The Mile High Club

I never understood the logistics of the Mile High Club. I am 6’-3”ish and already bump into stationary objects with my head, elbows, legs and feet all the time. Going to the bathroom on an airplane is a risky proposition. It’s like cramming water skis (my feet), stilts (my legs), a giant bean bag (my ass), two lacrosse sticks (my arms) and an oversized mutant melon (my head) into a gym locker. There just isn’t much room and something is bound to get hurt.

I can’t imagine entering an airplane bathroom with a woman; no matter how tiny she is; to have sex. Even if there are yoga classes to train for the kinds of moves you must need to put the right parts in the right places while leaving space for rhythm (insert porn music here), I have to believe joining the Mile High Club is more difficult than simply finding a willing partner.

Wikipedia has an awesome definition for the allure of the Mile High Club. Following is their opening two paragraphs on the club:

The Mile High Club is a slang term applied collectively to individuals who have sex while on board an aircraft in flight. There is no known formally constituted club so named. However, since "membership" of the "club" is really a matter of an individual asserting they have qualified, the qualifications for membership are open to some interpretation.

One explanation for the club's allure is the vibration of the airplane, which may make arousal easier. Others say they have fantasies about pilots or flight attendants, or a fetish about planes themselves. For many others, perhaps the majority, the appeal of joining the Mile High Club is the thrill of doing something taboo and the thrill of the risk of being discovered.

I question the allure from the airplane’s vibration. If that were really common, I imagine there would be way way way less irritable travelers from absent leg room, reclining, seats, obese neighbors and screaming kids. If all it took was a little plane vibration, then why doesn’t everyone just put Barry White on the headphones, sit back, and uh, “relax.” Although you may want to try Jem’s “Come on Closer” as your sexy times music. Barry White is a large dead man and may not evoke the proper arousal for airplane “relaxation” if you accidentally envision him while the plane’s hydraulics provide that special tingle.

According to neuropsychiatrist Dr. Louann Brizendine, author of “The Female Brain,” men think about sex every 52 seconds. I am a man. And I travel a lot. Let’s say an average flight is three hours. That is 10,800 seconds. That means on a typical flight, I will be thinking about sex 207 times. Maybe that explains why I get antsy when the flight attendant mentions nuts and the cockpit. I mean; c’mon!

Alas, I have traveled a bunch while married and single and other than some random groping which I engage in just about anywhere anyway, I haven’t gotten close to obtaining my Mile High Club card and really didn’t think much of the possibility based on cramped quarters of the latrine.

But then one flight changed everything. The bathroom wasn’t even a factor. The details are forever engrained in my happy (very happy) memory. Rather than provide those details here, I’ll provide the key parameters and let your imagine take over.

• Alcohol
• Overnight flight
• Sleeping pills that haven’t quite kicked in yet
• Blanket
• Middle and aisle seat
• Window seat taken by sound asleep passenger buried in pillow
• Seats across aisle filled with sleeping people
• Seats in front and behind filled with sleeping and/or voyeuristic people
• Sundress sans undies
• Boxers
• Complete disregard for getting caught

Hello Mile High Club.

Who all is in the club anyway?