the life and musings of a kinky slut


From this sign, you have about a forty-five minute wait.

This was my first time dealing with customs, my first time at the back of the never ending line that snaked for what seemed like an eternity.

As I glanced at those in front of me, with varying colored passports at the ready, slowly making their way to the promised land, I figured, since I had so much time on my hands, I would read.

I had started Story Of O just before my DC plane began boarding. Since I was in a high boarding number, I knew I had a wait. When I settled into my seat, I read a little more before drifting to sleep.

When we landed, I stowed the book in my carry-on; a nice little pouch in the luggage gave a perfect hiding spot.

Inch-by-inch, step-by-step, the line eased along. I, all the while, delved back into the French BDSM novel.

Behind me, two gentlemen chatted. I couldn’t tell where they were from, though their English-speaking accents sounded vaguely American. Still, they occasionally slipped into Spanish during their conversation with great ease. My guess, because I never glimpsed their passports, was Mexico.

As I slowly moved forward, my mind lost in the French fantasy, I wondered if the men behind me glimpsed the book I was reading, knew the story into which I delved, had any idea of the life I lived.

With so many people around me, so many people waiting, I wondered if they knew, if anyone in line saw my book and understood the images floating through my mind.

As I turned page after page, I heard the two men’s conversation in the back of my mind. Though I didn’t pay attention to what they said, I did take note of their voices. I enjoyed the sweet smooth tones of their conversation.

As I read, I used the sound of their voices to cast the male leads in Story Of O. It made the book hotter, the tale more vivid.

I didn’t want to break the spell their voices (and my imagination) had cast, so I never looked back on the duo. It wasn’t until I was about to be called up by the customs officer that I glimpsed their faces.

My fantasy, as to be expected, out paced reality.

Still, I enjoyed my bit of light reading.

Categorised as: Erotica | Grue | London

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