The girl quickly turned onto the landing strip and gunned the big engine. The tail came up and she rose, smiling, and pulled the retract handle.Noise crackled in her earphones and a breathless voice said, loudly, “Circle the field, be useful at least.”She got trimmed up and leaned back, relaxed and made wide left turns about the countryside, alert, hoping for trouble but saw nothing but returning Spitfires. Evidently the raid was over. Thirty minutes later, low on fuel, she carefully landed, taxied to the storage area, swung about and got out of her plane, slid down the wing and hurried away.By the time the bell rang for the evening meal, the story was widespread and everyone was talking about how some female had hijacked a Spitfire.That night in the arms of her young lover, a flight lieutenant from a very wealthy Canadian family, she cuddled and purred, highly satisfied, the man’s limp prick in her hand, hoping for more.“Did y’hear,” he asked, “some splittail took a crate up this. The next time we met up, I picked her up outside her apartment in the evening in my car, Subaru Outback, nothing fancy. We wound up at the York University campus, where she had been a student, and she showed me around, telling me stories of her time there. We wound up on a blanket on the soccer field, and as we were talking she asked me if I wanted to kiss her, which, of course, I did.She then said that we couldn't because it was Eid, and she had to abstain. I didn't quite understand, as I'm not a religious man, but I respected her faith and didn't force the issue at all. We actually had a good conversation about religion.We met up a couple more times in her area again, once at York U again, during the Roger's Open (tennis) as she was a fan and former player, and once at a small park just down the street from where we first met. I'd gotten her on my motorcycle a couple of times at this point, and she seemed to really enjoy it.The next time we met up, I don't remember the circumstances.
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