I climbed on top of him while he was flying and sealed the deal.We had fun together, but my relationship with Jonathan didn’t last.Life was a blur of moneyed suitors and over-the-top parties.It was more than I could have ever imagined when I was a little girl growing up in the modest town of Hartlepool in northern England. They met in school and married at 16; their love was unshakable. My father — a sales director for an insurance company — would take us on a few holidays a year.“You look beautiful,” he said, as he extended his hand.“I’m Mahir Asker*, and I’d love to take you out tonight.” Hours later, a Bentley arrived at the hotel to pick me up and a white-gloved driver helped me into the car, which escorted us to our date aboard Asker’s million-dollar yacht.We threw epic parties at the hotel — one time a steward tossed a sofa out of a hotel window.I always brought some wild props with me — my suitcase was like a traveling sex shop.
Then, a dark-haired hunk in a crisp white shirt approached me.
Eventually, I started dating a pilot-in-training named Jonathan.
His wings ceremony was epic — held at Sir Richard Branson’s mansion in Cambridge.
He didn’t want to commit — and I had an endless supply of handsome, wealthy men at my disposal.
One billionaire I met on a flight to New York pursued me relentlessly.
Since I had a steady boyfriend, I decided the time had come to cross another item off my bucket list: the Mile High Club.