The movie: There is a plane. There are snakes on it. ‘Nuff said. But if you care to know the oh-so-plausible reasons why, it’s because Samuel L. Jackson is an FBI agent escorting a key witness to a trial, and the indicted guy tries to kill them by releasing hundreds of venomous vipers into the aircraft. Snakes! On a plane! Hollywood! What’s scarier?
The scene: An inordinately well-endowed bottle-blonde girl and a ripped, surfer-boy stud decide to do the California Eugenics Society version of mile-high loving. She provocatively climbs over him en route to the loo, he follows just after, they disable the smoke detector (federal offense!), smoke a J (transporting over state lines!), start to get it on, and then get bitten by creepy slitheries. As in most horror films, the wages of sin aren’t great.
What you need:
• Airplane bathroom (minus snakes)
• Willing partner
In the film he follows her directly into the bathroom, but in reality it’s considerably less obvious to wait a touch and then have an agreed-upon one-knock code for the first person to open the door. They do it while the lights are on and everyone is awake; it’s much easier on an over-nighter while everyone is snoozing away.
Once inside, the main issue is space (a friend of mine was getting busy at 35,000 but kept banging on the Call button without knowing — not subtle). These two, however, have it down to a science. She’s worn a very short skirt, so he can lift her up onto the sink for pretty easy access, and from that position they have plenty of room (as with other kinds of bathroom-stall sex, the other options are for her to bend over the toilet basin or for him to sit on it and have her climb on top of him).
Other than negotiating the small space, the only other factors are making sure you lock the door, keeping your noise level down, not staying in too long (his removing her shirt only makes sense to maximize the boobage of the scene, not for real-life practice), making a graceful exit (not easy if anyone is waiting to get in) and, most importantly, not hitting the Call button.
But, for the record, pulling the smoke detector down so you can fire up a spliff is a very bad idea. Had the two of them not met untimely serpentine ends, they would have faced quite a few years in the federal lock-up. No joke.
Lesson we learn:
Joining the mile-high club actually isn’t as hard as you might imagine, assuming you’re willing to get some disapproving stares from flight attendants or fellow passengers when you come out of the stall together. So next time you’re planning a long trip with your sweetie, book the flight overnight, reserve seats on the aisle (you don’t want to have to wake your neighbor to get out), wear easy-access clothing, and wait till everyone is asleep. It won’t be the best sex you’ve ever had, but you’ll be able to check off another box on your life to-do list.