The next morning I picked out the clothing I would wear on my trip, all, of course, from the stuff Maggie had given me. For the airplane ride I chose the see-through powder blue blouse with the strategically placed pockets. The pockets would prevent anyone from seeing my nipples unless I stretched or turned the wrong way, something I decided to do on occasion. To accompany the blouse I chose a dark blue miniskirt, on that was ended
way
above my knees. Then for the first evening's dinner I chose a black miniskirt and tight, low hanging silk tube top, one that had a tendency to slip almost completely off my boobs. For the second night's dinner I chose an almost transparent dark brown dress, so dark that someone wanting to see my nipples would have to really focus on my chest. That is exactly what I wanted. Finally, I decided to wear the black magic panties on the airplane trip. Get it? Black magic?
Oh, yeah—I packed some tennis clothing as well.
When I got to the airport I checked my luggage except for my tennis bag. Although a tennis bag doesn't exactly fit under the seat in front of you, the airlines seem to recognize that putting tennis rackets in a cold, unpressurized environment can be ruinous to them. In addition to a couple of rackets and miscellaneous stuff I always put a big tennis towel in my bag so I can wrap it around me if I get cold and, in my outfit, I was bound to get cold.
I began to suspect that the panties not only affected me but those around me as well. For example, when I went through the booth that hits you with a puff of air to sniff out explosives, I was made to raise my arms over my head four times. Each time the puff of air made me a bit cooler so each time my nipples got harder. The TSA guy watching me kept saying, "You have to raise your arms a bit higher, miss." By the fourth time my skirt had risen so high it barely covered my butt. When I left the booth the TSA guy smiled and thanked me for my cooperation.
And the panties? They were in full motion, massaging me and making me very, very wet.
Anyway, remember that I said that the pockets on my blouse would prevent someone from seeing my nipples unless I stretched or turned the wrong way? After I left the booth I realized that the TSA guy had probably gotten a real good look. That amused me as well as pissed me off. Then, before going to the boarding area I stepped into the ladies' rest room to check my reflection in the mirror. Because I had my tennis bag over one shoulder my blouse was dragged upward on the other side of my body, almost to the point of uncovering my nipple. I guess the whole airport was getting a good look at me.
Whatever.
When I finally reached the boarding area Bill Harrington and Malcolm Wilson were both waiting. I tell you—their eyes practically popped out of their heads. Bill mumbled something like, "Nice outfit."
I replied, innocently of course, "Like it?"
Malcolm jumped in. "I love it."
I smiled at him and asked, "It's not too revealing, is it?"
Ah. The panties. Maggie had told me that in the presence of the panties no one could lie to me. So Malcolm said, "Not revealing enough."
I giggled a bit and, shyly, whispered, "Well, this view is just going to have to do."
Bill, who seemed to be sweating a bit, said, "There is a connecting flight that has been cancelled so the plane is only half full. Maybe I can get your seat changed so we can all sit together."
