There is a club, much fabled and discussed in whispers among pilots, attendants and some passengers. It is shrouded, not in mystery, but exclusivity. Membership is only for the most daring of people.
Once in 2006, I had a passenger on board my flight to Johannesburg, South Africa. It was not a particularly full flight so he had the option to change seats and, since he had boarded last, he chose the last row of seats.
Back then I was a more active ABP hunter (link to ABP Hunter) and I had moved this girl I had met on a previous flight to the last row of seats so she would be near me. So it was, that they both shared the last three seats between them.
After the meal service on night flights, the interior lights are usually turned low to allow passengers catch some sleep if they wished. This, incidentally, was the time when I usually took advantage of an ABP situation to explore/exploit the rapport that would have been built from before to see where it led.
I walked into the cabin with the intention of inviting her to the galley for a few drinks and some chat but found her head nestled on the thighs of this friend of mine.
I took one look and backed away slowly.
From the positioning of her head – facing down – and the way it bobbed up and down slowly under the blanket that was thrown over his mid-section, I worked out she was not exactly just resting her head there for comfort. His head was thrown back against the headrest of his reclined seat, and his eyes were closed as if in sleep. The half smile and sudden twitching of his features, however, told a different story.
When, a few minutes later, he went into the lavatory, I waited to corner him on his way out. It was then that he confirmed to me, not if he just had head, but how good it was.
“Best I ever had, but not quite like the real thing.”
#Quit while you are ahead
Another time on a flight to the UK, after the cabin lights had been turned down, a male and female passenger got really frisky.
They were under covers true, but the goings on under the blanket left little to the imagination.
They smooched, they kissed; they fondled, they straddled; they grunted, they panted and when they were done, looking dishevelled and flushed, they slept in each other’s embrace. Just like two regular rabbits they were.
This was not shocking by itself, what shocked me beyond words was the knowledge that they had boarded the aircraft total strangers. The man had changed seats to be next to the lady. My colleagues thought I was making this up until they woke up and the lady looked at the man. She looked at him really hard, shook her head as if to clear cobwebs and then moved away from him, keeping a seat between them.
He woke up and smiling, reached out for her. She stopped his hand midair and returned it to him. He had taken off the glasses he was wearing, and I think she only then just noticed he had a glass eye that bulged out of the socket and couldn’t be completely covered by his lid. I think it was the eye because she would look at his face and quickly look away while pressing herself against the body of the aircraft as it to say “Someone please take me away from here”.
We landed in Gatwick and, during our security checks after passengers had disembarked, found two bags forgotten on board by a passenger – my man Frisky!
Rumour has it that one of my colleagues made it into the Hall of Fame. That on a flight out of Lagos to London, he had met and befriended this passenger; that they had spent a considerable part of the flight chatting; that at one point he had disappeared, but nobody really thought much about it as the crew behind thought he was in business class helping out; and that he had eventually come out of a lavatory wearing a smug look and a goofy grin. It is rumoured that after ascertaining that the coast was clear, he had stepped aside to let someone pass, and it was the lady! It is also rumoured that he had shown someone or some people a used condom, though some versions say it was just a torn condom wrapper.
What I do know for a fact is that we had met at the airport on the morning he landed – I was leaving London – and he had told me he had sex with a crazy chic on board in the lavatory. He also told me I could confirm from certain crew members who were on the flight if I doubted his claims.
I didn’t ask, I didn’t need to; I knew him and I knew what he was capable of, but more than that, my colleagues couldn’t keep it to themselves, they told all freely.
It may all sound far-fetched to some, and I probably would have been part of the number if I hadn’t had the ‘privilege’ of witnessing some of these things first hand.
I think there is something about cold, dark confined spaces that sort of power down our inhibitions and power up our inner freaks. Or how else can I explain finding articles of intimate clothing in seat pockets after some of these flights? A thong here, a bra there, a pack of condoms with one or two missing and, one time, a tied up used condom wrapped in an air sickness bag…
PS: I know some people who have partaken of some daring-dos: on a bus travelling from East to West or North to South, in a Cinema with children and other movie goers around, on bonnets of cars parked on dark street, in cars parked in shaded corners, on the open fields at night during NYSC, empty lecture theatres jerking all night when they should have been jacking all night.
There is a club, much fabled and discussed in whispers among pilots, flight attendants and some passengers. It reeks of exclusivity. Membership is only for the most daring of people. The dare is not in doing the McNasty in public, it is in doing it in public while flying so high above the ground.
This club is called the Mile High Club, and if I belonged, I would wear my membership badge proudly.