Things started out innocently enough. I was at the airport one afternoon, dropping my boyfriend off for a flight. He was off to Portugal to study for three months. I was off to my apartment for involuntary celibacy. And as we said our goodbyes, the desperate kisses in that quiet little corner of the lot turned into some under the pants action, and before I knew it we were full on having sex.
Things spiraled out of control from there.
My theory is that airport parking lots offer a little something for everyone when it comes to great sex. There’s the emotional factor of saying goodbye and the naughty little turn on of maybe getting caught. You can do it in the car, like we did that one time at JFK, or outside on the hood, like we’ve done, well, several other places. There’s a surprising amount of variety that can be had when having hot airport parking lot sex.
Needless to say, my boyfriend and I started making this a regular thing. When he got back from Portugal, he was rather expecting a repeat of the drop off three months earlier. So was I. To be fair, I was pretty riled up at that point having been abstinent for so long. But without even realizing it, our airport routine (we’re both frequent flyers) had somehow begun to incorporate sex.
I caught myself actually planning an extra 45 minutes at Newark International’s lot the other day just to make sure we had time to both find a spot and then find mine. All I can say is, that open air parking with multiple floors was the best part about Doncaster.
I know airport parking lots are a weird place to get it on, but it’s kind of like our little brand of sexual spice. Saying goodbye sucks. For that matter, so does flying. But lately I’ve actually begun to look forward to my over air travels, because those trips are bookended by some of the best sex of my life. I don’t want to get caught. I don’t want to say goodbye. All the emotion and danger and intrigue becomes like a high-risk striptease.
Is that weird? Am I wrong? Should I give up this pervy game? I can’t tell if it’s too fetish-esq or if I’m just judging too harshly. Part of me is concerned I’m doing some sort of disservice to my love life in bed. And my friends all definitely think this is weird. But there’s no sex law (explicitly) against it. And the truth is, sometimes when I’m hot between the sheets with my man I’m fantasizing about being between two poorly parked cars.
I wait until my boyfriend is about to leave for a trip to shave my legs.
I think I’m just going to embrace this sexual weirdness. I’ve never been somebody to have an atypical sex life, and I guess this definitely all counts as atypical. But until some unfortunate airport security guard catches us pants down and antenna up in the parking lot, I’m just gonna go with it. I’m gonna ride this thing all the way to Terminal B. And if the lady at the checkin counter asks why I look like I just escaped from a wind tunnel, I’m just gonna tell her I just parked by boyfriend’s car.
Twice.
Photo Credit: dustinbrice3
