In This Issue

Confessions of a Horny TI

The first step is admitting you have a problem.
Written by The Fuckin' Pilot

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Originally printed in issue #49 (December 2013) of Blue Skies Magazine.
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“Hi, my name’s Dean and I’m a horny tandem instructor.”

“Hi, Dean!”

“To be honest, I never really thought I had a problem. It was just the occasional student now and then, and the Vegas strippers that came to jump of course, but c’mon, who could blame me for that? I mean they were just giving it away, so why not me …”

As I stood at the podium telling my story to the group, I could see the knowing nods of the men and women who had lived this very tale. “I guess I’d known for some time that it could become a real problem. Hell … now, looking all the way back to my very first jump, I could see it as plain as the tits on a Jersey tandem student in July.”

“So … We’re friends now, right?”

“Yeah, for sure Dean. Why?”

“Well, cause I’ve gotta ask a question. I don’t know if you remember when I came out with my ex-girlfriend and made my first skydive, but I have to know … Did you have a boner in her back when you took her on her jump?”

Will Forchet eyed me with a look that was a mix somewhere between mild amusement and disappointment. Then he replied in a very matter of fact manner. “You don’t know about it? Of course I did, Dean … I jam a boner in EVERYONE’S back! I’m a horny fucking tandem master.”

Back then we weren’t “Tandem Instructors,” we were still “Tandem MASTERS,” which not only sounded a fuck-load cooler than instructor, but it let the students know exactly whose hands they were in. In that job, that position of power and that control, it was an almost impossible temptation to overcome. It was the closest thing to handing the keys to the candy store over to the kids.

Starting out as I did, shooting video at Skydive Las Vegas, I didn’t reap the kind of rewards that the real “pros” did, but it was so damn target rich that it was clearly enough to let me see how it could get out of control really quickly. I’d rationalize it by saying, “It’s Vegas! Of course this shit’s gonna happen.” All the while, watching the TIs showing the hot (and sometimes not so hot) tandem students around town after their jumps.

Then I got my tandem rating, and that’s when the real trouble started. At first it was just harmless flirting with the cute students that never really went anywhere, then it was pretty damn inappropriate flirting, and then … Jennifer was her name. Actually that’s a total lie. I have no idea what her fucking name was, so let’s just call her Irrelevant. She was cute as hell, she was English, she was amped out of her mind, and she wanted to do unspeakably fun things to the guy that had snatched her back from the jaws of death. Me! By the time she’d ticked off all the things on her Vegas bucket list, I was exhausted, raw, slightly ashamed and even though I didn’t yet know it, I had a serious monkey on my back. The dreaded “Horny Overzealous Tandem Instructor Syndrome,” or H.O.T.S. for short.

Like any hardcore addiction, it didn’t just happen all at once. I found that once a month, when the Trek America groups would come through Vegas, there was always at least one German nanny that was down for a good time after the jump, and let’s face it, European women aren’t scared to go after what they want. But, it was just an occasional thing, and I told myself that I was in total control the whole time. I could take it or leave it, and that leering at the cute students as they did their paperwork wasn’t me jonesing or anything, I was just being observant.

The first time I went to manifest to “suggest” that a particular student might be a good customer service match for me, I didn’t get a second look. But when that same student gave me a very energetic, very wet kiss goodbye the next morning in front of the same manifest girl, I knew I may have had a problem. Sooner than I could have imagined, I was asking manifest daily and working every hot student I had, and once manifest caught on that I had a problem, the cute students rarely ended in my lap. The next thing I knew, I was flirting with almost every female student that walked in the damn door, even once they’d been assigned to another TI, and I knew I was a goner. There was no hiding it anymore. I had the H.O.T.S.

About the time it was starting to get pretty bad and I feared all was lost, I was given the opportunity to step back from the tandem game for a bit and try to get my head straight. With amazing timing, I was approached by a former colleague about going back to work as a stripper at the Vegas club where I’d danced before, which was in my estimation, a much safer environment. With grit and fervent determination, I went back to work at the club to publicly take off my pants for money in a valiant attempt to clean up my image and free myself from my terrible addiction.

After a while back at the stripper game I foolishly figured, like many addicts do, that I had my H.O.T.S. beat. So when I got the offer to go work at Cross Keys during its peak party days, I thought, “What the fuck! I can deal with it and just do the job! No problem!”

Unfortunately for me, by Day Two in the rotation at CK I was in total denial and my H.O.T.S was in full flare up. On the last load of the day, when my student and I landed next to my trailer, her top already mostly off and her hands down my pants for the landing, I had to admit to myself that it was going to be a lifelong battle.

That’s when I learned I wasn’t alone with my syndrome. That’s when I learned I had made a huge mistake with my move, and that I should have stayed a Vegas stripper where it was safe, and everything made sense. Cross Keys was an entire DZ of H.O.T.S victims, both men AND women, and it was as it turned out, a battle for our very souls! A naked, sweaty, sticky messy battle.

I wish I could tell you that it all ended up roses. I wish I could tell you that everyone at CK kicked the H.O.T.S and moved on to lead normal, well-adjusted lives. I wish I could tell you that, but life isn’t all happy endings now, is it? It’s still a daily battle for many of us out here, and for those unlucky ones that couldn’t get a grip or haven’t found a support group, it’s an unchecked addiction that has them trying to bang pretty much everyone they strap on. You may know someone suffering like this. They may be sitting right next to you, wallowing in silent desperation, hoping above all else that someone will just reach out and give them a hand. Help to break the vicious cycle. Be that someone! Tell that TI next to you that he doesn’t have to deal with the H.O.T.S. anymore!

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