Mile High..

So, I am sat on the plane on my journey back from Spain to London, next to a Dane Cook look-a-like. He is tall, tanned, rugged looking with stubble and perfect white teeth. We are sat on the emergency exit row which means we have lots of leg room but does not mean that our legs do not stop touching.

We started talking to one another about ten minutes after he sat next to me and I find out that he works as a painter and decorator which I can imagine he is great at. I then started imagining him wearing nothing but denim overalls with paint all over himself, and then with no overalls. OK, great - I am sat in the window seat imagining the Dane Cook look-a-like naked.

I find out Mr Cook's real name is Pierre. "Very French" I said. He then told me that his mother is French and that his dad is Spanish (perfect Med mix) and the reason for his trip to Spain was to visit his family. So now the overalls image is out of my head and I am imagining mine and Pierre's beautiful looking Med children. His Spanish/French looks and my Moroccan/Israeli looks - would make gorgeous children. OK Ilana, stop thinking about having children with a man you met 15 minutes ago.
I decided I would try and impress Pierre with my great French knowledge, which went down well and made him laugh. You see, the French I speak is what I remember from school. For example, 'les pantalons brun' = the brown trousers. Or 'jai voudrais une aller returne le Paris non fumer merci' - I would like a return ticket to Paris non smoking please. Or how about the one that made me giggle to myself - 'jai voudrais le jambon' - I want ham. So I say the word ham and I think meat, then I think of sausage and then I think of his sausage. So now my eyes are focusing on his package area and I am hoping he does not notice. I am trying to look in his eyes as we speak but my eyes are wondering. It's like my brain only wants to think of cock and nothing else.

Pierre then notices my book lodged in front of my legs in the compartment on the back of the seat in front and asks to see it. OK, now I am embarrassed. The book I am reading is called "Sleeping Around: Secrets Of A Sexual Adventure" by Catherine Townsend. I see a smile forced on his face but I think he is slightly shocked. He then asks me what the book is about. Right, how do I explain this book and put it simply?
"Well Pierre, it is about an American girl living in London who writes a sex column for the Telegraph and basically shares her sex life and most intimate feelings with us."
"Is it any good?" Pierre asked. My reply - "Oh it is great! She talks about guys she sleeps with, their penis sizes and sex toys!" OH MY GOSH.. Did I actually just tell this gorgeous man that I am reading a book about penis sizes and vibrators?! As if that isn't bad enough, I can not get the thought of the size of Pierre's penis out of my head.
I then start thinking about how I would love to earn points for the Mile High Club! Unfortunately, on board an EasyJet plane, there are two toilets only. One situated at the front of the plane and one at the back. The whole plane including staff would have to be asleep for me to be able to sneak in with Pierre. If only we were on board a BA flight where they have curtains to hide the toilet areas. They are also slightly bigger toilets that the ones on Easyjet which just about fit my ass inside.

So, there I am, deep in thought about sleeping with Pierre, and he has dozed off. Typical man. I am hoping his head falls onto my shoulder. To be fair, I am wearing a low cut top and I have seen him checking out my cleavage. Check away Pierre. Have a squeeze for all I care. They cannot be missed, they are quite the pair let me add.
I lean my head on the window and doze off. Both Pierre and myself are both awoken by an announcement on the plane. "Are there any doctors or medics on board this flight? If so please come see one of the staff immediately!" Everyone is looking around to see what has happened and who has fallen ill. We then find out a man is feeling very faint and he is taken oxygen. I kind of wanted to shoot up my hand and say "I am a doctor!" I am nowhere near a doctor. But surely with a first aid certificate and having watched seven seasons of Greys Anatomy, I am close to medic status.

So Pierre and I are now both fully awake and he asks me if I am single. To which I reply, "Yes I am now. I was dating someone before I went away but it just wasn't working." The reason I said this was I wanted him to think that as it was nothing serious I am happy to move on but still only ended two weeks ago so he should try harder. To my excitement, Pierre told me that he is also single and the 'guy' I was dating obviously did not deserve me, which I agreed with.

The seat belt sign is switched on and a voice announces that we will shortly be landing in London Luton. That two and a half hour journey went by so quickly and I desperately wished Pierre and I were on a ten hour flight to South Africa.
I told Pierre that I hate landing and he held my hand. As he took hold of my hand, my whole body tingled. I could no longer think about my fear of planes and landing but instead just thought about snogging the face off him. My imagination really gets the better of me sometimes.

The plane lands, everyone claps and the seatbelt sign is switched off. Pierre lets go of my hand and stands up to reach into the overhead compartment to get both of our bags. As he is standing there, his shirt was lifted and I can see a trail of hair, most usually known as the 'snail trail' leading from his tummy downwards. Once again, I am fixated on his package, just wanting to open his zip. His tanned arms then lean towards me, handing me over my bag. As I take my bag, I touch his hand, our eyes meet and we both smile. I think I just made a mess in my knickers.

We walk off of the plane and into the terminal. We get to the luggage carousel and to my amazement, my suitcase is the first one coming around. This never happens. It is usually last. Pierre helps me to get it onto my trolley. Now it is time to say goodbye. I know my mum is waiting for me in the car park but all I want to do is go back with Pierre. He grabs my shoulders and gives me a kiss on both cheeks and tells me it was great meeting me. He then asks me a question that makes my face beam like the Cheshire cat. He asks for my number. I give it to him without hesitation, put my bag on my shoulder and wave him goodbye in hopes I hear from him shortly....