[smc]

the story, continued …

As I’m sure you can imagine, a woman screaming on an airplane after seeing a hot girl with a butt plug bending over on the cover of a magazine is neither an everyday occurrence, nor is it something taken lightly by the authorities. Immediately, a flight attendant comes running up the aisle from the galley. I have hidden the magazine, but when she inquires about the screaming, something possesses me to pull the magazine back out. I show it to her and say, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. This is mine, anyway.”

A combination of shock and awe erupts among the passengers seated in the rows ahead and behind my seat. The flight attendant grabs the “Sex Inspiration No. 11” from my hand, and as I struggle to hold on to it some of the pages rip out. A mother in the seat in front of me yelps as a page flutters on to her lap. It features a picture of a man with a shemale’s cock deep in his ass and another shemale’s cock erupting in hot splooge on his face. Her daughter in the seat next to her, who I estimate to be about 14 years old, laughs somewhat demonically at her mother.

A few pages go flying across the aisle, too, falling into the lap of a man who, upon closer examination, sports a clerical collar. He sits there, mouth agape, with several pages of advertisements in full view, featuring every manner of dildo. There are big black ones, curved ones, ones with soft, hanging balls, and ones with vibrating inserts. Within seconds, his eyes look to the heavens and he seems to be deep into what he thinks may be his last earthly prayer.

The magazine is in shambles. I do not even know where the rest of the pages have gone. All I know is that serious trouble is coming my way, because soon the co-pilot, adorned in his uniform and looking very stern, is looming above me and speaking to me in very halting English. I figure out that it is the opinion of the crew that I have caused enough of a ruckus to warrant an investigation, under German law, of interfering with the safe operation of an airline. I am warned that I will be interrogated by the police upon our arrival in Frankfurt.

I spend the some time in dead silence. The screaming woman who had been sitting next me now sits in a different row, and next to me is a member of the U.S. Marine Corps on his way back to his base in Germany. He seems as stern as the co-pilot, but after a while he smiles at me, and says quietly, “Don’t worry about the German cops. It’s all a formality.”

“It sounds pretty serious to me,” I reply. “Like a felony or something.”

“Yah, but Europe’s different, man.” He laughs a little as he says this. “They’re used to all sorts of things that we never see back home.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Well … like …” His voice trails off. After a moment, he asks, “What kinda magazine was that, anyway?”

I’m not sure about answering. I think about it, though, and decide that he’s cool. “Special girls,” I say.

“You mean like a fetish mag?” he asks. “Wow, you seem sort of young to know about that kind of shit. Whatcha into?”

I repeat myself. “Special girls.”

“I like feet,” he says, with a wide grin. “I like toes. I like soles. I like lickin’ ‘em, and I like feelin’ ‘em on me. Know what I mean?”

“I like the feet on my special girls, I guess,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. “Especially one girl. But I never thought about feet in particular.”

“Exactly what do you mean by ‘special’?” he asks.

I really don’t know what to say. He presses me for an answer.

“Special in what way?”

I decide to bite the bullet. I look around to see whether anyone is looking, and I begin to whisper. No words come out of my mouth, so I point. I point to my lap.

“Oh, shit, you mean chicks with dicks?!” The Marine says this loud enough for others to hear, and before you know it, I am sitting all by myself in the back of the plane.

* * *

The remainder of the flight is, by the measure of the first part, quite uneventful. When we land in Frankfurt, I am admonished by the flight attendant that I will be met by the German authorities at the end of the gangway, before I get to Passport Control. As I make my way into the terminal, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Son, I think these are yours.” A man from the plane, who must have been sitting near me, hands me two pages from the inside of the magazine that had been torn apart. They feature Keliana in a photospread titled “Car Trouble” -- two pictures with accompanying text. “You should probably stuff them in your carry-on bag.”

The man whispers in my ear. “I took them in the lavatory with me. I sure would like to read the rest of that story!”

I don’t even look at the pages, despite that they feature my darling Keliana.

to be continued …