totally titillating Tale – Fondled by Airport Security
Before my carcinoma diagnosis, I had committed to travel down to the tip of Texas on a business trip with one of my new staff members. Determined to still make the trek, I convinced my Dr. I could not possibly get worse by waiting just one more week to have the surgery which would ultimately cure me. He agreed to let me go.
Since the simple sway of a tire swing can cause me to vomit (and in fact has), I don’t dig the journey it requires to get me places. Still, I love nothing more than the rewarding experience of being able to work with a Client directly. Therefore, despite the sedatives and Transderm Scōp patches needed to get me there, when the opportunity presents itself off I will go.
Being in the Gulf of Mexico, the temps were in the 90’s. Quite nice outdoors during lunch feeling breeze, beneath the trees, or inside within air conditioning.
The only trouble was in my room the AC was broken. Of course. So I sweated it out for three nights in a row like a pig in heat.
Hey, at least I had a kick-ass view of the parking lot.
Ultimately the hotel upgraded me. I was given a palatial room with sub-zero temps, across from the gym, which even had a doorbell. My new hire took great pleasure in ringing the bell, and threatened to continue all night long. That is, until he discovered the one place in town where he could watch the Bruins Game. The hotel bar.
Having completed our work week early, we had plenty of time to relax on our last day. We leisurely shopped for souvenirs at the local Wal-Mart which we had become acquainted with during our visit. It was quite the hotspot with interesting folk and trinkets abundant.
After picking up our last souvenirs, we forged on to the airport. Little did I know this is where the true adventure would begin. Shortly after heading inside, we checked our bags and headed straight towards the maze of lines to reach the security gates.
I always feel like I am in the Amazing Race at this point. Dashing to see how quickly I can get shoes, bags, PCs, phones, and all else in the at least four bins I need to maneuver into the conveyor. Interestingly, I always slide right through the metal detector without ever setting it off although I never remove any jewelry.
What I am constantly stopped for is the full body scan. This does not thrill me, as I always wonder what perv is in the background watching. Nonetheless, I raise my hands without complaint while they do this part as I did on this day as well. However, this time as I attempt to move forward to collect my things, I am given the STOP hand signal by a very serious looking female security guard.
STOP I do.
At this point a female security guard informs me I need to get a “pat down” as the body scan did not give them a clear enough image. Of course I was very happy for:
A. Having just chomped down a klonopin -and- B. I was traveling with one of my staff and needed to be on my best behavior. Otherwise, I would definitely be giving the hell-to-the-no-you-are-not-touching-me response.
Escorted off to the side, I am introduced to my fondler. A woman. A hairy-hander. We’ll call her Folinda.
FYI. I have an aversion to hairy hands. Especially if they are going to be touching me. Really, waxing is quite easy. You can even buy those strips which are pre-loaded with wax which can be heated by simply rubbing them between your hands. Wah-la!
In any event, just as I was considering offering my own such waxing kit in my carry-on to Folinda, she snapped on a pair of gloves. At this moment, I am also given an option. Folinda tells me we can do this in private. I say, ” Uh no thanks. If I am going to get fondled and violated for no reason, I want it done out in the open with witnesses.”
Options?!? Why not give me the option to get molested by the Young Buck with the trooper hat and tight ass? Peering behind me I can see he is already busy grasping the nuts of a very miserable looking man. They have this whole thing wrong. It could really be SO much more enjoyable.
Folinda gets started, working her way from top to bottom. Whispering in my ear the entire time, she tells me what she’s about to do each step of the way. When she reaches my breasts she spends so much time there even in my sedated state, my patience begins to wear thin. I wonder, what is the deal here? Does she think I am packing cocaine in my tits?
So I begin to offer some suggestions to move things along: “Would you like me to unhook my bra so you can cop a better feel?” Silence. “I am a full D and all natural, I assure you.” Silence.
After touching every square inch of me including my bare feet, Folinda clears me to gather my things and leave the security area. Finally, I am able to meet up with my staff member who had apparently looked away during the whole thing out of respect for me. Oh, and here I was secretly hoping he’d be recorded the entire incident on his phone. Oi!
Reaching the gate, I plop myself down. Defeated. Disgusted. Humiliated.
“Well I’m in no mood now to get this laid weekend,” I announce to no one in particular. The men grin or snicker. The women do not.
Definitely. Do. NOT!