After 18 years of faithful marriage my wife experienced a midlife crisis and had a fling late last year. It nearly destroyed me but what doesn’t kill you makes you stranger! Our marriage survived but I was left with the feeling that I had missed out on something, especially since we had married so young; she was the only woman I had ever slept with but now I wasn’t the only man she had experienced. I did not want to go behind her back (she had been as honest as possible with me) so we discussed it. She was very cooperative in assuring me that she understood that there was a big difference between love and sex, and told me to go ahead and have my own fling.

I have been flying privately for six years, obtaining my PPL three years ago. It had been an ambition to join the Mile High Club but my wife is fearful of flying with her clothes on, so she was unwilling to join with me. In fact, she has only been flying with me once.

I met a woman via the Internet; I’ll call her P. Her husband had had several affairs during their courtship and, when their twin boys were young, had another affair. She had been faithful to him. We initially were attracted by mutual experience of the downside of infidelity and then by humour; she thought I was funny! I suggested that we could satisfy each other’s need to experience sex outside of our marriages; P. was intrigued with the idea of joining the Mile High Club at the same time. Neither party would expect that anything more would come of it. I love my wife and had no intention of hurting her. We invited my intended mistress for dinner at our home, following which my wife described her as lovely.

The local Summer had arrived with uncharacteristically bad weather. A couple of bookings were cancelled before it belatedly presented us with a beautiful, sunny Sunday. I booked a Piper Warrior (single-engine, 4 seats) and called P. She was able to come but her 3 year-old boys would be joining us! I told her not to worry about it we could still have a nice joyflight.

My wife told me to have a good day and I drove down to the airport, checked out the Warrior and took off. It was only a 15 minute flight to the airport close to P., on the edge of suburbia. I circled the airport to confirm the circuit direction, which varies by night & day, then entered the circuit. I remembered my instructor used to tell me to broadcast my intentions, did he mean this?!!

The landing was intended to inspire confidence, with the wheels settling gently onto the grass strip. I taxied clear of the runway and parked, climbed out and walked over to the airport building. P. was waiting for me and her boys were playing on a slide. Just out of their sight she embraced me, searching hungrily for a kiss. We walked over to her sons and I greeted them. They had been asking Mummy for a ride in an aeroplane, to which she had said maybe and now here was an obliging pilot offering them a ride!

One of the boys now decided that going up in one of those noisy contraptions wasn’t such a good idea. I had brought a couple of silver wings with me and offered to pin one to his shirt but he declined emphatically. OK, how about we just walk over to my plane and have a look at it? The eager twin seized my hand and led me over to it; the shy twin held Mummy’s hand but came along without a struggle.

I checked the aircraft while they sat in the shade of a Cessna’s wing. I took a photo of the three of them in front of my aeroplane for my visitor’s book. Then the shy boy allowed himself to be seated in the back of the Warrior. He protested when I put a seatbelt on him but his brother jumped in beside him and shushed him, lifting his own arms for the seatbelt to be fastened. I climbed in and P. got in beside me. I told the shy twin that I was just going to start the engine so we could run the air conditioner. Mum pulled the door shut and we were off!

I taxied to the runway threshold, pausing for the run-up checks, and entered the runway, trundling over the 30 metres until we reached the active area, then accelerating to 60 knots and lifting off. We climbed to 500 feet and turned right, getting a lovely view of a nearby reservoir. Overhead the airstrip I reported to Radar that I was heading for a scenic flight over a large weir that supplies water to the City. We were advised to remain clear of controlled airspace and have a good time. If only;

We climbed to 5,500 feet and cruised for 20 minutes until the weir was underneath. The boys were happily looking out of the windows, although with their small stature they couldn’t see the ground, only the occasional cloud. P. stroked my arm and kept looking back at the boys, willing them to sleep. I smiled and told her to be patient; I’ve taken small kids flying before and invariably the drone of the engine lulls them to Slumberland. I stroked her ample breast through her T-shirt, teasing the nipple, which hardened slightly under my fingers. P. placed her hand on my knee but seemed shy about proceeding further. I continued to brush my fingers over her breast. She leaned her head on my shoulder but, wearing headphones and mikes, kissing was out of the question. I invited her to reach under the mapboard on my lap and she did so, stroking & squeezing my evident erection.

I asked P. if she would like me to work my hand under her. She removed her seatbelt and unfastened her pants. I reached behind her and endeavoured to slide my hand down the back, under her rounded buttocks. She leaned forward and I slid my middle finger into her pussy. The angle was awkward and I could only seem to get half of my finger inside, stretching to find & rub the G-spot.

I hoped it was pleasing her half as much as it was discomforting me! I wish it was my cock I murmured over the intercom. Mmm, so do I she replied.

After one circuit of the weir the boys had nodded off. I grinned, removed my hand and, looking deep into P’s eyes, licked my finger. She took my hand and squeezed it. Shall we give it a go? I asked. P. nodded and slid her pants off. I moved my seat back, undid my seatbelt, then my belt and trousers and slid them down to my knees. To keep the mood light I was wearing blue, silk boxer shorts with a red bow and the inscription “For You”. P. laughed. I ensured the aircraft was trimmed for level flight and told P. to carefully sit on my lap. She moved across, placing her left leg between my legs and her right leg next to the flap handle.

P. eased down, my cock sliding effortlessly into her pussy. She was voluptuous, Rubinesque, gorgeous. She leaned back against me and I cupped her right breast in my hand, using my left hand to fly the plane. P. leaned forward again and humped herself up & down on my member. The front seat of a Warrior makes a VW Beetle seem spacious and so the act was somewhat ungainly. She paused to try to balance herself better and I took the opportunity to attempt to thrust up & down into her. We alternated in this way, with P. humping me while I sat still and then me trying to thrust up & down when she rested. The seat slid backwards suddenly & I had to ask her to lift herself up while I brought myself back within reach of the rudder pedals.

In the cyber rehearsal there had been much more room and I had thrown the Warrior into a 60 degree turn to develop 2-G’s, to crush her into my lap and ram the head of my cock roughly past her G-spot and hard up against her cervix. In reality I didn’t think we should push the safety envelope any further than we already were. I contented myself with the achievement attained thus far, although at one point we did enter a 30 degree descending turn when my concentration wandered.

I had forewarned P. that I was unlikely to last an unselfish length of time, given the novelty of the sexual environment and being with a new sexual partner, let alone the fact that with her on me I couldn’t withdraw and think of train timetables! That said, it wasn’t as quick as it might have been but eventually I grabbed her right hip, my head lolled back, I groaned and thrust up as hard as I could. I ejaculated, jerking with half a dozen spasms. P. leaned back and tried to kiss me, bumping microphones.

She lifted herself off and moved back to her seat, finding her pants and pulling them on. I pulled up my trousers and noted that we had descended to 5,000 feet, forgivable since P. had been blocking my view of the altimeter. I had monitored our altitude, as best I could, by the airspeed indicator; if the speed increased we were descending, & vice versa.

The boys were still asleep and I offered to show P. the steep turns I had described in the cyber rehearsal. She loved them but they woke the boys up. I then celebrated our membership of the Mile High Club with a wingover, with P.’s permission. I should have had more sense. The eager twin projectile-vomited onto the back of his mother’s seat! She apologised but there was no need; it was my fault. We set course for her local airfield but ten minutes out the shy twin followed suit with a quiet chuck down the front of his shirt!

I opened the small window to let the slipstream suck the stench out. We descended gently, so as not to compound the boys distress with sore ears, and entered the circuit, landing gently on the grassy strip. Taxying clear of the runway I parked and opened the door, thankful that I don’t have a keen sense of smell. P. got out and helped her boys climb out of the back. I told P. that it was lucky we took the photo before the flight, and opened the small bottle of champagne I had smuggled along, pouring a glass for her. I walked them over to the airport building and bought a mineral water for myself and a lemonade for the boys, then presented them with their pilot’s wings. Mum received a set too, with “MHC” engraved on the back.

P. & I embraced after she buckled the boys into her car and then she drove off with a Thankyou! I reboarded the Warrior & flew back to my airport with the biggest grin on my face; not even the 12 knot crosswind on landing could blow it away. I sent a text message to her mobile phone letting her know I had landed safely. She responded with: I had a great time! I got all poetic and replied: I did too, now I’m cleaning up the spew! and resumed sponging the upholstery.

We qualified for the Mile High Club because the sexual act commenced at 5,500 feet over terrain less than 200 feet ASL (5,280 feet being required), and the rules don’t require both parties to reach orgasm, as desirable as that is. My wife says I should offer P. another chance, somewhere on the ground with more room and time.