Road Warrior; Road Comedian; Road Lover
Caution: This Funny Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, CrossDressing, True Story, Humor, Vignettes, BDSM, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Light Bond, Swinging, Leg Fetish,
Desc: Funny Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Even with the best of expense accounts, the life of a traveling consultant can be a lonely one. It takes effort to make it tolerable and pleasant. Meeting friends from social media is one effort that often pays off. Another important thing is accepting and cherishing the ridiculous. These stories are mostly or completely true!
There was a time when I traveled extensively, consulting and teaching. It's a lonely business. This was before social media, but there were chat rooms. I enjoyed one called the San Francisco Dungeon, which wasn't as kinky as the name suggested. It was friendly, and a number of marriages, and even some divorces, came about from its conversations. I certainly formed friendships, and some often hysterically funny interactions that I'm going to share.
Due to my travel schedule, it was quite practical to meet people that I knew through the Dungeon, always having my hotel available as a safe place.
Honorary lesbian in Austin
One of my first meetings was with a submissive lesbian, who also, without being extremely butch, was a powerful athlete. We discovered, in our conversations, that we shared quite a few interests, from emergency medicine to Asian-Southwest fusion cooking.
When we first met in person, in Austin one evening, she reminded me "Austin isn't really in Texas. It's just surrounded by Texas. I'm going to take you to my neighborhood lesbian bar, where, after the Ritual, you'll have a great time."
"Umm, Margie, I'm not quite equipped for the lesbian lifestyle."
We got into her British Racing Green MG, which totally fitted her.
"Maybe, maybe not. From what I've heard from a couple of women that know you in person, they say you make love like a lesbian, which is a pretty high compliment in my book. Nevertheless, no, this isn't going to be at all sexual. Some women there are very attractive, and like being admired -- I'll give you a sign when I know they like that. It's look but not touch, although maybe on some other trip, if they happen to be bi, you can meet. It will help a lot that you've been vouched for, and, of course, have gone through the Ritual."
"Ritual?" Margie's only response was an evil laugh.
We pulled into the parking lot. "Wait here for a moment. I need to go in and set up the Ritual ... heh, heh, heh." About five minutes later, she came back and took me inside.
On entering, I was met by a very big, very leatherdykish woman, in a warrior persona. All uncovered skin was oiled and gleaming. She had a big warhammer over her shoulder, but also a big, welcoming smile.
"Are you prepared for the Ritual?" She inquired, sternly, but not in a hostile way.
"I guess so." She flashed the warhammer and spun towards her target, luckily not me.
BONG! Her target was a Chinese temple gong. That made sense, I suppose, as anyone who wasn't deaf would know that a special guest was arriving.
Another warrior woman came out, and the two guards put me into a leather harness, bedecked with bells of various sorts. Yep, they'd hear me coming all night.
Next, they put a cowbell around my neck. I could see logic to that. With a gleam in my eye, I pointed out "I'm just a Poe boy."
Hear the loud alarum bells --
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
they can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
in a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
in a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows ;
Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -- Of the bells --
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells --
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!
The guards went into hysterics. "Margie, he's going to do well. We do have to finish the Ritual, first. I'm Victoria and my associate is Boudicca." She raised her voice. "It is time for the bearers of beauty."
Two more women showed up. They were as seductively feminine as Victoria and Boudicca were intimidating. I suppose their dresses fit into the theme of temple priestesses, virginal but very short. Traditional priestesses, though, didn't wear what turned out to be Louboutins. "I am Grace. This is Lovey."
With brilliant smiles, they approached, and kissed me on each cheek. Reaching into a bejeweled bag, they withdrew the cheapest, rattiest-looking plastic leis that I had ever seen. With more cheek kisses, they went around my neck, and elegantly backed away.
"Margie, that one was beyond me. What's the significance?"
"That's my cue to tell you that's the closest you will get to being lei'd tonight."
Without being lei'd, however, it was a most pleasant evening. Victoria and Boudicca came back with trays of barbecue, which they ate in front of me, licking the ribs and going down on French fries before swallowing. The two priestesses came back, but had changed into dresses just as short, but sprayed-on red and black. Before I left, Grace and Lovey slipped me a card with a phone number. "We're bi. Come see us the next time you're in town."
The Jackson Gate
One of my next trips was by US Air to Jackson, Mississippi, where I would meet other friends as well as working. The airliner pulled up to the terminal, but the seat belt sign stayed on. I could hear some bumping noises, but the doors didn't open.
Sounding, as they all do, like John Wayne, the PA from the cockpit announced, "Folks, this is the captain. I'm sorry, but it's going to be a couple of minutes before we can deplane."
As usual, I asked myself "Deplane? They gave me a boarding pass before I got on. Shouldn't it be deboarding?"
"Apparently, they've just repainted the stop lines on the tarmac for this gate. There are stop lines for different aircraft types, and the way it's supposed to work is that when we stop at the right one, we should be lined up so the jetways mate with the doors."
"Mate". I'd remember that later.
"But this didn't have a marker for our 737 variant, and we aren't lined up to the door. Therefore, I'm going to ask you to sit back down and belt in, and a tug will move us back about six feet. We're not allowed to be towed unless everyone is strapped in."
Muttering passengers strapped in. At least this wasn't a hub with people racing for connections. I felt the plane move.
New sounds from the doors ... bumpety bumpety bump bump. The jetway still wasn't mating. Apparently, the tug driver hadn't quite gotten it right.
At that point, the chief stewardess, in the most syrupy and seductive of Southern accents, purred into her PA microphone, "Is it in?"
Unfortunately, the pilots were talking to air traffic control when her question came through the speakers, and carried to the tower. I was told that Jackson operations stopped for about ten minutes until the ATC people stopped laughing.