As we waited, Shannie and I sat against the office wall. Sergeant paced back and forth. "Stan would be proud of you. Hell, I'm proud of you." She placed a hand on my cheek, the cool dampness of her palm betrayed her nervousness.

Sergeant stopped in front of us. "Better watch it kid. Her boyfriend is a mean motherfucker."

Shannie glowered, the Sergeant resumed pacing.

"First jumpers, Manifest," the PA announcer ordered.

"That's us," Shannie said.

"Bug," I said struggling to my feet. "I ah, I " the words wrapped themselves around my tongue like a car around a telephone pole. "Thank you." I closed my eyes. My heart punched my chest for not expressing how it felt.

"Anytime Just James - what are friends for?" Without a word, we walked together towards Manifest.

A sharp whistle cried out followed by Beetle's soggy voice, Despite my numerous protests she insisted on calling me Jim. "YOO! JIM MORRISON!" she yelled. "YOU FORGET SOMETHING?" She waved the tube containing Stan's ashes.

"HURRY YUP" Pete lisped over the Cessna's prop. When we got to the door the jumpmaster gave us the exit order. I struggled to hear Pete over the prop. "Chris four, Chames three, Channie two, Chargent one." I followed Chris through the open door on my hands and knees to my spot in the rear left side of the Cessna.

Pete barked last minute instructions as the plane taxied to the end of the grass runway. The plane came to a momentary rest before swinging around. The pilot idled up. "LEAN FORWARD," the jumpmaster ordered. I reached around Shannie with both hands and held her belly; through her jumpsuit I felt her stomach vibrate as the plane lurched forward. As the plane accelerated along the bumpy runway, she leaned her rear-end into my crotch and guided my left hand to her breast. She wiggled in my lap. I squeezed her breast as I stared at the back of her white bubble helmet. My hard-on strained against my jumpsuit. Then we were airborne. Shannie guided my hand off her breast and gave it a tiny smack.

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Pete Condra told Sergeant he was "hooked."

Shannie asked Sergeant "Does the size of a guy's feet indicate his endowment?"

He responded with a vacant stare. "I guess all the blood rushed to his ass," Shannie said later.

"OPENENING THE DOOR," Pete yelped as the plane leveled off and made its approach. "GOGGLES ON, THERE'S GOING TO BE A WIND BLAST." The wind rushed over us as the door slammed against the underside of the wing. Relief from the heat was immediate. With his hands on Sergeant's shoulders, Pete leaned over him and stuck his head out of the door. "CUT!" the jumpmaster yelled to the pilot. "FEET OUT," Pete patted the jumper on the shoulder. Sergeant leaned back and placed his feet on the small step outside the door. "HANDS OUT!" the jumpmaster ordered. Sergeant's hands went out of my view. "HANG STRUT," Pete yelled out the door. I looked past Pete, Sergeant Slaughter was hanging, his feet dangling in the breeze. "GO!" Pete Screamed. "GO!" the jumpmaster repeated.




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