Comment required June 29, 7: Then, a dark-haired hunk in a crisp white shirt approached me. We spent the night sailing around the Persian Gulf, holding hands and munching on salmon tartare, lobster and caviar.
This romantic evening with the handsome billionaire was one of many glamorous dates I had during my year tenure as a Virgin Airlines flight attendant. Life was a blur of moneyed suitors and over-the-top parties. Mandy Smith revs up her engine on a Barbados tarmac in Courtesy of Mandy Smith 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 were always cuddling and kissing. They met in school and married at 16; their love was unshakable.
I was 9 years old when I first flew. My father — a sales director for an insurance company — would take us on a few holidays a year. On one trip, while flying to the luxe coastal city of Nerja, Spain, I was mesmerized by the glamorous air hostesses in their yellow and blue uniforms.
They looked so elegant and I wanted to be one of them. After graduation, in , I got a job at Virgin Airlines as a planning support officer in the engineering department.
But after three years, I grew bored. I was 26 and had just gotten out of a bad relationship and decided to take the advice to heart. Who can resist an application that says: Smith had adventures around the world. Here, she rides a horse on the beach of St.
More than once, I had a passenger slide his hand up my skirt when I was attending to the overhead compartment. Then there was the couple in the throes of passion who ran around upper-class buck naked.
But it was so worth it. From the Caribbean to South Africa, I had a guy at every port. My favorite spot in Barbados was this club full of hot guys. One drunken night, I spotted a rugby team partying at a long table. I jumped on it and knocked back their drinks one by one. But nothing beats the InterContinental in Johannesburg, where the altitude is 6, feet and the booze goes straight to your head.
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. Eventually, I started dating a pilot-in-training named Jonathan. Richard shook my hand and welcomed me to the party. Richard managed to spray everyone with all the open bottles. I stayed up for 24 hours, wired on Red Bull and vodkas. At the end of the glam weekend, guests left with goody bags in hand — stuffed with condoms.
Since I had a steady boyfriend, I decided the time had come to cross another item off my bucket list: Jonathan was flying me down to the Florida Keys in a two-seat Cessna when I decided to seize the moment.
I climbed on top of him while he was flying and sealed the deal. One billionaire I met on a flight to New York pursued me relentlessly. He was in his late 30s and chubby, but when my friend told me his family owned football teams, I was intrigued. I wanted real love. We had a steamy night of amazing sex, but when I woke up the next morning, he was gone.
I was heartbroken and humiliated. In April , instead of going to an exotic island for my vacation, I went to visit some old friends in Brighton.
We were catching up over beers when a 6-foot-4 hunk came up to our group to buy everyone shots. Glenn was a former professional rubgy player, and as he chatted me up that night, we realized we had loads of friends in common.
Smith on a vacation in Mauritius with her now-husband, Glenn, whom she met in her native England. For our first date, he took me to a local pub — no yachts or limos. And I knew right away that he was the one. We were engaged after just 18 months of dating. Now that I had found my Prince Charming I knew that I needed to say goodbye to my old, high-flying life. Six years ago, I took a buyout from Virgin. Today, Glenn and I live in West Sussex with our 4-year-old daughter. I write full time and work for Glenn as his personal assistant.