The Last Flight to Paradise

By Darrell Bowling

Influenced by a childhood in the innocence of the 1950s, to adolescence in the upheaval of the 1960s. Life reveals the coincidences of fate when Buck discovers the love of his life on a blind date. Happenstance dictates the love and hate, the joy and pain, and the path of his life.
A year of covert missions in Long Tieng, Laos changes everything. But it's the heartbreak from the woman he loves that sets Buck on the path of untrusting secrecy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489730213

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

May 1965

"T HE FUCKEN GOVERNMENT! Johnson’s willing to kill every single one of us."

Dad’s head shot around to face me. What in the hell is your problem? Buck, have you lost your mind?

Lost my mind? Anybody not seeing what that corrupt son of a bitch is doing is blind.

With his index finger wagging in my direction, Dad said, Boy, you know better than using pool hall language in front of your mother. If I hear it again, I’m coming right upside your head.

Sorry, Mom, that word just slipped out, I said, returning my gaze to the TV.

Every evening is the same, the evening news is nothing more than Walter Cronkite expounding on the War. He cuts to the War correspondent showing clips of the fighting in Vietnam, followed by box after flag-covered box carried out of a military transport airplane.

Without taking my eyes from the scene, I whispered, Frank’s in one of those flag-covered coffins.

Mom’s hand shot to her mouth, Not Frank Baker?

Yeah, Bill said the guys from the army came by his mother’s house this morning with a Chaplain.

A tear rolls over mother’s cheek, I’m so sorry, you two were so close… She blew her nose before asking, what happened?

Johnson’s what happened. He’s too busy escalating the War he’s prolonging instead of winning to give a damn how many guys he kills. The only thing he cares about is keeping the War machine happy and keeping his pockets lined.

Dad’s head snapped around, That’s your ass talking because your head knows better. Anybody with half a brain understands we’re in Vietnam to stop communism from overtaking the world. You need to wise up and stop taking that tone with the President and start showing some respect.

Now who’s blowing smoke out their ass? We’re in Vietnam because the French left us holding the bag again.

Mom jumps to her feet, Stop it, both of you. I refuse to go through this continual argument for another second.

Mom glared at both Dad and me with her hands on her hips. In a hissing whisper, she said, Mary Ann’s lost a son, and we’re expressing our condolences by taking her a dish. If either of you mentions this damn War while we’re there, hell won’t hold it.

Both dad and I nodded and said, Yes, ma’am. Mom may only be five-feet nothing, but she was a mean five-foot-nothing when riled.

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For the first time in history, the TV establishes topics of dinner conversation. Every evening families gather to have this miracle of American technology bring them scenes from around the world.

In an era of our President being assassinated in the streets of Dallas. Thousands of our young dying in an unpopular War in Vietnam. They treat families to scenes of our cities burning and our university’s rioting. In the minds of the young, their future doesn’t reach past tomorrow’s breakfast.

I decided I’m not dying on the ground in that God-forsaken jungle at eighteen. If fate dictates I must die, I’m going out in a blaze of glory at the controls of an airplane. For this to happen, my first step is to acquire the required college degree. Only then can I determine which branch of the service to volunteer.

My problem is every college I applied to is full and not accepting applications from new students. I’m left with one option, to find an unconventional method of gaining a degree to qualify for flight training in the military.

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From the hood of my car, I survey my entire world. Six blocks down Blossom Street sits the High School. A left onto Highway 33 leads to the outside world. Or I can sit right here and allow the world to pass me by.

John walks out of Butch’s Drive-In with his usual breakfast burrito. He takes a bite and asks, Hey, what the hell are you doing?

Nothing!

Another bite, and John said, Aren’t you getting anything to eat this morning?

Nope, I’m not hungry.

John tosses the empty burrito wrapper in the trash before saying, Are you thinking about Frank?

I nod and ask, We’ve got one more year of this, have you thought about what you’re doing after graduation?

John stops at his car door. Yeah, I’m not waiting to get drafted. I’m going in the Marine Corps right after graduation. He climbed in his car before he asks, how about you, are you still thinking about being a pilot?

I nod, jumping off the hood, I said, I’m past the thinking stage.

John starts his car, gives a wave, and said, I’ll see you at school.

No, you won’t, I shout out the open window. My right foot glues the throttle to the floor, the tires are squealing, and there’s a ton of tire smoke in the air as I turn north on Highway 33. Not today. This is the day I start taking care of my future.

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San Jose may only be an hour’s drive from Dos Palos, but it’s in a different universe. Those differences are pondered at the San Jose International Airport as I sat in the parking lot, staring at the sign on the side of the building reading, San Jose State University School of Aeronautics.

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The inescapable buzz from the fluorescent lights is becoming as annoying as being ignored by the dozen secretaries in the reception area.

The minute hand of the large white clock jumps three times before anybody approaches. A secretary at the desk closest to the counter stands. With a forced smile, I straighten my stance to parade-rest. To keep from laughing, I force myself not to stare at the pencil stuck in the tight strands of her hair. My body tenses as I prepared to introduce myself. Two feet from me, the secretary snatches a paper from the counter, turns, and walks away.

Three more minutes of standing at the reception counter lead to me picking up two white Bic pens. After fighting off the urge to fling them around the office, I instead use them as drumsticks to tap out an unrecognizable tune.

An influential gentleman enters the room like Errol Flynn. Tall, tan, pencil-mustache, and brown leather flight jacket. Unlike my reception, the women in the office are falling all over themselves to greet his arrival.

He scans the office before placing a pipe between his teeth. His gaze locks on me as he takes a long draw. He exhales a billow of smoke, and through a smoke cloud, he nods in my direction.

Only after receiving my nod in reply did he pull the pipe from between his teeth. Used as a pointer, he aims the stem in my direction and said, Good morning, what can we do for you this morning?

After extensive research, I determined San Jose State as the flight school most deserving of my services as a flight instructor. This morning I’m here to find out when I’ll be starting.

A moment’s hesitation led to him approaching where I stood. We’re honored by your prestigious consideration. Are you a student here at San Jose State?

That’s my problem. With the draft and everybody using college to avoid the military, there are no slots open for new students.

He gave me a knowing nod before sticking out his hand. I’m Mr. Phillips, Dean of the Aviation Department, and you are?

Buck Browning pleased to meet you.

We shook hands, and he asked, Buck, what are your intentions? Are you thinking of bypassing college, or are you looking for a way to circumvent the system to gain entrance?

Taken back by my secret plan discovered so soon, I gave a sheepish shrug. To be honest, I figured as a flight instructor, I might enroll in a class without declaring a major.

Mr. Phillips smiled as he took another draw on his pipe. Buck, I can’t make you any promises, but if you’ve got the guts and ingenuity to come up with a scam like this. I’ll at least hear you out. Let’s take a walk and talk.

After a tour of the facilities and a synopsis of the Aviation program and flight school at San Jose State, we ended up on the flight line. Standing in front of a small single-engine Cessna, Mr. Phillips asks, Buck, what’re your flight instructor qualifications?

It’s a work in progress. At the moment, I have a single-engine Commercial and Instrument rating, along with a single-engine instructors rating. The flight time gained from instructing and the extra income earned here will allow me to build on that.

With arched eyebrows, Impressive. Did you go straight from bicycles to airplanes?

Almost. On the day I turned sixteen, I took my driver’s test. Two days afterward, I took my private pilot’s check ride.

That works. Mr. Phillips said with a chuckle. Buck, I was planning on taking a hop over to Reed-Hillview to keep my currency up. Let’s make this an instructional flight, so I can evaluate your instructional techniques?

Sure, I would love the opportunity.

After unlocking the plane, Mr. Phillip’s said, Buck, on this morning’s flight, think of me as a student pilot on a pre-solo flight. We’ll go through preflight, taxi, and takeoff, teach me the proper radio procedures and traffic avoidance. At Reed-Hillview, we will make a few touch-and-go landings before returning to San Jose International. Any questions?

Only one. I didn’t plan on a check-flight today. Give me a moment, I’ll grab my brain bag from the car, and put together a lesson plan.

Don’t worry, you’ll find everything you need on the airplane.

With a nod of understanding, I shifted into instructor mode. After a thorough preflight of the Skyhawk, we were soon winging our way toward Reed-Hillview Airport. On our arrival, I had noticed a few areas of his flying, which I could improve.

The Skyhawk climbed from the runway after our first touch-and-go landing, and I said, Mr. Philip’s, I want you to do something different on our next landing. Use full power until we reach pattern altitude. At pattern altitude on downwind, I want you to reduce the power to 2100 RPM. Then use the yoke to maintain a constant 100 MPH with elevator control.

On downwind, we were maintaining straight-and-level flight at an airspeed of 100. At the point we started our descent for landing, I said, Now I want you to retard the power to 1700 RPM’s while maintaining an airspeed of 100. Moments after doing as I requested, we were descending at 500 feet-per-minute.

On final, as we reached three-hundred feet above the surface, I said, Now gradually increase your pitch attitude without touching the power. Use elevator control to maintain 70 MPH. Both our airspeed and rate of descent slowed, we continued to ease to the ground.

Skimming a few feet above the runway, I said, Now ease the power back to idle, and land. The wheels caressed the pavement, and Mr. Phillips pushed the throttle to full power for takeoff.

Two more landings and a few more suggestions preceded our return to San Jose International.

We secured the airplane, and Mr. Phillips turned to me with a chuckle. Buck, you’re making this harder on me than I expected. You being as young as you are, I expected to send you on your way with a few areas to work on. Buck, the truth is you’re a talented pilot, and one of the smoothest I ever flew with.

Thanks, that means a lot coming from a man in your position, Mr. Phillips.

Don’t thank me yet. We still need to justify hiring you.

Mr. Phillips remained lost in thought until we entered the hanger through the massive sliding doors. He again used his pipe as a pointer to lead my gaze to the Starduster-II sitting to our right.

Mr. Phillips stood at my side with a prideful smile as I admired the small two-passenger bi-plane. What a beautiful airplane. Is this one of the aero club planes?

It’s mine! I leased it to the aero club for aerobatic training. This gives me an idea.

On trembling legs, I waited to learn what might be the most significant break in my aviation career. Buck, do you have any time in tail-draggers or aerobatic training?

Half of my flight time is in tail-draggers. I love how aerobatic flying sharpens my skills. A friend of mine is a crop duster pilot who flies his pitts at air shows. He’s taken me under his wing to teach me the more exquisite art of aerobatics."

Buck, let’s take this bird up and wring the kinks out a bit. If you can prove your skills in aerobatics’, I might have a spot for you.

We grabbed parachutes, and half an hour from first seeing the Starduster-II, we were approaching the Pacific Ocean west of San Jose. There was noticeable excitement in his voice when, through my headset, Mr. Phillips said, Buck, are your belts tight and secure?

Yes, sir.

The nose of the airplane dipped before coming up and rolling into a perfect slow roll to the right. After a few rolls and loops, we spun the plane before coming straight-and-level again. Okay, Buck, your airplane. Get the feel, and when you’re ready, show me what you got.

I took the controls and eased through basic climbs, turns, stalls, and slow flight to appraise the airplane’s flight characteristics. Then with the plane straight-and-level, I said, Hold on.

I snapped the airplane inverted, hesitating for a moment hanging in the harness before pulling the stick straight back. Centrifugal force slams me back in the seat as the plane is pulled straight down through the back half of a loop. At the bottom of the half-loop, I pulled the nose up as four times my body weight pushes me into my seat. A moment after going straight down, we’re climbing straight up. Airspeed bleeds off to the point the plane hangs on the prop, then with a shutter, we fall off to the right in a hammer-head stall. Diving straight down, I snap-rolled the plane twice before pulling up into a lazy loop.

After a series of rolls and loops, I rolled the airplane straight-and-level at the top of a loop. Mr. Phillips, you have one hell of a great airplane. I love the way this bird handles, and if you give me a few hours to smooth things up a bit, I’ll put on a show for you.

Buck, trust me, I don’t have any doubt in that. Let’s head back.

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Inside Mr. Phillips’s office, I sat in an enormous leather chair in front of his desk, waiting to discover my fate. From behind his desk, Mr. Phillips said, Buck, our only aerobatic instructor, is graduating this Spring and going in the Air Force. You would make the perfect candidate to fill the position he’s vacating if I can clear this through channels. Would that interest you?

Interest me, this answers my prayers. Can I start today?

We have a few hurdles to clear, but if you’re available, we should be able to start you after this semester.

Just name the day. Is there a chance of taking a class this summer?

Once we have you on staff, we should be able to arrange for you to take a class.

Two hours of filling out paperwork led to me being invited back into Mr. Phillips’s office. A wave of his hand motioned me to the chair in front of his desk. His brow furrowed as he glanced up from my application. Buck, is this correct, are you still in high school?

I felt myself slipping into the deep cushions of my chair. Yes, but only for one more year, I’ll graduate next June. Is that a problem?

More of a hurdle than a problem. I can’t offer you a full-time position, but you can put your foot in the door with a part-time job until you graduate. Once we have you on staff, you can monitor classes. The worst-case scenario is you must challenge for credit at a later date.

My head bowed as Mr. Phillips tapped the burned tobacco residue from his pipe into an ashtray. Buck, don’t let this upset you. Remember, you have me in your corner. With my help, your education isn’t in doubt, our only question is how we will make it happen.

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I arrived home with Mr. Phillip’s words still echoing through my mind. Finding mom’s car in the driveway spurred my interest. Only one thing brings her home this time of day. Within two steps of entering the house, my mother confirmed my assumption.

Mom sat on the couch with her arms folded, looking at me with an intimidating stare. Where the hell have you been all day? And don’t lie to me, Mrs. Raven called to find out why you weren’t in school.

With a shrug, I flopped onto dad’s chair. There’s not much to tell. I spent the day getting a job at San Jose State and signing up for college courses. Is that a problem?

I told you not to lie to me. Now, where were you?

Mom, that is the truth. I spent the day talking to Mr. Phillips, the Dean of the Aviation Dept. at San Jose State. He offered me a flight instructor position, and with his help, I’ll be able to take classes starting this summer.

Mom and I spent two hours going through the San Jose State course catalog, the employee handbook, and the paperwork I brought home. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, only to shake her head and remain silent. When she spoke, her voice was a near whisper, Buck, I don’t know how you managed this, but I’m proud of you.

Dad came through the door, a wave of his hand, and he said, Out of my chair.

He flopped on his chair without reclining. One glance between Mom and me, and he asked, Okay, what’s going on here?

Mom gave a chuckle along with a shrug of her shoulders. I guess your son’s expanding his horizons. He ditched school today and went to San Jose to enroll in college and get a job as a flight instructor.

Dad looked at mom like she’d lost her mind. Mother, you didn’t believe this load of crap, did you? He can’t enroll in college. He hasn’t even graduated from high school. Besides that, nobody in their right mind hires a seventeen-year-old as a flight instructor. What I can believe is he cut school today, and you bought his excuse.

When Dad turned his attention to me, his expression screamed he meant business. Hoss, don’t even think about giving me any of the BS you gave your mother. I want to know where you went today, and why you ditched school.

After handing Dad everything I brought home, I said, All this comes from San Jose State. This summer, I have a job as a flight instructor, and with any luck, I’ll be taking classes.

Dad’s elbows rest on the armrest of his chair. His mouth opened and closed twice before he said, How in the hell were you able to pull this off?

It wasn’t that difficult. I knew nobody would believe me if I told them I was the best pilot ever to touch the controls of an airplane. So we went for a flight, and I proved it to them.

Dad’s brow furrowed as he squinted at me. I want you to tell me everything. Tell me who you talked to, what you told them, and what they said. If true, you damn well don’t want to screw this opportunity up.

Before being able to reply, the phone rang. Dad answered the call, and as I listened, he said, Yea, he’s here, who’s calling? A moment later, he handed me the receiver and said, A Mr. Phillips for you.

Mr. Phillips, nice hearing from you so soon, what can I do for you?

Buck, we’ve cleared the first few hurdles for you this afternoon. We will start you this summer right after the Spring semester. If you’re up here before the start of summer classes, you’ll be able to take at least one of the summer courses. You’ll only be monitoring the class. The class won’t cost you anything, and you can challenge for credit after enrolling as a student once you graduate from high school.

It was all I could do to suppress a shout of joy. Mr. Phillips, you just made me the happiest guy in the world. My only regret is not being able to start tomorrow. I’ll try to find someplace to stay up there this weekend.

Buck, I arranged for accommodations. It might not be a palace, but it’s someplace to crash until you’re situated. I need to run, give me a shout when you’re ready to start, and we’ll be waiting for you.

I don’t have any way to thank you enough for everything you’re doing for me. You can plan on me being there during the second week of June if that works for you.

That’ll work, I’ll see you then, Buck. If you need anything else, call me.

My parents met my euphoric state with the most inexplicable expression. The sadness in their eyes was something I couldn’t understand. Didn’t they realize this was the happiest moment in my life? What’s the matter? I got the job, and I’m able to take classes starting this summer. Aren’t you two happy for me?

Even though the corners of his lips formed a smile, dad’s eyes maintained the same sadness as he said, It’s taken me twenty-five years to figure out. I imagine it will take you about the same time to understand.

After getting the most significant break in my life, are you telling me you’re not happy for me?

Dad drew in a deep breath and said, Happiness has nothing to do with it. Buck, your Grandfather, is the most Stoic man I’ve ever known. Through everything faced in life, he never complained. He bowed his back and faced whatever obstacle was in front of him, showing no emotions. That is until the week after I graduated from high school.

For a moment, I thought he’d break down. But after another breath, he continued. "It was in June of ‘42, a week after graduating from high school. Dad drove me to the Navy induction center. Headstrong and proud, I was proving myself and planning to win that damned War single-handed.

There was nothing to worry about, and I couldn’t understand your Grandfather’s reaction. The recruiter told me I’d be sleeping on a mattress every night and getting the best food in the Navy on the submarine.

Like he’d told a joke. Dad chuckled as he shook his head. Before walking through those gates, I stuck out my hand to say goodbye. Your Grandfather brushed my hand aside and wrapped those enormous arms around me, hugging me tighter than anybody ever has. When he released me, he had tears running down his cheeks. I’d never seen him show any emotions, much less cry over something. The image of him standing there with tear-soaked cheeks has never left my mind.

The story is touching. But I couldn’t understand the need for this drama. Dad, I’m going to college, not to War.

I thought the same thing the morning I walked into the induction center, nothing to worry about. Although it didn’t take long for me to learn the truth. It took till today for me to realize how my father felt the day my boyhood ended.

With a shrug, I stood and said, You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. But I don’t have time to go into it. I’ve got to tell Bob I’m quitting at the service station.

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December 2019

I can’t help asking what life would be if I had allowed myself to be a carefree boy longer. Would I then have the same calluses on my soul? Would God allow me one night without the torment of War plaguing my dreams? Where would I be if just once I had stopped to enjoy where I was instead of treating it as an interim point to where I needed to be?

CHAPTER TWO

June 1966

M Y HIGH SCHOOL graduation proved one of the most anticlimactic experiences in my life. For my starry-eyed classmates, a new adventure lay before them. For me, before I was eligible to take college classes, I’d already completed thirty-units of courses. All graduating meant for me is I could now have those thirty-units put on my transcript.

On the morning after graduation, I was in San Jose. By lunchtime, I’d enrolled in twelve units of summer classes. That afternoon, I flew with four students.

With a new multi-engine and instrument instructor rating, I’m turning students away for the first time. Another first is I’m now a college student. With that, I started taking more core classes on campus. Which changed everything, I’d never guess people could have this much fun.

One day, because of my schedule, a flight student and I conducted our post-flight debriefing over lunch in the student union. After my student left for class, I turned my attention to my assignments.

Before I could get started, I’m interrupted by the older woman at the table beside me. Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear you and your friend, did I hear you right, are you taking flying lessons?

No, I’m a flight instructor at the aero club.

How exciting. I’ve always dreamed of flying an airplane. Would you mind if I joined you, I’d love to learn more about flying.

Mary Pat, a twenty-two-year-old senior, and I talked about flying for the next hour. At her urging, we met for dinner after my afternoon class. The next day I took her for her first airplane ride. In return, later that evening, she came to my apartment and gave me the ride of my life.

Naked on my bed, we both lay in a happy afterglow. With a smile, Mary Pat asked, Buck, would you mind if I asked a personal question?

With the proof of my powers of seduction lying naked beside me, I gave her a nod. I’m an open book, ask anything you would like.

She looked at me with those big doe eyes, stroking my arm as she smiled. Buck, were you a virgin, was I the first woman you’ve ever been with?

Four whispered words had crushed my self-esteem like a sludge hammer. Of course not, I’ve been with, well, I mean, I’ve been with a few other girls. Why? Turning my head to avoid her stare, I wished I could disappear.

Oh my God, you’re blushing? Mary Pat leans forward, kissing my lips. Then as she gave me a hug, said, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.

Don’t worry about it, you were honest, and I was lacking, it’s me who should apologize. It’s just I’m not accustomed to failure at anything.

Mary Pat snuggled up to me. Buck, great sex is a learned art form. You achieve reproduction by following your urges. But lifting a woman to the height of sexual bliss takes knowledge and practice.

My face burned as I turned away. God, I’ll never be able to show my face on campus again. Maybe I’ll just become a monk.

Buck, don’t take this as an insult, make it into a learning experience. You have everything you need to drive women wild. If you give me a chance, I’d love to teach you the secrets of driving women crazy in bed.

Unsure, I gave her a nod. You’re making this sound like a college course.

With a giggle, Mary Pat arched her eyebrows, If it were, you’d see a lot more girls around campus smiling.

Buck, it’s common sense. It takes a woman longer to arouse than men. Time spent getting her juices flowing will reap untold rewards. In this effort, remember, don’t grab and squeeze. Stroke and caress, you’re touching a woman’s body, you’re not molding clay. If you have the urge to touch a particular place on a woman’s body, don’t use hands or fingers, use tongue, and lips. Most important, never prod the peach until the flower blooms.

That sounds simple enough.

It is, but perfection takes practice. Keep what you’ve learned in mind and take your time getting this right. Mary Pat giggled as she rolled on her back, pulling me on top of her. Now, get started.

To a chorus of moans and giggles, Marry Pat began her course. She admonishes, Not yet, too soon. Followed by, much too hard, start easy and build to that.

But once I abandoned my urges and tried what she suggested, the tone changed. Oh, there you go, oh, that’s good, a little more pressure. Nice, I like that, now stop licking and suck it. Harder, oh yeah, a little harder.

With my urges dismissed and my total focus aimed at pleasing her, I found this much more intriguing. In no time Mary Pat is reacting to the things I’m doing. This soon became a challenge to see how high I can lift her sexual responses.

Much later that evening, I’m sure the entire apartment complex was aware of when I received a passing grade in Mary Pat’s course. Her orgasmic scream rattled the windows and restored my self-esteem. But it took until the next morning before I discover the answer to her peach riddle at the tip of my tongue.

Mary Pat and I shared a friendship instead of a relationship. We enjoyed the time we spent together, but neither sought exclusivity from the other. She went as far as introducing me to her friends on those occasions she couldn’t join me.

Girls started showing up at my apartment. They started typing my assignments, cleaning, doing my laundry, cooking, and oh yea, they did a hell of a lot of that. In fact, sleeping in the middle became commonplace.

By the time Mary Pat graduated, I’d earned a Ph.D. in the art of lovemaking.

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May 1967

The San Jose State campus has a microcosm of society. The sights and sounds experienced as I walked across campus on one particular day I found fascinating.

To my left, a group of girls gathers to protest against the War. As the music played, the girls danced and chanted anti-war slogans. Boys flocked around their gathering—most with far more interest in their free sex views than the War.

One girl with a homemade sign reading, Make Love, Not War! Tries to wave me over to their gathering. With a wave and a smile, I shook my head, telling her I couldn’t, I had a class.

For me, college life is a dream come true. I’m enjoying myself more than any single time in memory by being away from home and on my own. Not because my endeavors are easy, or life is one enormous party to the contrary. By taking twenty units a semester while working at the Aero Club places my free time at a premium. Other than keeping Company with gorgeous girls, my life remained focused on my goals.

When I continue toward the student union for lunch, Sandy almost knocked me over when she collided with me. With a giggle, she hooked an arm in mine, What’s the hurry handsome, do you have a class this afternoon?

Nope, just going to lunch before heading home to hit the books. And what’s going on with you?

Lunch sounds great, thanks for the invitation.

Sandy is one of the shapely free spirits populating the college campus. One who enjoyed spending time with me as much as I did with her.

The two of us enjoyed a unique and noncommittal relationship. We maintained a friendship, and each cherished the pleasure the other provided. Without a word spoken between us, we made our way to lunch. We not only had a meal together but also enjoyed spending the rest of the afternoon together at my apartment.

Later that afternoon, while the two of us lay together in a pleasurable afterglow, we concluded we should continue our afternoon through the weekend.

Sandy took a moment to check-in with her roommate to inform her of our intentions. The roommate mentioned her mother called. When Sandy returned her mother’s call, the conversation dashed our plans. She forgot about a family gathering she needed to attend. With a kiss, Sandy left, saying she will make-up for her premature departure the next time we got together.

Not having plans produced only mild disappointment. After finding myself bored with time on my hands, I made a few calls to put something together for the upcoming weekend. Experiencing no luck with my efforts, I went for a drive. After