<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Airplanes on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/airplanes/</link><description>Recent content in Airplanes on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/tags/airplanes/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>An Ensign's Fantasies 15</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/an-ensigns-fantasies-15/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/an-ensigns-fantasies-15/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="ensigns_fantasies14.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;An Ensign&amp;rsquo;s Fantasies 14&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)_&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 15&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The following narrative is that of a retired Starfleet commander. Though many of the narrated details did actually occur all names are fictitious and locales and dates are changed to prevent individual identification.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Finally Joe called. He had already called to talk twice this week but now it was to give me the time the plane would be at the airport. I was ready. I had been on a shopping frenzy to update my wardrobe for two weeks at a resort with Joe. The plane would be in in two hours. I had packed my bags the night before. I couldn’t stand to wait in my apartment any longer. I called for a ride and hustled my bags down to the street. My name was enough to allow me past security at the general aviation gate. An hour and a half early I waited forever where I was told the plane would come in.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>