All The News For Atlanta Escorts.

I’m sitting on a jetliner on the tarmac in Austin due to foul weather in Dallas. I’ve called all my friends to fill the time. I’ve read the (not) inflight magazine from cover to cover. I did the requisite standing in the aisle to stretch my legs.

As my mind wandered, I got to thinking of the mile high club, a rarified organization that requires no official membership, no dues and no ID card. All one need do is engage in sex on an airplane or airliner. I suppose to be truly a member of the “mile high”club, the plane must be over six thousand feet in the air. But is it a mile above sea level? Or would cruising around at low altitude in a small airplane meet the same qualifications? What if the plane is on the tarmac in Denver? Would that OK? I suppose that since there are no official rules, membership qualifications are very subjective.

Even so, there’s a fine art to joining the club on an airliner. Decorum dictates that you can’t just grab your gal’s hand and lead her to the aft lav. I’ve tried rolling in the seats when blessed with an entire row – but it’s quit obvious to any passerby what’s going on. And I’ve wondered if diddling counts.

But, I did join the mile high club. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but it was fun. My gal went into the lav and locked it. I came by a moment later and gave her a secret knock. We tore at each other in the tiny bathroom, finding the rear entry method the easiest and most comfortable. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was certainly exciting and thrilling. When we were done, the plan was for me to leave first. I opened the door and there stood a six year old boy with a pained look on his face.

“You can’t go in there.” I pointed to a second lavatory with a green “available” sign, as I closed the door behind me.

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