The glare of the desert sun outside the windows was dazzling to the eyes even from within the hotel, and the three of us sitting in the reception area were glad of the relief offered by the hard-working air conditioning. Dave, an American oil company executive in his early forties, was waiting for a Land Rover to pick him up and take him on a two-day inspection tour of his company's locations, further south into the deep desert. His wife Estelle, mid-thirties (like me), friendly, very American and quite delightful, had come along on the trip hoping to see something of the great sand sea that she believed, having been brought up on Hollywood epics, covered the whole of North Africa. And me? I was Jim, the English pilot of the small, fast Beechcraft Twin Bonanza that Dave's Tripoli office had chartered to fly the two of them the 400 miles south to the small desert town of Sebha.
Estelle was disappointed that on the flight down the previous day she had seen a lot of featureless gravel plain and very little else of interest at all. Over dinner I told them that Libya has several large sand seas. Two of them, the Murzuq and the Ubari, were close to Sebha, and Dave agreed that while he was away I could take Estelle to see one or the other of them, and he would square it with his head office when they went back home to the States.
His Land Rover was late arriving so it was mid-morning before he got away. I had planned to take Estelle on a sight-seeing trip around the town first thing but the already blistering temperature outside was going to rise even higher over the midday period, and a walking tour was likely to become very uncomfortable. Since she was leaving all the arrangements to me I suggested spending the morning by the hotel pool, having a late lunch and then going out towards the evening, when it would be getting cooler.
At the poolside I slid a couple of recliners into the shade and ten minutes later Estelle joined me, wearing a simple one-piece swimsuit cut very low indeed at the back, with a halter top tied in a bow under her hair. Her chunky little body had curves in all the right places, with a combination of nicely pushed-up boobs, good firm legs, and a deliciously trim waist that gave me an instant hard-on as I imagined getting my hands round it. As she settled on the recliner she caught me looking her over and grinned.
'Well, Jim, do you like what you see?'
'Yes, very much indeed.'
'Why, thank you sir, that's made my day.'
She smiled broadly as she said it, making it plain that she regarded my appreciation as a compliment. Which it was -- my taste has always been for women who are shaped like women, not like some size zero stick insect! We had a swim and in the heat were dry almost as soon as we got out of the pool. Estelle produced a bottle of sun cream and applied some to her arms and legs and then asked me if I would do her back. She passed the bottle over to me, lay face down on the sun bed and undid the halter, and believe me when I say that I enjoyed every single second of running my hands repeatedly over her smooth firm shoulders and back, right down to the two dimples just visible above the edge of her swimsuit.
We chatted for quite a while that morning, the first time we had been on our own since we had met in Tripoli the previous afternoon. She was very interested in the Sahara and the way we flew light aircraft in desert conditions, and I was fascinated by her accounts of small town life in the States, apparently totally insulated from anything happening in the real world. After another swim she volunteered to apply sun cream to my back -- which I found rather enjoyable - and then she gave me the bottle and lay face down again on her recliner, giving me a second chance to enjoy feeling up her soft, warm body. Indeed, I was so slow and took so long this time that after a while she stretched her arms right out above her head and wriggled a bit under my hands.
'You're enjoying this, aren't you Jim?'
Well, hell, yes I was! I was speechless for a few seconds and then decided to make the best of it.
'We poor hardworking desert pilots' -- I was interrupted by a noise from her that sounded suspiciously like a snort -- 'we poor desert pilots don't get much in the way of perks, so if anything good comes along we like to make the most of it.'
'It's OK Jim, I'm enjoying it too.'
She grinned at me and just about then I realised that I was in what we English would term a 'bit of a pickle'. Under normal circumstances I would have taken such words and actions coming from a very attractive woman as a signal that she was ready to move our relationship up to a new level and was expecting me to do something about it. But the circumstances were not normal. To be blunt I was, when all was said and done, merely what Americans would call the hired help. I was contracted to fly the two of them around for another couple of days, and any mis-interpretation of her very pleasant and outgoing personality could easily lead to a most uncomfortable time together. I decided that my best course of action was to follow her lead and play along, so I grinned back and settled down next to her on my own recliner.
