What was your inspiration for your story in The Mile High Club?
I started writing erotica because I was having trouble with the sex scenes in a novel that had a sex-heavy subplot, and I figured writing about sex on its own canvas would be the best practice — like taking an afternoon to practice parallel parking before the driving exam. I went through a lot of “skill drills” like that, the simplest possible scenarios, just to write about the mechanics of sex itself and find the language I was comfortable with, before starting to actually write stories.
Once I did, I went through a prolific phase of the kind I hit sometimes, where I write a handful, a couple handfuls, of stories that have a lot in common while I work something out. Sometimes you have to go through a lot of naked apes to see what works, what you like, in order to let humans evolve from the muck you’ve laid out before you. You don’t settle for the first thing to climb down from the trees.
In this case, what I liked was the second-person narration and the present tense. That’s what I started with. The immediacy and intimacy of that. It’s a little wrong. Stories told that way can make you a little uncomfortable, they’re a little presumptuous. Setting it on an airplane — both public and confined — followed from that, and so did the anonymity of the characters, as a contrast to that intimacy.
Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?
An airplane is a public space — well, usually, and in my story — but at the same time, it’s one you can’t leave. It’s a rare space, too. It’s a technological privilege to be able to occupy that space. There’s already something ballsy about being up there, no matter what you’re up to.
Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?
Those bathrooms are smaller than they look in the movies.
What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?
Natalie Wood, around 1969 — the year Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice came out. She looks amazing in that. Plus, she was barely over 5 feet tall. Like I said, those bathrooms are small.
Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?
Sadly, none come to mind.
We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?
Vicodin, melatonin, and never check your luggage.
What’s next for you?
I have a story in your upcoming spanking anthology that I’m very happy with, and a number of ideas, some of which will bloom into things that make a few people wet, a few people hard.
Bill Kte’pi’s story “34B” is the opener to The Mile High Club: Plane Sex Stories. I always start my books with what I think is the strongest story, and his is so hot and twisted and perfect, it was fitting to kick the book off with a bang! Below is a short excerpt; buy the book to read the entire story and find out what happens next.
SWF seeks adventure. 34, attractive, strong, professional, healthy, happy. Seeking that missing piece and a man to take control. Tell me what you have to offer.
Every time the car hit one of those speed bumps on Airline Highway, you think about turning around. This is thrilling, yes–but stupid, too. Stupid to spend this kind of money over a man you’ve never met.
Nancy–be on the flight from Baltimore to Portland: I’ve pasted the itinerary at the bottom of this email. Buy a ticket for seat 34B. I’ll reserve 34C. I’m buying two tickets; I’ll leave C empty until it’s time.
Waiting in line for your ticket, waiting to board, you look at the men around you, even though you know he isn’t one of them. He’ll board the second flight, when you switch planes in Baltimore. You don’t know where he’s from. He doesn’t know where you’re from.
As you go through security, you half hope you’re stopped for something, that the emery board in your purse disqualifies you from air travel, that overzealous air marshals decide you’re a threat to national securit–and you get sent home to your matching plates and new stereo and warm safe bed.
You fidget on the plane to Baltimore, unable to concentrate on the paperback you brought in your purse. You glance down at your lap to see if anyone can tell you’re not wearing panties. Baltimore is a forty-seven-minute layover that seems to stretch on for hours.
You board the second plane.
34B–it sounds like a bra size. You don’t even know his name. You gave yoursæyour real name, though he may assume otherwise–but he never offered his and you didn’t want to ask and have him say no. You didn’t want to establish his right to tell you no that quickly.
This is stupid. But it’s safe, isn’t it?
He pointed that out when you hinted at your uncertainty a month ago: It’s an airplane. What is it you think I can do without you letting me do it?