TOYS, TOYS, AND MORE TOYS
Chapter 22
As soon as the spring thaw came, I started flying up to the ranch every week, sometimes twice a week. Flying the Cirrus up there at 170-200 knots was becoming arduous. I needed a bigger, faster plane to take to the ranch. After researching, I decided Sandie and I should check out a Pilatus PC-12. It was a 10 passenger single-engine turbo prop.
The Pilatus rep, a smooth-talking charming goofball named Phil flew the plane to Salt Lake City and picked us up so we could demo it. We flew the plane to the Oregon ranch on a test run.
Since Phil and I were both trained aerobatic pilots, we decided to show each other up by doing increasingly more dangerous aerobatic maneuvers in the plane. After a couple of low fly-bys of the ranch and some knife-edge maneuvers, Sandie was screaming to the cockpit from the back of the plane for us to stop. She didn’t appreciate experiencing negative g’s.
I convinced Sandie we should buy the plane on the condition that Phil let us put it on the Centurion card. He quickly agreed, eager to make the sale. Predictably, he called us up later that day when his boss found out he’d cost the company 4% in credit card fees on a purchase of $3.2 million dollars, and asked if we’d consider just writing him a check. I told him we’d buy something else. We had just earned 5 years worth of first class plane tickets on the miles from that purchase.
My next big purchase was an aerobatic plane. I’d found a PZL Polish aerobatic military trainer on Controller.com, a website that lists aircraft for sale, and thought it would be fun to have. It was being brokered through a place called International Jets in Gadsden, Alabama.
I flew out to meet the head sales guy at IJ, Richard Hess. Richard was the epitome of the “anal pilot.” Uptight, conceited, and overall, just a total asshole, Richard was an ex-air force pilot who had flown F-15 and Warthog fighter jets for the military and loved to talk about his accomplishments. I strapped on the parachute and climbed into the rear seat, and Richard and I went up for a test flight. Mostly, he just showed off, but the plane was ******* unbelievable. From inside the all-glass canopy, I could see for miles across the Alabama countryside. Richard pulled some inverted spins and aileron rolls, and then let me take the controls. Flying from the backseat was like flying blind. I did a couple of loops that seemed to make Richard a little nervous. I landed the plane anyway without a hitch. I had to have it.
As we walked back toward the FBO, the sun was setting and we stopped to watch a fighter jet take off.
“What is that?” I asked, transfixed by the Top Gun image of the jet taxiing down the runway. “That’s an L-39. That one belongs to the Prince of Monaco. His pilot is flying it today. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Richard exclaimed, as the jet rotated up and quickly out of sight.
“How do I get one?” I asked, completely serious. Richard looked over at me and smiled.
“We import them from the Ukraine. I can get you one if you want, but you have to be type-rated to fly it by yourself. If you come back in a few weeks, I’ll take you for a spin in one and give you the first lesson.” I was sold. I wrote him check for the M-26, already lusting over my next purchase, the L-39.
A month later, I took Richard up on his offer. Flying in an L-39 jet was even cooler than I thought it would be – the jet has a cruising speed of 360 knots –– 500 miles an hour. That was more than twice the speed of any of my other planes. Richard talked the whole time through the headset, condescendingly pointing out the obvious features of the plane and the intricacies of flying the jet. Things that only a non-pilot wouldn’t know.
He was arrogant but a hell of pilot, so I just listened to his incessant rambling and gave him an affirmative “uh-huh” or “yeah” every once in awhile. He finally handed control of the plane to me. It was a rush flying something that fast. Staying ahead of the aircraft at that speed was more demanding than what I’d been used to but it was an adrenaline rush. After that flight, I sat down with Richard and worked out the details on importing my own jet in from the Ukraine. I had a lot to learn, and I wasn’t sure what I really wanted.
“Listen, Adam. My advice is to take a trip over to the Ukraine. Why don’t I give you the name of my buddy over there? He will show you all the different jets we can import and take you up in the military jets. Then you can decide what you want to do.”
I thought it sounded like an excellent idea. And I’d heard from my buddies that Russian women were hot. I took Richard’s advice, picked a fight with Sandie, and headed off to the airport. I didn’t tell a soul where I was going.
The plane landed in Kiev late the next day. True to my usual style, this trip was a last-minute decision and I definitely hadn’t thought through the time of year I was heading to the Ukraine. It was the middle of winter and it was cold as ****. Undaunted, I took a cab to the finest hotel in Kiev, the Premier Palace. It was not much nicer than a Holiday Inn Express by American standards, but friendly. Though I’d flown here to meet up with Richard’s guys and fly jets, I was easily distracted by the abundance of eye candy.
I climbed into the cab the next morning. Initially, I just wanted to drive around and get a feel for the city and see some sights. My cab driver had other ideas.
“You looking for wife?” he said in a heavy Russian accent and broken English. “No. Not really” I laughed. “Just here to see the city.”
He turned and looked surprised. He knew I was bullshitting him. “In middle of winter?” he asked, quizzically.
I smiled.
“I take you to see most beautiful woman in Ukraine“ he said. “You pick which one you want, you take her back to US of A.”
He put the car into drive, and finally pulled next to what looked like an abandoned industrial building. Two huge men stood outside in long dark overcoats and hats. The driver jumped out and conversed with the men in Russian, motioning toward me.
****! I thought. I have an assload of cash on me – these guys could roll me and no one would ever know what happened to me. No one even knows I am here! I was surprised by my own stupidity.
This could get interesting, I thought. I saw the men shake the driver’s hand and exchange money. He opened my door and ushered me toward the men, who simultaneously opened the heavy metal doors.
I looked back at Uri, my driver. “Wait for me” I said, and walked inside.
The smell of cigarettes and body odor quickly filled my nostrils and I could hear loud, foreign techno blasting in a far room. Lights were flashing. In the dark I could barely see anything. One of the men from outside had followed me.
I turned back to look at him, and he pointed toward the bar. Ok, I guess I am supposed to go sit there, I thought.
I ordered a Coke and took a seat at the bar. There were various stages at different levels all over the club, and groups of men congregated around each stage, talking and drinking and smoking. Unlike American strip clubs, when the songs ended here, the girls did not crawl around and collect their money. The song would end, and the highest bidder would get to take the girl into the next room and **** her.
I felt bad for the girls –– most of them looked poor and unkempt, like the girls they show forced into sexual slavery on Dateline.
I watched a few dances and I was out of there…this was definitely not my scene. Uri was surprised that I was back so soon. “No good, Uri. Take me somewhere else” I said.
Uri insisted that I would like the “casino” better and took me there after stopping to find lunch. I hated to gamble and usually only played 21, but I conceded and went there anyway. I was pleasantly surprised. It was exactly like Las Vegas but with much hotter girls. I found myself drawn toward the roulette wheel….and a very busty brunette named “Natasha.”
“Hi, you want to spin my wheel?” She asked, flirtingly.
“I would love to spin your wheel…” I replied, taking her all in with my eyes, tasty bit by bit. “Are you from U.S.?” she asked, lowering her eyes.
I was fixated on what looked like enormous breasts underneath the corseted uniform. “Yes. New York” I lied.
“Ooooh, I will love to go to New York one day!” she exclaimed, a practiced hand clasping her heart as if to add emphasis to her overly-theatrical response. They must study this… I thought, just in case American tourists come.
I thought about Natasha sitting in a classroom learning about our culture, like the Indian telemarketers do. It was a fleeting thought. Obviously she had other ideas.
“Where do you stay here in Kiev?” she asked. I could feel her nasty-girl smoky brown eyes piercing me.
“At the Premier Palace” I answered.
She paused for a second and responded in broken English “Can I come to your room tonight? I be done at work in two hours.”
Holy ****…I thought. This girl is forward! There would be nothing I would love more than to have Natasha all to myself in my hotel room. I wondered if she was a professional…all the travel blogs warn about this kind of thing.
I smiled at her, mesmerized by her huge heaving tits. It looked like any second one might pop out. Few things in a man’s world can stack up to seeing a breast accidentally fall out.
“I’ll put $20 on black” I replied, attempting to change the subject.
She persisted. “Oh…you don’t like girl from Ukraine? You have wife?”
“Uh, no I don’t have a wife.” I didn’t feel like that was much of lie. “Are you married?” I asked. “No, I wait for sexy American man to take me to U.S.” she said, winking. She spun the wheel and added “Russian man not so good to woman here.”
I felt the sexual tension between us mounting. The wheel came to a stop and the ball landed on 23 black.
She gave me a couple of chips and slowly grazed my hand…I wasn’t sure how the exchange rate worked, but I didn’t give a ****. I could feel myself getting turned on.
“You should take me to the disco” I said, somewhat convincing myself that I could behave if we were in a public place together.
A few hours later we were lustily grinding up against each other in the smoke and sex-filled disco. The Ukraine seemed more liberal about sexuality and the pursuit of it than the U.S. People were openly ******* in corners, on the dance floor, groping and fondling everywhere in the club, including the bathrooms.
After attempting to have a conversation with Natasha, I quickly realized she didn’t speak enough English to even communicate on the most basic level….I guess she wasn’t my “dream” girl after all.
Things were progressing rapidly and I could feel myself getting hornier and hornier…I needed to do something to relieve my “problem” but Natasha was behaving herself a little too much for my taste. Several times I tried to unhook the top of her bustier, and she quickly grabbed my hand and placed it back around her waist. I was annoyed with her teasing, especially since she had come on so strong and was so forward at the casino.
“Let’s go back to my room” I said in her ear, shouting over the loud music.
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