Right before I met my husband, I flew to another state for a graduate school interview. After we landed, I kept running into the crew from the plane. Turns out they were staying in the same hotel as me, including a very attractive man around my age, who I assumed was a flight attendant. He invited me to dinner, and in a very uncharacteristic move (I had to get up early for my interview),, I agreed. That was my idea of living on the edge!
Turns out the guy was the co-pilot and quite a hot, charming co-pilot at that. After Cuban food and an excellent mojito, I went back to his room to see his “flight plans.” Uh-huh. So we were making out, and it was cool. I didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable, or any of those things “they” warn you about. I was having fun. So what did I do? I excused myself and went back to my room to rest up for my interview (an interview, mind you, I didn’t really care about). I think I am still feeling the sexual frustration from that night to this day.
Why did I leave my pilot friend (and myself) so unsatisfied? I had learned somewhere along the line to assume that I would regret a casual hook-up. I didn’t have any personal evidence for this. There wasn’t anything at all about the situation to suggest I might regret it. The guy was a perfect gentleman, and I really liked him. And yet, regret was the only possibly outcome in my mind. There was no part of me that considered the possibility that I might be glad I had hooked up with him.