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MediaSeptember 18, 2015

A Tribute to Scout’s Saucy ‘Mile High Diaries’


Here at The Spinoff there’s no Scout feature we anticipate more than ‘Mile High Diaries’ – the definitely true tales of animal lust conducted at 40,000 feet. We were pleasantly surprised to receive an anonymous submission to the series of our own this week…

I buckled in safely just as the plane was about to take off. “Please switch off your mobile phones”, the flight attendant requested over the PA. Good. The only text messages I had been receiving that day were from my clingy fiancé on the other side of the country. He was the last person I wanted to hear from after a busy week of work, spreadsheets, and more spreadsheets. The good salary I earned as one of the top business women down at the stockmarket meant I was able to afford the extra $8 for “select your seat”. I had chosen one by the aisle near the front of the plane, as I liked to be one of the first to get off. Little did I know I’d be “getting off” even earlier than I had hoped ;-)

20 minutes into the flight, the flight attendant wheeled a cart down the aisle.

“Cookie or cassava chips?” he asked me. I looked up, and took him in for the first time (but not the last ;-)). He was Italian, chiseled, and very well groomed, like he had stepped off the front page of a magazine that normally features very handsome men on the front page.

“Well?” He continued.

“Cookie or cassava chips?”

A savoury sour cream and chive delight? Or a naughty sweet treat? I couldn’t decide, so I decided to be bold.

“How about both?” I responded, biting my lip. He laughed a masculine laugh.

“I’m afraid that would be breaking the rules,” he winked, before checking the head flight attendant wasn’t looking, and slipping me one of each.

As the flight continued, the attendant continued to walk past me, paying me extra attention. I think I must have eaten three or four mini-cookies! A few flirtatious exchanges later, we were fucking. Just raw dogging it up against the door of the cockpit. His hips thrusting wildly, back and forth, as he checked over his shoulder to make sure none of the passengers were awake. Luckily they all remained asleep as we continued to bang, our hands all over each other, our tongues intertwined. Kissing. Touching. Butt play. It was like there was no one else in the world, just us, at 10,000 feet in the air. Fucking.

Eventually, we were interrupted by an old female voice. “Excuse me, can you do that somewhere else”. We turned to see an elderly woman waiting to use the bathroom. We’d been sprung! We blushed, and giggled like school children before putting our clothes on and returning to our respective areas. It was only after I took my seat that I noticed it on my watch. The date. September 11th, 2001.

We were on a 9/11 plane!

Keep going!