(FORTUNE Magazine) – We all have our fantasies--swing like Tiger, earn like Gates, play like Bond. Recently mine had been to live like Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair: a smart, sexy, rich undercover operative on dangerous missions, in exotic locales, with an intriguing man. And then the damnedest thing happened. I got my wish (most of it, anyway), compliments of Boeing.

When the spokeswoman calls to invite FORTUNE to take a test drive of its latest, the $48 million Boeing Business Jet, the world's largest and most luxurious corporate aircraft, it sounds promising. But having flown on lots of other corporate jets, which are inevitably high on cost and low on amenities and headroom, I brace myself for possible disappointment.

Exactly the opposite occurs: I am blown away. Nearly three times bigger than its nearest competitors--the Bombardier Global Express and Gulfstream GV, which cost $40 million or so--the BBJ has a palatial 800-square-foot interior that feels like a luxury condo's. I gawk at the sofa-lined lounge area. Boeing CEO Phil Condit and his wife, Geda, who will be the hosts of my transcontinental flight (half of what the BBJ can do rangewise--Honolulu is possible), begin the tour. "Right now the dining room's configured for six," says Condit, leading me past a pricey-looking slab of wood. "But really you can set it up however you want to meet your needs." Boy, do I have needs--like maybe a Henry VIII-style banquet table or, better, an array of chaise longues all facing the dining-room wall's 42-inch flat-screen TV.

Next on the right is a full bathroom with a stall shower and lots of gold-tone fixtures. "This shower doesn't run on the water-saving space shuttle technology--only the prototype in back does," Condit apologizes, as if I'll suddenly be convinced I'm slumming. Beyond the bath is a cozy office with a desk, a pop-up computer monitor, and a love seat that converts to a double bed. And then, the piece de resistance: the master suite, with its queen-sized bed, multifunction remote-control panel, closet, another mega-TV (you push a button, and a panel of wood magically lifts to reveal it, just like in the movies), and a bathroom larger than my own at home. I want more than anything to kick Phil and Geda out so that I can play.

Instead, they strap me in to the jump seat between the two pilots in the cockpit for takeoff. With a high-powered whoosh we're in the air, soaring above a huge bank of storm clouds that flicker with lightning every few seconds. It's almost as spectacular as the bedroom.

When I return to the Barcalounger-laden lounge, Condit guides me through the BBJ's state-of-the-art, office-in-the-air capabilities. As we channel surf on DirecTV together, Condit describes Boeing's proprietary communications system, called Connexion. "Our phased-array antenna, mounted on the fuselage, is better than anything else out there," he says. "It electronically, not mechanically, steers the beam, so it will look for the best signal from a satellite. By late next year we'll offer Internet access and multiple TV channels on commercial planes too."

With 21 data ports and Internet access that's faster than my landlocked computer at work, the BBJ is one mama-jama corner office. We check Boeing's stock price online, then snap a few digital "wish you were here" photos of me and e-mail them to my better half. It's almost depressing how much work you can get done onboard. But as Condit reminds me, why arrive tired when you don't have to? For the same kind of dough a big company will spend on corporate aviation anyway, you can make sure your team live like human beings, work uninterrupted, sleep for hours comfortably--and hit the ground ready for dealmaking. What's ostentatious about that?

So far, Boeing has sold 11 BBJs to corporations, including GE and Wayne Huizenga's Victory Aviation. But an astonishing 20 individuals have bought the big bird too. The plane alone costs $35 million and takes up to nine months to produce; the interior takes another nine months and is completely up to you tastewise (with a few helpful additions from the FAA, such as the ridiculous "bedbelt" that wraps around slumbering occupants).

A somewhat more economical approach is to buy a fractional piece of one. NetJets, which has ordered 12 BBJs, offers a one-eighth share, the minimum, for $6.1 million. Then there's $41,480 a month in fees, plus $4,360 per occupied flight hour. No one ever said fantasies come cheap.

As the flight attendants serve a lavish dinner, Condit sketches his vision of the future of high-end travel. "If you look at hotels, they're in three categories: very high-end, like the Four Seasons; convenient and reliable, like Hilton; and pure value, like Days Inn and Motel 6," he says, swirling a fine Prindelo cabernet in his glass. "You get what you pay for. But airlines try to do all three on one plane, so you end up having the Motel 6 customers walking through your Four Seasons suite--it doesn't make any sense." Using a laptop, he shows me blueprints for a 30-passenger BBJ in which each traveler is assigned to a small private chamber, with a few common lounges at either end. "At Concorde fares, it would be easy to make work," he says. The idea is appealing--but not quite as alluring as that sky bed. I excuse myself from the table and beat it to the back of the plane.

Ahhh--soft lighting, expensive linens, thirsty towels, and a leather-bound throne for a toilet. Did I mention drawers full of luscious potions and products? I step into the space-shuttle shower, which runs on a five-gallon recycling tank that refilters the gray water. "It's cleaner the second time it hits you than the first," Condit had bragged. After 15 gloriously decadent minutes, I reemerge, fogging up the little window in the emergency exit door along the wall.

And then, hardly believing my luck, I climb into bed. As I stretch, I calculate that I am occupying the same amount of space as 24 miserable economy passengers on a normal 737. Who could sleep at such a moment? Instead, I push PLAY on the DVD player--the overhead lights dim automatically--and see The Thomas Crown Affair is the film du soir. Rene's still looking good--but she's not up here.

I wonder briefly whether I should feel guilty about sleeping while a FORTUNE 500 CEO toils in the next room. But why waste valuable time in an unproductive fashion, as the BBJ's very existence points out? Instead, I roll over and cherish the moment. Eat your heart out, Rene.

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