He scouted three times back and forth along the cliff top before he dared set off across the valley. Even though the time he had started on tow was recorded, Mike was in too extreme a turmoil to compete. Other gliders spiraled up in the rising columns of air or swooped quickly between thermals. Two later-starting sailplanes had already begun their race across the valley floor before Mike had collected himself.
Mike plotted his course and dove sideways over the edge. Once away from the updraft of the cliff face, he had to take his direction from the birds, clouds, and other visual clues that showed rising air. The long wings flexed with the strain of his skidding turns. He flew recklessly, his usual caution paralyzed by his confusion. His balls felt swollen under the seat belt.
Time and again Mike dove to within fifty feet of the ground before entering a thermal. He rode each gust only high enough to dive and race into the next. He zigzagged over the fields. Mike even took advantage of the turbulent strip of air over an asphalt road to fly faster and lower, seeking the fresh-plowed field whose warmth could lift him a few seconds closer to the turnabout.
Mike's eyes played constantly over his gauges. His head craned, checking the other gliders and the faint shimmer of lifting air. He meshed the rhythm of climbing and swooping to his glider. He plummeted across to a stronger thermal or rose thousands of feet, playing altitude against time.
Hours later, Mike had forgotten about his lust-swollen balls. The lewd weight was just one more pain to put up with, along with his stiff neck and sweaty, bone-deep fatigue. He lined up on the runway of the gliderport, set the spidery bird down, and pulled the airbrakes. He was tired enough to hardly care how close he came to the pylon in the runway. When his glider tipped over, he was looking for his daughter.
Kathy ran up to the sailplane and helped her father out. His face was red around his sunglasses and his legs were unsteady. "Daddy! You did really good! You're five minutes ahead of the next pilot!" Kathy threw her arms around her father and the nearby officials grinned.
Mike looked down into her face. Kathy looked as bright and innocent as sunshine. A broad smile spread over his lined, sweat-streaked face and he hugged her. "Let's wait until everybody's back in," he said. "We've got days to go yet.”
They wheeled the aircraft back to their assigned spot and put it, piece by piece, into the long, narrow trailer. The razor-sharp wings went first, then the bulbous fuselage. Kathy felt her pussy moisten when she compared the blunt roundness of the glider's cock-pit to her single glance of her father's glans.
Milt Jackson came over as Mike locked up the trailer. He brought the day's results. Mike had finished two hundred seconds faster then Bob Williams, and the two of them led the other pilots by long margins. Kathy exulted at the news, but her spirits fell at Milt's next words.
"Why don't you and Kathy come to dinner with Mary and me?" He scraped his foot in the loose dirt of the impound area then added, "I think you might find it interesting. Besides, the Inn is putting on a party for all the entrants after dinner.”
Mike glanced at his daughter. Twelve years of raising her gave him the telltale signs. She didn't have to say anything, but Kathy's expression told him that she knew about her father and Mary Jackson.
"Why, sure! We'd love to go, Milt. What time should we meet you?" Mike couldn't help thinking, I'm in deep shit! If Mary acts funny at all tonight, I'm gonna die. Kathy already knows, and that's bad enough. If Milt finds out, it's gonna be ugly as hell! And what does he mean, it's going to be interesting?
Kathy glanced sharply at her father. She wondered about Milt's choice of words, also. A little of the bitterness that had disappeared after she sucked off Bob Williams came back. If Daddy makes eyes at that tramp tonight, I'll kick him! Better yet, I'll suck every man in the room!
After Milt confirmed the invitation, Kathy stood glaring at her father. "Don't you have to work on the glider tonight, Daddy?" she asked. The happy smile she'd greeted him with was gone.
"No, baby, it's in perfect shape. Everything worked beautifully today." He looked into her clouded eyes. "Come on, Kathy. Let's change for dinner." He reached for her hand, but she pulled away and stalked off toward the camper.
A ball-wrenching misery hit Mike as he called after her. The child's shapely behind underscored his words. "You're getting more like your mother every day!”
Milt Jackson spent most of the evening dropping hints to Mike and Kathy. The greying old flier tiptoed around mentioning nothing definite, but the gist was that Mike could name his price as a glider designer if he won the contest. Kathy wasn't sure, but Milt intimated that some of the spectators were very wealthy and interested in producing high-performance sailplanes.
Mary tried several times to start up conversations with Kathy. She was motherly, which Kathy resented, and condescending, which the little blonde hated. Kathy answered Mary's polite questions in monosyllables, then stopped her jawing with a glare.
Kathy watched her father closely after dinner. She quickly thanked Milt for inviting them before Mike could argue over the check, which all four knew he couldn't afford. The twelve-year-old girl was gratified to see that her father was no more than polite to Mary Jackson. She felt her chilly resentment melt away by the time they left the party.
Mike was chatty as he drove the truck back up to their campsite. He rambled on about the flying weather and the view. "Last night, Kathy, Milt told me I could take you up in his glider. He even offered to let you solo in it when you have enough instruction.”
His voice rambled lightly on, telling jokes about some of the other pilots and the crews who'd been at the party. He sounded happy, but Kathy caught a glimpse of his strained face in the headlights of a passing car. She climbed down from the high seat and knelt next to him, putting her head on her father's knee.
Mike reached down and caressed his daughter's fine blonde hair. It was softer than downy feathers, and he spoke gently to her. "You should go lie down if you're tired, Kathy. Pull your bunk down and I'll drive nice and slow.”
"I'm not that sleepy, Daddy. I just want to be close to you" Kathy cleared her throat and spoke again. "What will happen if you don't win, Daddy?”
Mike drove in silence for a while. He answered as they entered the campground. "I can sell this plane if we finish well. We can get enough for it to start building another one.”
"And if we don't finish well? What happens if we don't even finish?”
"Oh, Kathy, don't think like that! We're going to win. The plane will be worth three times what it cost to make if we win. We'd have enough left over to buy a good two-seater so we could fly together. Would you like that, honey?”
Kathy answered soberly. "Of course I'd like that, Daddy. But what happens if you lose badly?”
Mike responded lightly. He put on his best joking tone and said, "Well, baby, I'll have to sell the plane for whatever I can get for it. If it's a loser, I can still get the cost of the material back, and the protest fee will make a nice profit”
Kathy sighed and stood up. Mike cut the motor and lights. They had arrived at their campsite.
Mike saw her downcast expression when his pretty daughter moved to the back of the truck. He swiveled on the seat and spoke through the curtain between them, "Look at it this way, Kathy. I've still got my job, and we'll have more money if I quit flying. The house is paid for. It won't be so bad if I lose.
He watched her silhouette moving. The little yellow bulb was behind her and Kathy's shadow flowed across the curtain.
She undressed without replying. Mike watched the shadow as Kathy unbuttoned her blouse. Her pointed breasts showed sharp and firm against the light. Mike's paternal warmth and tenderness turned to pulsing lust. He struggled with the feeling, but kept watching.