Dear Di

Your essential guide to having sex on a plane. Illustration: Rame Abdulkader.

Dear Ty,

My partner and I are heading on a vacation to somewhere much warmer than Ottawa over reading week and I’m really excited, but the flight is going to be super long. To help pass the time, an idea flew into my head: having sex mid-flight. We’ve always wanted to try it but never knew how to actually get away with it—any tips for us?

Mile High Lovin

Dear MHL,

Phew, this is an interesting one I’ve always wanted to answer. So you really wanna join the mile-high club, huh?

I’m going to break my answer into two parts since there are basically only two ways to have sex on a plane and get away with it unless you’re feeling really kinky and are willing to risk a public indecency charge.

Your first option is the riskiest (which could also be the hottest, if that’s what you’re into) and means getting dirty in your own seat. I would really recommend not doing this if you and your partner are sitting in a row of seats beside another passenger, unless you get the vibe that said passenger is interested in joining or if you know for certain that they’re fast asleep (please don’t slip them a sedative).

Your strongest ally here is a blanket: flag down the nearest flight attendant and secure one of those branded fleece ones every airline carries. Next, set your expectations. Despite what you might’ve seen in pornos, you can’t realistically have full on sex in the actual seats of your plane and expect to get away with it. Timing is also integral; no one likes interruptions. Wait until the flight attendants have done their rounds for food, drinks, and garbage and then get into it, allowing the sexual tension between you and your partner to fizzle over until the time is right.

If you’re committed to sticking to your seats, the safest bet is to have all the fun you can handle under the blankets using your hands to fool around with your partner. If you’re feeling super gutsy, there’s always the option of faking a nap on your partner’s lap under the blanket, and doing everything but sleeping instead.

Option number two is the bathroom, the notorious place most people earn their spot in the mile high club.

Setting this one up requires a certain level of planning. It’s important to time it right: You don’t want to be those people hogging the only toilet on the plane if a passenger suddenly needs to vomit. That’s why it’s best to do this on a red-eye flight, or at least one that’s longer than three or four hours.

When the plane settles and the flight attendants are tucked into their sitting areas, make your move. To start, one of you should get to the washroom first, while the other sticks behind in their seat for a couple of minutes so no nosy passenger catches on to all the fun you’re about to be having. When the coast looks clear, get to the washroom as casually as you can, slipping inside with your partner and locking that thing securely behind you.

The rest is really up to you. Plane washrooms are notoriously small, but use that to your advantage. Find new places to put your arms and legs and new positions to try, maybe even a few you can take back to your bedroom back home. When you’re done, all I ask is you try to leave the place cleaner than you found it. On an airplane, that might be easier said than done, but we need to do everything we can to maintain your cover here. One-by-one, as you came in, slip back out to your seats as if the whole thing had never happened.

If I’m being honest with you though, mile-high sex isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. It’s tough to get aroused when the passenger in front of you has their seat so far back it’s crushing your lungs, or when the airplane bathroom feels smaller than the crib you spent the first few years of your life in. I know you didn’t ask for my take, but I gotta say, train sex is where it’s at. Why? The sheer size of the washrooms. The amount of room for activities in there, especially compared to an airplane washroom, is simply mind-boggling. But hey, I’ll leave it to you to compare.

Love,

Ty