There Was This One Time

Many years ago, two close friends of mine decided to fly to Chicago for a Mr Leather Contest. They packed their finery and headed to the airport. The left Charlotte Douglas to begin their journey with no problems, only high hopes of debauchery. (I wasn't able to tag along on this trip, so this is what was relayed to me after the fact.) Upon arriving at the terminal at O'Hara, they were processed. Now having never been there personally and this was before all the security after 9/11, a screener or something similar decided they needed to check their luggage. Security wands were waved and beeped over both his suitcase and person. Of course, this drew a few glances from other passengers and the interest of other staff. Before you know it, two other employees gathered, just in case of trouble. The original screener suggested he empty his pockets, then waved the wand again. Still it beeped. Next, was to remove his belt with the large metal buckle. It beeped again. The middle aged, short, rotund, black lady was now perplexed as were the others that had gathered. She inquired if he had any metal surgical implants of some sort. He said "No". Then he remembered he was wearing his favorite cock ring, because having a large bulge is important on cross country flights. He told her, in a low whispered voice, what he thought the problem may be. She replies, "You need to remove it". He reaches down the front of his tight black jeans, fumbles, grunts and lays it on the metal counter with a metallic thug. One of the other employees snickers and waves the wand across him again. No beep.

Now on to his suitcase. While this is going on the suitcase was placed on the counter and opened. Nothing that unusual. The black lady decided she would snoop a bit farther than her reluctant counterpart. She lifts up the top layer of clothes. Low and behold, black leather and chains! She lifts a harness out, holding it like it may bite her, the metal studs sparkle and the tiny chains jingle. Next she finds a black leather jockstrap, which she picks up with a pencil. She searches the little side pockets and finds the normal toothpaste, hairbrush, cologne. The next side, more of the same, with an exception. There was a tube of lube, a dildo and a bottle of poppers. She must have had experience with the lube and dildo, those she didn't bother. That little bottle of room atomizer intrigued her. She asked what it was for. He replied to make the room smell good. She opens it to take a whiff. He told she ought not do that. She did anyway. Her eyes got real big and she wobbled a little bit. She asked "What are you doing with all this stuff?" My friend now having been fully humiliated and red in the face in his first 15 minutes in a new city, quickly replied, "I'm a stripper." Now his companion was cracking up, so were the other two employees that joined our little dedicated trooper. (A quick description is in order. He's 5'9", skinny as a rail and no muscles whatsoever.) She puts everything back quickly, closes the suitcase, slides it over to him and says, "Uh-huh, you have a nice stay in Chicago." He crams everything back into his pockets, including his cock ring and catches a cab.