drink with me. I told him my dilemma and he said I should just stay in my room and not meet him. We were here for 2 more days. I didn’t want to have to evade him for that long. I ran into Saren around 3 and he told me Menah was really looking forward to me meeting his father and he’d be here straight from work. Well shit. I said I’d go… Better stick to my word. 

Sure enough, Menah was in the lobby right at 5:45. He said Saren really wanted to go as well so we waited for him to close the shop and headed out. The monastery was on the opposite side of the Nile from the city, which meant driving a good distance South to the only bridge to the other side. We passed the Karnack Temple, some new excavations right in the middle of town, the Luxor Temple and several Souks and Bazaar’s. We made our way out of town and by the time we reached the bridge, the sun was beginning to set. We crossed the bridge and I looked up the river to see several small fishing boats and a couple of Nile River cruise ships moored on the side. THIS was Egypt, an extremely fertile valley, bordered on each side by the vastness of the Sahara Desert. The Nile was definitely God’s gift to Egypt. Without it, Egypt and Sudan would be a wasteland. We turned north and paralleled the river on the west side. It was getting dark. We had been in the car for about 45 minutes and I was beginning to wonder where we were going.

The city soon gave way to a rural landscape interspersed by small settlements, farms and fields. It was pitch dark and Menah was driving. I suggested he turn his headlights on and they both turned and gave me a puzzled look. I quickly realized, when an oncoming car suddenly flashed us, that they don’t use their headlights at night in Egypt. Who knew? My wonder turned to slight worry as another 30 or 45 minutes passed. I was, after all, an American in a Muslim country. My only consolation was that these guys, whom I felt were my friends, were Christians. I’ve never held any ill will toward Muslims, even during 9/11, but given our current situation, had these guys been Muslims, I would have definitely wanted to get out of the car. I mean, we were in the middle of fucking nowhere.

After growing increasingly uncomfortable, I saw a light in the distance and Menah said we were almost there. Finally! We pulled off the highway and drove about a half mile on a dirt road up to the Monastery. It was surrounded by an 8-foot mud wall and resembled an adobe church one might see in Santa Fe. We pulled through the gate and were greeted by several mangy dogs and some men sitting outside the front door drinking tea. I was introduced to everyone and we made our way inside the church. Menah and Saren removed their shoes once inside and I followed suit. They both kneeled before the alter and said a prayer while I waited in the back. The church was empty, apart from the 3 of us. After paying their respects, I asked Saren if we would be meeting his father, as I was growing somewhat impatient after the long drive. He assured me we would and we made our way out of the church and walked through the gate into the backfields.

We walked along an irrigation ditch for several hundred yards in the dark. The moon was just starting to rise, providing just enough light to make out outlines, but nothing more than that. I could hear water flowing but couldn’t identify its source through the darkness and tall reeds on either side of the small levee we were walking on. Soon I could hear voices ahead. “We’re almost there,” Menah said. We reached an intersection of 2 levees and in the middle were 3 men. One of them, Menah’s father, was sitting in a homemade wicker chair under a store bought umbrella. The other 2 were sitting on the ground smoking and drinking tea. They were obviously tired from a long days work.

It was a scene reminiscent of Pharonic times. I felt like I was 2,000 years in the past. As we approached, the 3 men stood up. Menah’s father walked toward us with outstretched arms and a warm smile. He embraced his son and his best friend as a loving father would. He then turned to me and gave me the same embrace and told his son in Egyptian that he was blessed to have us there. Menah’s father was a very jovial little man, reminding me not entirely of Santa Clause. He had a big, full gray beard and a potbelly. He was wearing a traditional gown that men of this part of the world wear. He leaned back, put his fists on his hips and looked us over with a big smile on his face. He obviously hadn’t seen his son in some time.

We sat down on the levee and Menah’s father sat next to me. He seemed more interested in his foreign guest than he did his own son. Menah didn’t seem to care. For him, it was show and tell. His father asked me many questions about the US and myself, all of which was roughly translated by Menah. He asked me if I’d like to see some of his pictures. Of course I did! I was immediately snapped back to the reality of 2010, when his father produced an iphone from his pocket and began showing me pictures of his daughter’s recent wedding, which he had officiated. Even in translation, I don’t think he understood why I was laughing when he pulled his phone out of his pocket. We looked at some more pictures and then his father asked me if I was hungry. I was, but told him no thanked him as I was suspicious of the offerings. He said he’d just made some fresh goat cheese and insisted I try it. Fine… I do love goat cheese.

We walked back along the levee to his barn and went inside through the 2 large barn doors. Inside was a menagerie of animals and I told him it reminded me of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. It absolutely did. I think it impressed him. There were 2 white ducks that greeted us as we walked up and once inside, there were several stalls, one containing an donkey, a calf, several goats a horse and a newborn foal. We went into a side room that had a couch and the floors were covered with very nice silk rugs. He lit a gas lamp and the 3 of us sat on the couch while Menah’s father disappeared into a back room. I assumed there was no electricity. He came back a few moments later with a plate of crumbly, white cheese and a fork. I was a little hesitant, which brought a nervous snicker from the guys. I lifted a bite to my mouth and it was cold and probably the best cheese I have ever tasted. It was fantastic! This simple offering meant so much to me. I finished the plate and graciously returned it to Menah’s father, who hadn’t quit smiling since we got there. After some small talk, we said our goodbyes and made our way back to the car to return to Luxor. On the return trip, I reflected on my trip and my apprehension on going in the first place. The sight of a checkpoint ahead and Saren and Menah’s obvious discomfort soon interrupted my thoughts.

Saren, the better English speaker told me not to worry. Well shit, why would I? This immediately made me worry. These guys, Christians, were the minority in their own country. We pulled up and were approached by 3 guards with Kalashnikovs. They asked us all to get out of the car. The senior officer asked me in English what I was doing with these men. I told him they were my friends and where we had been. He gave a huff and walked off. He had us stand behind the car while he searched it. The other 2 kept their eyes trained on us. After a very thorough search, he said some words to Menah and Saren, which they would never tell me what was said, and we were released. I will always wonder what that guard said to them. I could sense a sort of uneasiness that wasn’t there before the search. We arrived back at the hotel around 9:30. I bid farewell to the guys, lit a cigarette and watched them drive off into the night, hopeful we would cross paths again one day.

This was one of those experiences that few people will ever have in their lives. I was transported, for a few moments to a time that I will never know. Things move slowly in this part of the world. I’m thankful I was able to slow down with it and take it all in. And I knew I had made 2 new friends for life. 

South Pacific Shit Show

I was recently on a trip to the South Pacific. The trip started in Hawaii, included several stops in some VERY tropical, VERY desolate islands. Procedurally speaking, these were some very difficult places to fly to. But who cares about that? Let's get down to the good stuff.

We landed in Sai Pan on a Saturday morning and had 30 hours on the ground. Plenty of time to get into some good trouble. After unloading the baggage, seeing the passengers off and cleaning the plane, our flight attendant fixed us all a cocktail and we headed toward customs. The customs officer was an American, as Sai Pan is a US territory. Who knew? He was very helpful in recommending some fun places that shouldn't be missed during our short visit. He was obviously bored with living in this place. 

View from my room in Sai Pan

We arrived at the hotel and agreed to lobby in 10 minutes. I went upstairs, unpacked, put on some board shorts and a t-shirt and headed to the bar. The bartender made me a fantastic Mai-Tai and I had 2 more. Soon, the crew arrived... They're always late, and joined me for cocktails. We prodded the bartender for more info as our night began to take shape. I guess he took one look at us knew what we were looking for. He recommended a joint called Shenanigans, of all places. We had one more drink a piece and headed out. As our destination was only a few blocks away, we opted to walk. We passed by small souvenir shops selling the normal bullshit, a few decent-looking western-themed restaurants intertwined by "massage parlors" with the girls standing on the street soliciting passersby, in what could only be described as Sai Pan's pitiful offering of a red light district. We trekked onward.

We had Shenanigans in sight and human Froggered the busy street to the other side. We dealt with the door guy and stepped inside the Devil's playground. We were quickly approached by several local whores and escorted to a table. The best in the house. We passed several tables of locals who sneered at our elite status. We were seated, guy-girl-guy-girl and I quickly had a rough hand in my pants, grabbing my unimpressed cock. The drinks started to flow. After an hour or so, an aggressive little Asian slut came over and grabbed my hand and pulled me onstage. She was helped by a large stripper and my hands were tightly tied around the pole as the smaller one undid my shorts and pulled them down around my ankles. I was sans underwear. There was a roaring applause as a blindfold was secured around my head. The next thing I know, my ass was being slapped so fucking hard that I had a bruise for 4 days. I wanted to kill that bitch, but nonetheless, my friends got good pictures and I mustered a smile and a pretty good tip!

We continued to get shitfaced and were given our choice as to what lady we would like to take home. I couldn't agree on a price and went home empty handed. Can't say the same for my other crew members. My flight attendant and I were left to make it back to the hotel on our own. We stopped in an ice cream shop were she was accosted by a group of drunken Japanese guys. They thought she was Liv Tyler. She's a shoe in for her. Her complete Doppleganger. We took some pictures with the guys, got our ice cream and split to the hotel. 

The next morning, I hit the beach early and soon found myself talking to 2 Austrian girls. They invited me out with them that night but since we were leaving that afternoon, we settled on being Facebook friends. I'll catch up with them in Europe. I love my life!! 

We lobbied that afternoon to go to the airport. Our next stop... The Philippines. Get ready for this!

We landed at Subic Bay, Philippines, after dropping the passengers off in Manila. The plane was clean so all we had to do was fix a drink for the road and head to the hotel. The place we showed up at was a complete shit hole. We refused to stay there and drove around to find better accommodations, which was really pissing me off. We had serious partying to do on a truncated time schedule. We were only here for 3 days. We found a slightly better shit hole and tossed our shit in the room and headed out. We went to a couple bars and then some guy told us we needed to go to a place called Olongopo. After a small warning as to what we were getting ourselves into by our cab driver, we were soon on our way to Olongopo. After about 20 minutes we rolled into what can only be described as Vegas' evil little brother, without all the gambling. There were "bars" called The Wet Spot, Rascals and AngelWitch. All from a bygone era when Clark Air Force Base at Subic Bay was full of U.S. servicemen looking to get their dicks wet with a nice little 16-year old Philippino. The base has been closed for a while, but no one told the working girls. We decided to eat and have a few drinks before really getting into it. 

We stepped into a recommended restaurant. It was busy and in the back they were having a kid's dance competition and the place was packed with families. This seemed strange, considering the "neighborhood." Nevertheless, we enjoyed the show. Something strange that we all started to notice was the alarmingly high number of middle aged and older men with young, YOUNG women on their arms. It was just accepted. Even in this family setting. These gross fuckers were everywhere. Sadly, I was about to join their ranks. 

We had been SCUBA diving all over the South Pacific and at this point in the trip, I was addicted. I had gotten my certification in college and had never dove since. Before we got into any trouble, I wanted to find out when and where I needed to be for the next day's dive. We found a dive shop next door to a really cool beachside hotel. I secured a spot on the boat for the next day and we collectively agreed that we needed to leave the roach motel we were currently in and relocate to this chic, Australian-owned beachside spot. They wanted $80US for their nicest room with a view of the bay... Sold!

We had another drink at the hotel bar and made our way in a tricycle (a motorized 3-wheeler with a bench seat on the back). We decided on a place called Rascal's, the newest of the seemingly endless selection of whore houses. We walked into a scene of about 12 girls dancing on stage that was reminiscent of a boat hull. All the girls had bikinis on, some were in costumes and all were attractive. I noticed a large net above the stage filled with ping pong balls but was immediately distracted by our waitress, a young Philippino that we soon nicknamed, "Yum Yum." There was a jug of ping pong balls on our table, rekindling my curiosity. The madam came over and introduced herself, a hottie in her early 40's named, Rose. I've always been attracted to older women. Rose explained to us the "rules" of the house while Yum Yum fixed us up with drinks. I queried her about the God damned ping pong balls and she explained that for every ball you throw up on stage, the girls get the equivalent of a quarter. I had to try. I watched 4 girls scramble for the ball I threw until one small girl finally fought it away from a taller girl. This was going to be fun. What about the net over the stage, I asked? Ohhh!! That one has a hundred balls and it costs $35US to pull the cord. I ran over and pulled it and a hundred ping pong balls fell onto the stage and every working girl in the joint went absolutely fucking nuts. They were chasing balls all over the damned place, under the bar, behind tables, behind the DJ booth. Fucking everywhere! It was the funniest sight you've ever seen in your life. That cord got pulled about 10 more times that night. We couldn't get enough of it. Before we knew it, every girl in the place was at our table. It got to the point that men would come in the place and leave because they couldn't get any attention. It was fucking awesome. We owned that place. And by the time we got our bill, we should have just bought it. It came out to the equivalent of $1200US. Those sons of bitches didn't tell us that the drinks for the girls were 3 times the price of our drinks. We were buying drinks for everyone, pulling the cord, throwing ping pong balls and paying bar fines, which I will soon explain. It was getting late and we were all horny. The way it works in this part of the world is that you have to pay what is called the "bar fine" in order to take the girls out of the bar. Then you negotiate whatever you want with the girl on your own. The bar fine is $35US per girl and a guy I met told me that the girls will never ask for anything. I didn't believe him. Nevertheless, I grabbed Rose, the mamasan, who assured me she wasn't on the "menu" and a crazy little slut named Angel. My crew each grabbed the girls of their liking and my flight attendant ended up with the bartender, a young man named Jeff, who had been taking great care of us all night. It was about 2 in the morning and the crew wanted to go to the club next door. I passed and got into a cab for the hotel with Rose and Angel. After all, I had a dive boat to catch in the morning. Within about 30 seconds, my shorts were around my ankles and Angel was giving me a blowjob while my hand was far down Rose's pants, playing with her clit. This continued for the 20-minute ride back to the hotel.

I sheepishly hustled through the lobby of the hotel with the girls in tow and up to my room. Our cloths were quickly off and we all decided to take a shower together. It was great! Hands were all over each other, dicks were in mouths, fingers in pussies, you name it. We got out, toweled off, I grabbed a rubber and we fucked for the next hour or so. These girls were great. They "fought" over me and we did just about every position known to man, my favorite being fucking Angel from behind while Rose licked my balls.

                                                                                 Angel


8:00 AM rolled around pretty quickly and I called the front desk for a cab. I sent the girls down ahead of me to save myself some embarrassment while I quickly packed in order to change hotels. I jumped into the cab the girls were waiting in and headed back toward Olongopo. My plan was to drop them back off at Rascal's, drop my bags off at our new hotel and then head to the dive shop. We arrived at Rascal's and I said goodbye to the girls and they got out. It was true! They didn't ask for a dime. I rolled down the window and called them back to the cab. I gave them each $40US and they seemed very pleased. Not bad, I thought. $150US for 2 girls for the night. I hardly felt like I'd paid for sex at all. It was great!!

I quickly dropped my bags at the hotel and made my way to the dive shop and checked in. I met another American and a goofy Canadian with more camera gear than you can imagine. I mean this guy had more shit hanging off of him than Superman. It was just ridiculous. I was hungover/still drunk and James, the American, quickly spotted it and asked how I felt. I felt so so but told him I felt great. He was cool, about my same age and we both made fun of the Canadian. We gathered our gear and made our way to the boat for the 15 minute journey to the dive site.

I got my shit on... slowly, and made my way to edge of the boat to listen to a brief, which I barely paid attention to. Soon, I found myself in the water, which was surprisingly cool and made me feel a little better. As we descended, my head began to ache. Soon we were diving around a wreck from WWII seeing some pretty cool fish and sites when I suddenly started feeling nauseas. We were at 30 meters. In my very limited diving experience, I'd never been told what to do if I needed to throw up. Do I take out my regulator? My first thought was what happened last time I threw up. I remembered immediately gasping for air after each heave. I would have to time it perfectly to keep from ingesting water. Should I throw up in my regulator? Would it get clogged if I did? I felt like I was fucked. I could feel myself starting to sweat. I kept swallowing my saliva to try and hold it back. My eyes began to water. As the group continued to explorer the wreck, I maintained my buoyancy and kept as still as I could... This didn't help. I started moving around a little and this did help... Slightly. I was freaking the fuck out. I was on the verge of swimming straight to the surface. I knew this was a bad idea, especially from 30 meters. As I was contemplating my limited options, our guide came back and motioned if everything was ok. I grabbed my stomach, which sure as fuck didn't help. He motioned for me to head up and I complied. We ascended slowly and made a 3-minute safety stop at around 15 feet. The whole time my stomach was wrenching. I made it about a minute and half before I filled my BC up with air and shot to the surface. The second I felt the air, I immediately projectile vomited. It was awesome! I looked like the fountains of the Bellagio. We got back on the boat, I drank some water and immediately felt like a million bucks. We did one more dive that morning that went great and headed back to shore to "debrief" (have a beer). I caught a lot of shit from the other guys but I didn't give a shit. I was proud of myself for maintaining my composure in a completely unfamiliar situation. Oh yeah. I learned that you can throw up right into your regulator with no repercussions. The chunks will just purge out the sides. Wish I had known.

I walked over to our new hotel and met the crew at the lobby bar to swap stories of the previous night. They were very impressed that I had made the dive boat. When I put my mind to something, there's very little that will stop me from accomplishment. They were less impressed when I told them about throwing up. I went up to my room and enjoyed the view for a while before taking a nap for a few hours. We did, after all, have to do it all over again that night.

View from my room in Olongopo

We made friends with this cute little 22-year old Philippino who was our waitress at the bar. She was getting off and we invited her to dinner with us, which she obliged. We went to a restaurant within walking distance of the hotel and had an unremarkable meal. The whole time, I was hitting on Rhea, our new friend, and she was eating it up. After dinner was over, about 11, Rhea said she had to get home. We held hands as I walked her back to the hotel and I told the crew that I'd meet up with them at Rascal's. We got back to the hotel and I invited Rhea up to the room. We climbed the 3 flights to my room and were having sex within about 15 minutes. She was a real sport! Very sweet and adventurous. Afterwards, she got dressed and said she REALLY had to get home. I asked what her hurry was and she said she had a 2-year old to get home to. Jesus, I thought. She left and I went and met the crew. They were back at it, pulling that God damned cord every 30 minutes and having those bitches run wild for those fucking ping pong balls. I was exhausted. Rose wouldn't have any of it and was all over me. Angel had the night off. I pushed Rose away and ordered a drink. After my drink, I decided to head back to the hotel. Rose asked me if I wanted her to come over and I did. I told her I'd leave a key for her at the front desk. She showed up about 2:30 and we had sex again. She left around 3:30. I didn't tip her.

One thing I can say about the Philippinos is that they are unequivocally the nicest people on Earth. This is saying a lot for me. I'm from Texas and thought we for sure had the nicest people in the world. Everyone in The Philippines addresses you as sir or ma'am and always have a smile on their faces. They never ask for anything and as much as I felt like I exploited them, I still have a lot of respect for them. We lobbied the next day around noon and nearly everyone that we had met during that leg of the trip met us in the lobby to say goodbye. Almost all of them had some sort of gift to give us. Rhea gave me a keychain and Rose had baked me some pandesal bread, the greatest, sweetest bread you have ever tasted. The other girls that the crew had hooked up with gave them each gifts as well. Jeff gave my flight attendant some roses. It was a really great and touching way to end an awesome trip. We made our way to the airport, prepped the plane and waited for our passengers. We stopped at Guam on the way back to Hawaii for fuel and were in Honolulu 10 hours later.

Apendicitis @ FL250

I recently read a blog about an F/O who had bad shits after eating his crew meal and nearly incapacitated him. This reminded me of an experience I once had on a trip to Seattle while flying a King Air.

We had a proposed wheels up time of noon. I got to the airport around 1030 to preflight. Around 1115, by some miraculous fuck up on dispatches part, we were now pushed back to a 1430 departure. Fine with me! I love Seattle and since my duty time started at 1100, this now meant that we would be overnighting there. In the meantime, I asked the crew if they'd like to go have lunch. They all agreed and I drove us to a great burger joint around the corner from the airport. I ordered a guacamole burger medium rare... A big mistake, I thought. The conversation was good as I hadn't seen either of the medical crew, Patty and Cindy, in a while. Tim was my co-pilot. Tim didn't smoke, drink or cuss and was a Mormon, so naturally, I didn't trust him. But he was easy enough to get along with and laughed at my jokes, no matter how dirty they were, so I liked him and he was a halfway decent pilot.

The patient arrived and we departed shortly before 1500. We touched down in Reno about 2 hours later for fuel. The patient was ambulatory and disembarked the plane to use the bathroom. Today's patient was an elderly gentleman who had atrial fibrillation and needed medical escort to get home as he needed oxygen and wasn't permitted to fly on the airlines.
I chose Reno as my fuel stop based on past experience. The delectable young lady behind the counter at Jet West and I have history. I won't mention her name but she, and maybe several of you, know who she is. It was great to see her and in retrospect I'm sorry I didn't try and make it back to Reno to overnight. She was a very sweet girl. The old man returned back from the bathroom and we were soon airborne.

Thirty minutes out of Reno it hit me. It came on slow like bad gas that just builds. Soon it turned into cramping of my lower abdomen. What the hell is going on, I thought. Eventually, my discomfort was noticeable to my F/O, as much as I tried to hide it. Tim wasn't actually checked out in the aircraft and legally speaking, was just along for the ride. I didn't want to put him through the undue stress of having to handle the arrival, approach in IMC and landing if I didn't have to. At this point it felt like a tremendous hunger pain. Something I've never felt before in my life. I did the math and it had been almost exactly 8 hours since I had eaten that medium-rare burger, god dammit.

My stomach pain stabilized. This is to say that it didn't get any better or worse, but I was still concerned. Apart from a little heartburn every now and then, I've always had an iron stomach. We set up for the ILS to 13R at Boeing, broke out at 500 feet and touched down without further incident. I didn't let the crew know what was going on until they had put the patient in the ambulance. I was certain I had food poisoning. Our nurse gave me a Zofran, an anti-nausea medication and we got in the rental car and headed for the hotel. I checked in and went straight to my room while the crew went to the adjacent restaurant. I had no idea the night I was in for.

I opened the door to my room and projectile vomited my way to the bathroom. I would have this back and forth routine between the bed and bathroom about a dozen more times throughout the night. It reached the point of dry heaving. I called my flight nurse about 0500 and gave her an update. She came right down with another Zofran, which I promptly threw up. She was great. Kept cold compresses on my head while I struggled to find a comfortable position between fetal, on my back, on my side, on my stomach, on my head, Fuck, anything that would give me temporary relief from the pain I was experiencing. I finally was able to go to sleep around 0600 for a couple of hours.

We met in the lobby at 1100 and my stomach was still wrenching. My pain had become more centralized in my lower right abdomen and I was in obvious pain, as much as I tried to hide it. I was ready to go home. When I showed up, my whole crew commented on how shitty I looked. I told them that we should go to the airport and play it by ear. My flight nurse suggested she hook me up to an IV to restore some fluids and we would wait and see. After 2 liters of saline, my condition hadn't changed. Nurse Cindy called our medical director, a very well respected trauma surgeon and she said since my condition hadn't improved that I needed to go to the ER.

I showed up to the ER with the IV still stuck in my arm. I was quickly moved to the front of the line. Evidently, when you've got tubes and shit hanging out of you, they hustle you through. You learn something new every day. I was put in an examination room were a nurse came in and asked me every god damn question known to man. What's your name? birth date? social security number? Mother's maiden name? When was the last time you wet the bed? Fuck I don't know... Give me some shit to make me feel better. Fine, go pee in a cup.

20 minutes later, a very nice, compassionate doctor came in and gave me the once over. He told me they were a teaching hospital and asked if I would mind having some medical students sit in on the exams, etc. "Sure," I said, "why not?" Well shit, this was a big fucking mistake. For the next 2 hours I had every student in the God damn place asking me the same questions over and over again and poking my very tender abdomen. After the third one came in, a Russian kid, I said "God damn it, just cheat off of the last guy that was in here." He didn't laugh. My flight nurse who stayed faithfully by my side the whole time, laughed her ass off... Poor bastard.

Soon, the attending came in and said my piss tests came back and I had appendicitis. "Well shit, bring on the morphine then," I said. He smiled and nodded. He said he had good news and bad news and asked me which one I wanted first. I've never known how to properly answer this question but I figured what the hell, tell me the good news. The good news was that I would receive the surgery laproscopically, leaving a smaller scar, and the bad news was that the chief attendant would be doing the surgery. This was actually good news, the doc was just fucking with me. He told me a nurse would be in shortly to take me to pre-op. "Great! How 'bout some more morphine, doc?" Granted.

So far, everyone had been really cool, until I got to pre-op. This lady was a bitch. But, she was old and fat, so she obviously was manifesting her hatred for herself onto me, I decided. She said she had heard about me. What the hell does that mean? I thought. My reputation preceded me, I guessed. She became increasingly rude and I hadn't even done anything to her yet. Her rants continued until I asked her if she knew what a treadmill was. We both shut up and not another word was spoken by either of us. Soon the anesthesiologist came in. She was a very nice Russian woman (another Russian? What was it with this place?) and told me what would happen on her end. I didn't care. Let's get the shit over with, I thought. She gave me a shot and said she'd see me after the surgery. This is about the last thing I remember.

I woke up to a doctor shining a flashlight in my eye. "Alright, doc, I'm ready. Let's do this." "It's done," he said. Weird, I thought. "Let me see it. I want to see it." "See what?" the doc said. My appendix, I want to see it." I guess he didn't get this request very often but nonetheless, he brought it over. It looked like a large piece of fat cut from a prime rib. It was white and stretched. "Hours from rupturing," the doc said. They wouldn't let me keep it. I was moved to a room and was well taken care of for the next 30 hours. The pain was relentless, even with the drugs.

I checked out of the hospital 36 hours after entering and Cindy filled my prescription on the way out. 20 Percocet and something to inhibit infection. Patty and Tim caught a commercial flight home the day before as Tim has kids and Patty needed to get back for some other reason. My chief pilot would be commercialing in himself to fly me home. I'll never hear the end of this, I thought. I'm about to be a patient in my own plane. He met us at BFI and we were soon airborne for the 4 hour flight home.

My chief pilot drove my car to my house and caught a cab from there. What a great guy. He never had a word on condescension. A couple of joking prods was about it. My only concern was the percocet. I wondered how long I would be grounded from taking it. The next day I called Oklahoma City and got a very sweet, hot sounding Sooner on the phone. I told her the situation and she said she would look it up for me and asked me to hold. After a long hold she finally came back and said, "now what was the name of the drug?" "Percocet," I said. She had me spell it. "Ummm... 6 months." "6 months, what," I said. "6 months you have to be off of it before you can return to flight." "Oh, thank God," I said. "What, you haven't taken any yet," she asked. "No, I'm just glad I didn't tell you my name." Click!

In Case You Were Wondering

Before I get too far into telling you these stories, I feel like I should try and build a little bit of credibility. Since I was very young, my passion was airplanes and the aviation industry itself. My goals used to be much loftier. Instead of being a career pilot, my plan was to sell airplanes. I still have plans to go into sales, but unless you've been living under a rock for the last couple of years, its not exactly the right time to be in aircraft sales. So I'll fly in the meantime.

I've always considered myself very charismatic, outgoing and persuasive. I've always been the type of person that gets what he wants. Friends have often asked me how I'm so successful with women. I've never been able to put my finger on the secret to my success. If I were able to do this, I would have written a book by now and made millions. One thing I can tell you is that if you are able to lower your standards slightly, it opens you up to a much larger pool of women. I'll be the first to admit that I have slept with some women that I would never let anyone I know see me with.

Nevertheless, I'll try to divulge the secret to my success. There are several important things to consider, that I've found, when talking to women. Most importantly is to smile and nod. When you're smiling, it lets them think you're interested. Eye contact is also very important. I always try to find a topic of common ground. If they're interested in my job or flying, I'll talk about that, but never tell them anything without them asking first. It's good to be a little arrogant without them knowing it. If I sense, which I'm very good and quick at, that they're losing interest, I will either move onto another topic or move on to the next girl. My quickness to move to the next target is totally dependant on my level of interest or the radar going off to the lack of theirs. I always try to be noticed when I walk into a room without letting anyone know that I'm trying to be noticed. This is tricky. Maybe its laughing with a friend as I walk through the door or maybe I'll act like I'm tripping as I walk in and then laugh at myself as I turn around and try to figure what hung me up. I've actually done this. Anything to set the tone and make sure as many women as possible notice me.

I rarely buy a woman a drink and I'll never send her one from across the bar. This is for pussies that hope the girl will come to them. My feeling is, if you want something, go after it. Don't wait for it to come to you, even by baiting it. Its also a lot less expensive in the long run. Once you've been talking to her for a while, sure, buy her a cocktail or share a shot, why not?

I don't date and I make this perfectly clear if I go out with a woman. If I happen to fall in love or want to pursue something further than casually going out, I'm very clear. Fortunately, this situation hasn't arisen too many times in my life. However, believe it or not, I have had several long term, monogomous relationships. At this point in my life, I just happen to be happy with my current situation of having different women around the country.

Detroit Trip

I'd been sitting in the hotel for 4 days with no going home in sight. The shittiest part is that I'm in the extreme suburbs of a large, fun city just out of my reach. I could go into the city and run the risk of getting called by dispatch for a "hurry up" flight, but figured its just not worth it. Besides, the women in the suburbs are easier. Who knows when I'll go home?

Last night I got called early for an easy flight over to Detroit and then to Northern Michigan. We would be taking a procurement team to harvest a set of lungs for some poor bastard who was waiting for them back in Detroit. When we landed the team was already waiting. I hate it when this happens. We needed fuel, so they'd have to wait a little longer. The nurse on the team was named "Dana" and she was a tall brunette with naturally curly hair, blue eyes and very pretty lips. Eventhough I couldn't get a good feel for her figure through her unflattering scrubs, I immediately wanted to fuck her. After the fuelers left, I allowed the team to board after loading their equipment for them. I sat next to Dana in the back and made small talk and offered them drinks while I waited for my co-pilot to return from paying the fuel bill. To her doctor and coordinator, both men, I'm sure it appeared as blatant flirting. Not surprising, she was receptive, even in this professional environment. Believe it or not, these types of passengers are usually quite relaxed, comical and sometimes as dirty minded as myself.

We arrived in N. Michigan in the early evening and I handed "Dana" my card and asked her to call me on their way back so I could "have everything ready to go on my end." Another obvious flirtatious jester, but I didn't give a shit. She promised she would. My co-pilot and I spent the next 3.5 hours bullshitting and watching reality TV shows in the FBO (Fixed Base Operation). I got the call from "Dana" who was a little more serious this time and prepared the aircraft. They showed up shortly there after, lights and sirens blaring and we were quickly airborne. The quick hop back to Detroit was uneventful.

As she exited the plane, she handed me the card I had given her earlier in the night and gave me a wink and a smile as she said "here's your card back." I put it in my pocket without looking at it, knowing she had written her number on it with some cute little note and soon forgot about it. I unloaded the teams equipment and they were quickly off.

We arrived back around 0030. Just in time to make it to last call and maybe pick up a cute little bed warmer for the night. The closest bar to the hotel was a place called Paddy's. When I arrived there were several cop cars in the parking lot apparently breaking up a fight that had occured earlier. I walked in and the place was full of black people. Not respectable black people but thugish, low-pant wearing blacks. I'm not really racist, but not a real comfortable situation. The
vibe of the fight still hung thick in the air. You could smell the aggression. Nevertheless, I had a seat at the bar and ordered a Beer and a shot of jack. No, not a small beer, one of those big ones, I didn't have much time here. The only woman in the bar worthy of my time was the bartender. She was about 23, 5'4", blue eyes and unkept dirty blonde hair. She had one very interesting feature and that was her nose. It looked like a ski slope. I remembered seeing something like it in a Dr. Seuss book one time. Its not that it was bad or ugly, in fact it was kind of cute. Her name was Kimberly, not "Kim." She definitely didn't belong in this place. Funny thing about female bartenders. You always hear men say "bartenders are tough to pick up, they get hit on a hundred times a day." Well, this is partly true. To a true player, this is a great challenge. She leaned over, put her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands and said "You don't look like you're from around here." Perfect! Now she's interested. I said "I'm not, I'm here on work" and acted as disinterested as possible. She was persistent, "What do you do" she asked. Even better, right where I want here. "I'm a pilot," I said. "Oh yeah? What airline?" "I fly for an air ambulance," I said. She immediately perked up, ignoring 2 black men who were trying to get a beer in before last call. I slowly started expressing interest. She told the black men she'd be right with them and turned back to me and said she'd be right back. Upon her return I told her I'd slept all day and wasn't tired and asked if she'd like to go get something to eat. The bouncer, obviously disgusted by the straggling patrons, started yelling at people to get out. I ignored him. She said she had some side work to do but would meet me after she got done. I told her I was going to go to the hotel to change and that I'd meet her at Denny's in an hour. She agreed. I left without getting her number.

I ordered a cup of coffee and waited about 15 minutes. I had not slept all day and I was tired. I didn't have all night. I paid my tab and was getting up to leave when she came walking briskly in. She apologized for being late and sat down on the same side of the booth as me. She grabbed my hand and pulled it onto her leg under the table as she looked over the menu. It was firm and her black pants were smooth against her leg. I instantly began getting an erection. I started rubbing my hand closer to her crotch and as I did she sucked in through her teeth, making a sound we're all familiar with. "Not now," she said. Those 2 words told me I was getting laid tonight.

We kissed the whole elevator ride up to the 9th floor of my hotel. I'm starting to wonder what the front desk staff thinks of me. This is the 4th woman in 5 days that I've walked in with. I kind of like thinking about it. I pressed her against my door as an older gentleman with an ice bucket walked by. Strangely, as passionate as it was getting, I wondered what an old guy was doing getting ice at 4 in the morning. Oh well. She asked me where the key was and I told her it was in my back pocket and she grabbed it and opened the door. She led me in by my hand and leaned against the door with her back as it was closing. She put her chin down and gave me this hot little, "I'm yours" look. I picked her up, she wrapped her legs around me and we kissed until I threw her on the bed and got on top of her. She reached down and unbuttoned my jeans and immediately gave me a fairly aggressive hand job. I pulled her stretch pants down in one pull and she wasn't wearing any underwear. I began fingering her and she got extremely wet. I began kissing her neck and slowly moved down, pulling off her shirt and bra as I did. I cupped her tits in my hand and began licking her soft, pink nipples. She had a great body and she was completely shaved. I moved down and began going down on her. I stayed there for quite a while and continued working her clit with my tongue until she arched her back and grinded her pelvis against my mouth as she came very hard. She pulled me up to her and grabbed my dick and started rubbing it again. I grabbed a condom and we had pretty damn good sex for the next 45 minutes. She deemed me good enough for a repeat and we did it twice more before she left this morning around 11.

I got up after she left and remembered the card. I pulled it out of my slacks which I had unceremoniously thrown over the chair in the hotel room the night before. Sure enough, "Dana" had written her number on the back with "Give me a call next time you are in town... Or whenever you want." I sent her a text message telling her I thought she was hot and would love to see her again. I'll file her away for the next time I'm in Detroit.

My last flight

I got the call at around noon from dispatch while still asleep from a rather long evening the previous night. "Emily" had come over around 11 to have sex. She's a hot little 22 year-old paramedic that once delivered a patient to my plane. My flight paramedic knew her and promised to put a good word in for me. 2 weeks later we were sleeping together after we got drunk one night and banged on her kitchen counter.

We were scheduled for a 1530 departure on Friday afternoon and were to deliver a kidney to Cleveland. I showed up at the airport around 1400 to coordinate fueling, file a flight plan, do a weight and balance calculation and preflight the aircraft, a Learjet 35. The plane is a little older, but I still lovc it. It's fast, climbs like an eagle on crack, and has XM radio to listen to. My co-pilot, "Ray" showed up shortly after and we were off the ground about 10 minutes early. We were soon settled in for our 3.6 hour flight. Soon, darkness set and we watched in amazement as a brilliant moon rose in the East. First bright orange and then fading to a beautiful bright white. Cruising across the U.S. at a ground speed of nearly 550 miles an hour, I reveled at how lucky I am to have this job. Being a single, 30 year-old, handsome, slightly arrogant male, I have definitely reaped the benefits of the job, and yes, that includes subtly dropping the fact that I'm a jet pilot in order to get laid, and trust me, it works to perfection.

We landed at Cleveland's Burke Lakefront airport at shortly after 10pm. After refueling the plane, chatting with the lineman and having a smoke, we reboarded the plane for a quick reposition flight to Rockford, Illinois. We were scheduled to fly out the next afternoon to Philadelphia to transport a patient to Sacramento. Well, as is common the case, this trip fell through. I checked into the hotel at shortly after 11 and needless to say, headed straight to the bar. I found a place within comfortable drunk driving distance, about 3 blocks for me, called Cousins Sports Bar. I was quite impressed with the quality of women in this place. In fighter pilot parlance, it was a "target rich environment." There was a great DJ and the place was packed. I was riding solo this evening since my co-pilot, being married, retired early. I soon met a women named Tiffany. A bank teller from a nearby town. She wasn't the hottest girl in the place, but I rarely go for those. Too much maintenance and I'm always on a truncated time schedule. I usually have just several hours to seal the deal before I'm on to the next town, city, country. Tiffany was with her gay, male friend and was driving and therefore unable to "go get something to eat with me." We exchanged numbers and I promised her I'd call the next time I was in town. The bar was closing, eliminating any last ditch efforts to pick up a straggler. This night, I would strike out.

The next day I awoke late, as usual, to the phone ringing. It was dispatch saying the flight had been cancelled. Rockford would give me another chance! I showered and walked across the street to have lunch and watch Texas beat the shit out of Colorado. Go Horns!

I sent Tiffany a text message sometime during the second half that went unreturned. While at the bar I met a guy named Tim. A former Army officer a couple of years older than myself, Tim spoke with a slight lisp that increasingly annoyed me. He was on the same eternal pussy mission as myself, but somehow he just went about it all wrong.

After the football games, Tim and I decided to go back to Cousins for another try. We showed up around 11 and it was just as busy as the previous night. He soon started to talk to a few women while I sat back and waited for him to fuck up and move in for the kill. It didn't take long. Her name was Corrine. She was a very pretty blonde of about 5'2" with a great ass and perfect tits. We had been eye-fucking each other the whole time Tim had been talking to her. We shared the typical conversation and were having sex 3 hours later. The thing about women on the road is that you can never get a good feel for what they're like in bed without actually sleeping with them. You simply don't have enough time to feel them out before you're in bed with them. It's just the nature of the game. Fortunately, Corrine was a bottle rocket. She told me as I was going down on her that if I could make her come that she would let me do whatever I wanted. I slowed my motion and after a few minutes she came very hard. Suffice to say, she stayed true to her word.

Corrine left the hotel around 8 in the morning after some suttle persuasion on my part for her to leave. Sometimes, I've found, its as hard getting them to leave as it is to get them to stay. Someone much wiser than myself once said, "you don't pay a prostitute to fuck you, you pay her to leave." I got up a couple hours later and went back to the bar to watch my Cowboys beat the Bengals. Another call from dispatch revealed we would be stuck in Rockford until at least Monday. For those of you that have never been to Rockford, the best thing to do when you get there is to get the fuck out. This town sucks. I was still feeling the shots from Saturday night so instead of spending a lot of energy on a new endeavor, I called Corrine. She showed up 45 minutes later.