On a flight to Mexico for vacation, my boyfriend, Steven, was extra frisky and determined to join the mile-high club.
He went into the restroom first. I nervously followed 30 seconds later. He was sitting on the toilet seat with his pants at his ankles.
When I squeezed inside, he turned me around and plopped me down in a seated reverse cowgirl position. He pushed my sundress up, pulled my panties to the side, and thrust into me with a firm hold on my hips.
I never knew I could come so fast.
Back at our seats, two female flight attendants approached us. Without saying a word, one of them unfolded our trays and spread out a white cloth napkin, while the other placed two glasses of champagne and a rose. They whispered, “Congratulations.”
I met Sam, a coast guard officer, on a scuba trip in the Cayman Islands. I thought he looked great in his wetsuit, so I flirted with him, dropping a hint that I was the only single girl in my group. He offered to give me a private lesson.
At one point it was just the two of us underwater, and he gently floated over and kissed me. Afterward we kept hanging out, and later that night, fueled by tequila and dancing, we broke off to walk the beach.
We came across a hammock between two palm trees and clambered into it. This felt exotic and taboo—we’d only just met and could get caught.
At first we just kissed. I wasn’t sure if things would go much further—we were in a moving hammock, after all. It could flip.
But then he pulled off a feat that still impresses me: Steadying the hammock with one arm, he reached down with the other hand and slid off my panties. A few minutes later, I came.
Despite the fact that we were strangers, it was intensely romantic. The beach. The waves. The stars. The romance and the thrill pushed me over the edge.
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