I sat there at the bar in Seattle’s Tacoma airport, drinking a tall glass of the worst cider I’ve ever consumed and feeling decidedly unsexy in my oversized Weezer t-shirt, my black leggings and my compression stockings when it happened. Little did I know, I was about to enter the most sexually frustrating international flight of my life, and it all started with a tiny little facebook message from the sexy Aussie who would be meeting me at Melbourne’s Tullamarine upon landing.
“When you get here, I am going to fuck you till you scream and thrash and sob. You’re going to forget everything, right down to your own name. The only thing you’ll be able to focus on is how good it feels to have me inside of you again and the sounds you’ll be making as you cum.”
I was distractingly wet as I boarded the plane.
I’m not saying that I set out that morning expecting to be humping my own hand in the darkness of an international flight– but some of my decisions that day did inadvertently assist the endeavor. When it comes to low key self love in a cramped little environment, your biggest friend is a stretchy waistband or an easy access skirt. Add in the extra privacy of the in-flight blanket that you’re provided with and you can almost pretend that you’re not a half inch away from being elbow-deep in the mouth-breather next to you.
A noisy vibrator is the last thing you’re going to want to be whipping out in such close quarters, no matter what volume your seatmates are watching Apocalypse Now through their headphones on. In this situation, using your fingers is more or less ideal– but if you can’t make it happen without a battery-operated friend, there are always low-volume alternatives. My personal pick is my Vesper by Crave: it’s quiet, it’s powerful, it’s gorgeous, and you can wear it through security without any awkward looks from the TSA agents or running into any Fight Club-esque situations.
“Nine times out of ten [the vibrating is] an electric razor, but every once in a while… it’s a dildo. Of course it’s company policy never to, imply ownership in the event of a dildo… always use the indefinite article a dildo, never your dildo.”
Timing is Everything
Half of the fun about masturbating in mid-air is the threat of being caught (the other half is mostly turbulence). But that doesn’t mean you’re about to welcome the idea of sitting next to a fellow passenger who’s just caught you stroking your clit next to them for ten more hours of in-flight awkwardness. The best time to start playing with the little man in the boat is after the first meal service on an international flight, after the stewardesses have picked up your food trays. On a domestic flight, keep an eye on your neighbors– once they’re sufficiently distracted with their business reports, their Kindles or their eye masks, you’re in the clear. And it should go without saying, but should you be seated near children, you’re not in the correct environment for anything of the sexual nature– for your own sake and theirs, keep those hands busy with something of a more innocent nature.
The Silent Climax
So you’ve gotten this far– now it’s time for you to come. You’ve been careful, you’ve been discreet, and you can feel the pleasure building to an intense peak as you soar over 40,000 feet in the air. But what do you do if you’re a heavy breather– or a panter– or a screamer?
My own orgasms tend to be pretty loud, but after living in the dorms at my university for two years, I’ve become a master of the silent climax. The technique is simple enough with a little practice.
First, make sure that you don’t orgasm too intensely. A heavy touch or too-fast fingers can lead to an accidental orgasm that you weren’t expecting– which can lead to the kind of noises that are sure to alert your neighbors to your dirty deeds. Instead, use a gentle hand to ensure that you’re the one in charge of your orgasm, not your body. When you feel yourself reaching that edge, take in a long, deep breath; once you’re over it and you can feel yourself spasming, release that breath in short, quiet bursts.
And then, once you’re done, wipe yourself off on an in flight napkin and enjoy that post-orgasm afterglow. Or hell– have another go at it! Fifteen hours is an awful lot of time to keep those hands of yours occupied, after all…
So, dear readers, are any of you members of the mile high club? Where’s the craziest place you’ve found yourself getting intimate? Let me know in the comments!
Until next week,