I am the pilot, and I am in control.

Ten minutes out. Kymber came through and collected the meal trays.

I love stewardesses. My wife is one, but one is never enough. Sailors have a woman in every port, but I have at least one stewardess in every city.

I’m sure she suspects. She’s heard the rumors. Wild sex orgies, depraved drunken parties, with me in the midst of it all. She never says anything, like it’s an unwritten rule. When I’m home, she’s my sex toy, she’s always satisfied. Nobody else exists, except for Mika.

Mika lucked out. She has her mother’s Miss America looks and my attitude, and she’s only seven years old. She’ll go far. I miss her. I need to remember to send her another postcard for her collection when we land. She doesn’t have one from Mardi Gras.

I am the pilot, and I am in control.

I follow my pre-landing checklist. Five minutes out, and Alexis shows up right on time. Pretty, perky Alexis; insatiable and open to anything my dirty mind can dream up. I got her to go down on Kymber the last time I was in Vegas. Got to watch the whole thing. Neither had lesbian tendencies before then, but I hear tell they moved in together a month ago.

Alexis placed her hand on my shoulder. I can feel the tension in her arm; her breathing is deep and heavy. I can smell her lust. She’s ready for another two days of debauchery in New Orleans, and Kymber is on this flight. She’ll be joining us.

Kymber knows my wife. If I hadn’t seduced her in Paris, I’m sure she would’ve broken the truce between what my wife knows and what she suspects. Now she’s one of my girls, trembling with desire every time she’s on one of my flights.

“I have your lucky hat,” says Alexis, breaking through my daydream of Kymber’s body in the shower.

She placed the yellow fedora on my head.

I am the pilot, and I am in control.

I hated that fedora at first. Yellow is not my color. It goes back to the time I was in Vegas with Alexis, Kymber and Sandra. I was at the Bellagio, last August or September. My usual routine – check in, two bourbons, and one intense workout session. The Bellagio has the nicest gym, and the weight monkeys know their place. They don’t hit on my girls. A real classy joint.

I was back at the bar, shirtless, with a Marlboro dangling from my lips. The barkeep knows me well – I’m a big tipper. He smiled and ignored the little sign about shoes, shirts and service. The drinks keep coming, the chicks keep staring.

The three stewardesses joined me eventually. They are dressed to the nines, ready for me to escort them to the Academy Awards if need be. They generate a lot of attention.

“Hey, stud. You ready to service us?” Alexis is wearing the fedora. It looks good on her.

Every eyeball turned to survey the scene. Alexis was rather loud, she liked to show off. Brazen and braless, just like I like ‘em.

“You’re going to have all three of us tonight,” she announced to the audience, and placed her hat on my head. “This is your lucky hat, and it’s all you get to wear.”

I left a hundred dollar bill on the bar as a tip.

I am the pilot, and I am in control.

The co-pilot throttles back the engines and we descend. Mardi Gras is in full swing, I can see the lights from here. Two minutes out.

Alexis goes back to the cabin and does her final checks. All my girls check in, and sexual desires make their voices tremble. This is going to be one interesting night. I have our sexual itinerary planned out. No sleep for the wicked.

The last time I slept was yesterday, or the night before. Things aren’t too clear, as I was with Jack Daniels and my wife. Jack kept me lubricated, and she needed servicing. She loves doing role-play. I was the insurance investigator, she was the horny widow. She convinced me to overlook the bullet-riddled corpse of her suicidal husband, convinced me with those perfect thighs and lips. I made her earn the insurance money the hard way, my signature on the form for her body.

I am the pilot, and I am in control.

My eyes hurt, and I rub them. I keep seeing red; I can’t quite tell if they’re nipples or fireworks. I don’t care, I like them both. I need to focus, so I push them away. The ride gets a little bumpy, and my idiot co-pilot is yelling at me. I really don’t like him, he’s the jealous type. Alexis thinks he’s gay. Doesn’t bother me, I get all the chicks.

The control wheel almost jerks out of my hand. The damn co-pilot is pulling on it.

“Hey, asshole, I am the pilot, and I am in control.”

He ignores me and stares out the window. His hands fall off the controls, and I re-take them. This is my plane, damnit, and my girls and my world.

I am the pilot, and I am in control.

# # #

Mika hated when stupid news interrupted her show. She watched the pretty lights and flames. She liked flames, they danced and twirled. This was a particularly good fire, and it performed a hundred foot twisty dance. Mika giggled.

“Mommy, there’s a big dancing fire on the tellyvision!”

Mommy didn’t answer. She was on the phone, listening in stunned silence, tears pouring down her cheeks onto the insurance policy her tired husband had signed only hours before.

They had argued after sex. He was out of control. He denied it, and left angry. Mika received his final kiss goodbye.

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