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"    To get to Nantucket, we had to drive 85 hours (okay, six) to Hyannis, Mass. Once we got there, we had two options\u2014take the tiniest, most terrifying-looking plane in the world to Nantucket, which would take 15 minutes, or take a ferry. We'd already missed the last \"fast\" ferry out that evening, meaning we'd have to take the slow one, which took over two hours. Even so, I was pushing hard for the last option. Have I mentioned that flying gives me a massive panic attack? \"Josie, it's fine,\" Peter said. We were sitting in the parking lot of the \"airport\" (which was literally the size of a smallish restaurant.) \"I've done this all my life, it's so easy.\" \n\tAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below\n\t\n\n \"How long is the flight again?\" \n\n\"15 minutes. Tops.\" Peter squeezed my knee. \"We could be at a bar on the water sipping a 'Life is Good' in under half an hour.\" I wanted a \"Life is Good,\" whatever it was, this instant. \"Okay, let's do it.\" My fear only intensified once we entered the airport. First of all, there was no official flight schedule. \"Oh the next flight will probably take off in about 10 minutes,\" the woman behind the counter said, casually, like we were waiting for the freaking subway. \"Is that enough time to get through security?\" I asked. Both Peter and the woman laughed. \"See that?\" Peter pointed to one sad, old looking conveyor belt guarded by no one. \"That's security.\" Then, to make matters worse, the woman asked me what my weight was. \"Why?\" I demanded. \"It will determine where you sit on the plane,\" she said. \"Where I sit?\" I looked at Peter, panic-stricken. \"Don't we just sit in the seat indicated on our ticket?\" \"This is your ticket,\" the woman held up a bright orange piece of plastic with the number \"3\" handwritten on it. \"The number refers to the number of passengers on the flight. There are no seat numbers.\" This could not be safe. I gave her my weight anyway, shaving off five pounds and praying that my little white lie didn't cause a big enough imbalance to take us down. When the plane finally rolled up, I nearly had a heart attack. It was ancient, and the pilot looked like he was 15\u2014wearing ripped jeans, sunglasses, and a T-shirt. Were we still in America? \"That infant cannot fly a plane,\" I hissed to Peter. He laughed. \"Actually, there's a really good chance that kid flew a fighter jet in the army, he's exactly the guy you want piloting this plane.\" I climbed the three stairs into the plane, hunched down, and awkwardly stumbled into my seat by the right wing. A child bounced on after me, and happily took his place in the passenger seat next to the pilot. I am. Such a wuss. Peter held my hand the entire flight, even after it got gross and sweaty. As we landed the whole plane swerved back and forth, and I squeezed my eyes shut, convinced this was it. I honestly couldn't believe it when the wheels touched the ground, and the sheer joy of being alive caused a wave of endorphins to flood my body. We had to take a cab to Peter's parents house, and after the rush of the plane ride, I was feeling friskyyyyy. I sidled up to Peter in the back of the cab and subtly rubbed his inner thigh, watching as he grew hard. Peter tossed his sweatshirt over his lap and smiled down at me. We pulled up to a ridiculously large house and Peter practically threw the money at the cab driver. We left our bags in the driveway and hustled up the steps. Peter pushed the back door open. \"Why is that unlocked?\" I asked as he pulled me inside. \"We never lock it,\" he said. He pushed me up against the wall and started kissing me. Kids, I now know that the term \"Mood-Killer\" officially has a face. It is the face of Peter's mother, coming around the corner, calling, \"Hellloooo? Oh dear!\" as she caught her son and his bulging erection pawing at a complete stranger in her hallway. Just swell. As far as first impressions go, I'd say I tanked this one. In my next post, I'll explain what mama Peter was doing there in the first place, and how the weekend turned out. \"Interesting\" doesn't do it justice.  Has your boyfriend's mom ever caught you two in a compromising position?"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a10471/j-bedroom-blog-i-hate-surprises/>