Public displays of affection: how much is too much?

Public displays of affection are everywhere, sex in public places is on the rise and more people are joining the Mile High Club... So how far is too far when it comes to public displays?

Quick question: does the sight of couples making out in public make you to feel jittery, uncomfortable, jealous, outraged, or a little turned-on?

Do you find yourself shouting "Oh get a room people!" when a saucy couple decide to turn the afternoon train ride into a lap dance? When a pair in the grocery store won't stop canoodling by the frozen peas section? Or what about when your cousin and their new partner are all over each other at the family barbeque?

Commonly known as PDA (public displays of affection), flaunting your lust in front of a bunch of strangers can wreak havoc amongst those around you. "I can't stand any form of PDA," sneers my single PDA-hating friend Jim. "It makes my skin want to crawl." And a quick dip into the blogosphere proves Jim is not alone.

So why all the malice? "I don't mind being privy to a peck on the cheek, two people holding hands or even a little tongue," he explains. "But I have a problem with the full-on steamy make-out scene with tongues wagging, hands flying and legs everywhere happening right in front of our noses while we eat our dinner. Don't you think it's a tad bit rude? Ew, no thank you."

Agreed. Yet those of us who are just a little more than fed up with icky public displays of affection better join the queue because it seems PDA is here to stay - and it's about to get a whole lot steamier.

Forget a simple snog, a little grope or a few tongues on display. There's a new trend in town and it's about having sex in public places. A recent poll suggests it happening in whopping proportions and it's the Norwegians who are leading the sexual way.

The survey carried out by Cora publishing house, interviewed 6,600 people from 20 different countries, found 66 per cent of Norwegians had been in such a situation.

But wait! Before you all go racing off to Norway, you'll be pleased to know Aussies aren't so prudish themselves with 64 per cent saying they've run the risk too. (Only 13 per cent of the French had done the same.)

Top favourite sexual haunts include the usual suspects; cars, trains, beaches, parks, offices and even libraries for getting jiggy with it in public. (Who would have thought?)

Yet we can't talk about sex in public places without the mention of the Mile High Club (or MHC as it's known to members). Never heard of it? Well apparently it's the term used to describe the act done in an airplane with the official website defining it as "two people engaging in sexual activity (sexual intercourse) at an altitude of no less than 5,280 ft (a mile high above the earth) in an airplane."

Now before you scoff at the thought, it's become so widely popular that apparently Virgin Atlantic are allowing passengers to join it's Mile-High Club on the new super jumbo planes which come complete with private cabins featuring a sofa, washing facilities, and a double bed. Mmm...

So what's the big appeal with going public? Is it lust, urgency, bigger spaces or the ability to brag to your mates? Well according to Australian sex therapist and author Dr. Janet Hall, public sex is naughty and risky because "we might get caught, so it gives us additional adrenalin rush to add to the sexual turn-on". But don't say we didn't warn you about getting caught mid act... or is that the whole point anyway?

Virgin Atlantic are allowing passengers to join it's Mile-High Club on the new super jumbo planes which come complete with private cabins featuring a sofa, washing facilities, and a double bed.

I visited Russia back in the 70's. Their commercial passenger planes were from WWII updated with a few seats bolted to the floor and a strip of too long red carpet wadded up down the aisles. Apparently, Russian pilots weren't too sure about braking abilities around the terminals because passengers had to lug their bags a quarter mile down the runway to the plane and board using the cargo bay ramp. Once you found a seat with a working back and more than one bolt holding it to the floor, you'd get out your newspaper, not to read but to origami into a barf bag and wait with giddy impatience for the attendant to come by with your 2 oz of mineral water, a single lemon drop and to remind us to tie whatever remnants of seat-belts as best we can. A good half hour later, on the horizon you spy a dot. Eventually, the dot becomes the fuel truck with a little old lady who greatly resembles your grandmother. Granny pulls up, gingerly hobbles out and as you watch white knuckled for her safety, she manages to climb on top of the wing with the hose and begins fueling your plane. You say a short prayer of thanks she didn't fracture her hip but soon your prayers turn to begging that she put in enough fuel to get you to your destination.

Another half hour passes and the engines start to turn over, stop, start, stop, but along about the forth or fifth time the wings start to flap (yes, flap) and the plane shakily begins it's long slow trip further down the runway hitting every crater and small tree growing in the pavement. It's the scenic view! Past all the burned out hulls of past plans that didn't quite make it as your fellow passengers make final adjustments to their newspaper bags and hold the broken seat back in front of them in an upright position. You breath a sigh of relief as the belly of the plane does no more damage to the trees at the end of the runway than a mere trim of the uppermost limbs. Once at cruising altitude (the point where car license plates become unreadable) the pilots confer and decide granny skimped on the fuel, so they cut the engine. You float down, down, down, until you see the whites of the eyes of people running for cover, and the engines are turned on again and the wings madly flap to get us in the air again. On the road ahead, the pilots notice the street light has turned red so they apply the brakes and make a 90 degree turn to the south. Proper road rules are used throughout each flight.

I'd never seen anyone going to the restroom, but on my last flight I simply couldn't hold it any longer so made the treacherous trek through the carpet waves back to the restroom as passengers managed to raise their heads from their barf bags to gave me puzzled stares. Kicking the door a few times to dislodge it and not knowing what horrors I'd find, I was pleasantly surprised to find a huge lounge with two 40's era couches, a few chairs and wall sconces. Body slamming down the facility door, I found a regular porcelain toilet and sink. No nooky for me, and certainly no where near mile high, but I did spend the rest of the flight back there relaxing on the couch.

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