Sensual
by Ricki T Thues – 2025
I was packing my parachute under the Perris Skydiving sun sail, shaded from the 105° Southern California sun. A Twin Otter roared down the runway, door open, skydivers waving shaka “Hang loose!” As the airplane’s wheels lifted off the ground, I whispered, “Blue Skies.”
“OOO-we,” under Billy’s breath as he packed next to me.
I glanced over at him. He nodded toward Manifest. Leaning into the air-conditioned window was a tiny bikini bathing suit filled with a curvaceous woman. The temperature rose suddenly to 110°. A rivulet of sweat blinded one of my eyes. The other eye saw the bikini reach into the opening, one delicate foot beckoning as it lifted off the ground. “Blue Skies,” I whispered.
I was overheated and wanted a chilling dip in the pool. I threw my rig onto one of the pegs, peeled off my jumpsuit, and headed for the swimming pool. Giggling men and women who were also wearing only swimsuits hurried past me. I did a deep-end dive. When I broke the surface of the water, I found myself surrounded by beautiful people. One man with sculpted muscles and deeply tanned skin was tattooed with ancient symbols flowing down ribs and curling intimately along hipbones to the small of his back. A woman slipped through the water like a whisper, effortless strokes sliding slick laminar flow giving lift to hypnotic curves. Others bobbed in the shallows, laughter painting joy on the corners of their mouths, the flair of their nostrils, and the corners of their eyes.
Cooler now, I climbed out of the pool. It did not take long to dry off on my way back to the shade of the giant Maple. Some of my friends were sitting in a circle under the tree, telling tall tales. Soon, I was listening to Owen talking about a recent record skydive he had filmed. Suddenly, he stopped in mid-sentence and pointed toward the sidewalk, jaw dropping slightly. I followed his pointing finger to a sisterhood of nine women skydivers striding and talking in a group. The collective swing of their hips and the fluid elegance between muscle and intention breathed grace into presence. They owned the space they moved through.
Owen said, “That’s Wendy. She’s getting married to Phillip next week.” Her bouncing trot had a buoyant rhythm which sprang like a playful heartbeat. Her smile outshone those of her friends.
“That is her bridal party. I’m filming their naked skydive today. Do you want to fly second camera?” Owen smiled and winked.
“Yes,” I blurted, with enthusiasm that caught the attention of the women in our Maple tree circle.
“When’s the jump?”
“2 pm. Dirt dive at 1:30.”
“Are we naked too?”
“That’s the tradition,” Owen grinned.
I looked back over at Wendy’s women, and my imagination did not see their clothing.
At the dirt dive, I was smitten. Wendy had organized her friends into a circle around her. They were wearing their parachute rigs, helmets, and wrist altimeters. Over their gear, they were loosely shrouded in button shirts and short pants. The suggestion of what was behind the clothing was unsubtle and provocative. I was only marginally aware that Owen and I were similarly clad.
The skydive was to be simple, with Wendy flying into a circle of her eight friends holding hands. Wendy would turn slow 360s and smile at her bridesmaids. Owen would take the above and center position, and I would be filming straight-on from the side.
Except for the occasional giggle of the women, the climb to altitude was oddly sober. This was because of the unabashed ogling of the other skydivers in the plane, male and female alike.
I was sitting on the aft bench looking at the lovely female crew during the 20-minute climb to 12,000 feet. At the 3-minute call, I slipped off my shorts and unbuttoned my shirt. The women did the same. It was a stunning scene as they all stashed their clothes under the benches.
At the red light, Owen opened the door. On the green light, Owen climbed out to the camera step outside the airplane. Wendy and three of her friends brushed past me to perch outside on the door’s threshold. They clung to the float bar. I sidled past the other five as they pressed breasts to backs toward the door opening. Taking up the rear slot, I wrapped my arms around the last woman as Wendy yelled, “READY…SET…GO!
The floaters let go and everyone followed them into freefall.
Approaching the skydive, I flew past Owen and could not help but notice that anything between his legs had disappeared into a nondescript lump. Nothing was whipping around down there. I continued to my on-level slot.
These women are all excellent skydivers. I noticed the joy on their faces and the precision of their flying. They were a fairy ring in an enchanted time.
And then there was the 120 mph wind of freefall.
The wind turned every patch of skin to flapping wrinkles.
Breasts were deflated balloons in a gale.
One shorter woman became a Shar-Pei.
Suspended in air as she was, another woman’s jowls were the wattle of a bird.
I knew one of the smarter women who wore the wrinkles of her brain on her face.
Their prune-like appearance made me never want to covet a plum again.
As Wendy rotated, she became her own grandmother in the wrinkled, aged company of a knitting circle.
Break off was at 5000 feet, and we all tracked away from each other. When my parachute opened, I was no longer excited. Instead, I was a little numb.
I landed first and wrapped my parachute around myself. Then I filmed each of the women landing their parachutes. Friends on the ground brought each of them clothing. I wished I had thought of that. Phillip ran up to Wendy, gave his fiancée an enthusiastic hug, then handed her some clothes.
As the women shimmied into shorts and shirts, my heart hastened. Each button brought new mystery to their beauty. Wendy stood backlighted by the blazing sun. The shadow of her body through her shirt gave hint of the honeymoon to come. My imagination was sparked with renewed heat.
The women dressing on the grass of the landing area was the most sensual and sexiest part of the whole day.
