CarnalNation

Before beginning this book I had the chance to review Hotel Sex Stories, another anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel that focuses instead on the sexual possibilities of rented rooms. Having recently stayed at a pleasant, quiet little motel myself, its featured themes were obvious to me: something about these places just sets my mood right. Hotels help me feel relaxed, indulgent, curious, and mysterious. Airplanes, on the other hand, make me completely miserable. Flying across the country with this book as my only distraction, I tried to keep my hopes up. My fellow passengers were tired and poorly-lit, the seats were uncomfortable, the air smelled like carpet cleaner and recycled breath, and we stalled on the runway for two hours before take off. "The mile high club" doesn't even sound sexy anymore; it's a notion still caught up in the 70s when air travel was depicted as hip and exotic. Get busy in the cramped, unclean bathroom? Get off under the blanket while the kid behind you kicks repeatedly against your headrest? I don't like the odds.

But this dilemma somehow works in The Mile High Club's favor. The collection's theme is so restrictive that it seems to ignite the writers' imaginations, urging them to find ways to refresh an old cliché. While the actual "mile high club" concept is referenced far too often here, the means by which various characters join the club are often creative, and sometimes enjoyably outlandish. What's realistic about airplane sex fantasies stems from an anticipation and excitement linked to traveling, as well as the likelihood of voyeurism taking place when you have very little privacy. These inspirations feed into some surprising set-ups for aerial adventure and result in the best stories overall.

I loved Vanessa Vaughn's first published story, "Bermuda Triangle," about a flight instructor engaging her two young students mid-air. I was so thankful for the scenes featuring two men, and thrilled by a strong, commanding female protagonist who could take control of the action without feeling guilty or being a bitch. "Top Banana" was also a definite stand-out: perfectly campy, creative and raunchy, though the wrapped-up ending felt forced. Another fresh idea: in "Wing Walker," two performers flirt and fondle while practicing on the wings of an active airplane. This story takes a careful and delicate approach, perfectly matched to its slow, deliberate acrobatics. And one of the most well-written stories, "Planes, Trains, and Banana Seat Bicycles," focused instead on the events leading up to a flight. I enjoyed Alison Tyler's characters and descriptions in this one, and am always impressed by a believable balance of romance and sexuality when it comes to erotica.

I initially expected this book to focus on stereotypes, so I wasn't sure how it would manage to grow beyond the fantasy of banging stewardesses. But this is how I began to really think about fantasy. Most of the stories in this collection are unbelievable. Unless you're Ralph Fiennes, it's incredibly difficult to pull off having sex on an airplane, especially with a flight attendant or the pilot, or when you're the actual pilot and still flying the plane (or riding on the wings, as the case may be.) To me, good erotica has little to do with the realness of the plot and the likeability of the characters; it has to do with fresh, descriptive writing. I really don't want a cheesy romantic ending to conveniently wrap up a story, and I don't need unimportant background details from the characters, like their first and last names. Am I wrong to think that people are reading these stories to feel turned on and entertained? Thankfully, these moments of disappointing, mediocre writing were overshadowed by the success of other pieces. My favorite stories embraced their origins in fantasy while grounding me, the reader, with believably hot sex. I think one of the fictional airline slogans says it best: "Get on, get off when you fly in masturbation class!" It's not about the destination; it's about how you get there.