Public Submission Ritual
Wow, is this kinky or what?
On wednesday, I will walk up to one end of a long line of men. Sometimes there are women, but it’s always mostly men. They are there to watch me, and I am there to be watched. I start at one end, smile at the first man I encounter, and begin. Slowly. Carefully, I take off my glasses and fold them neatly, just like my nighttime bedroom ritual. Then I lean over and unzip one long black platform boot, and then the other. I present each piece of footwear as proof — as if the sudden shortness in my height, and its message of vulnerability isn’t evidence enough. I am now smaller, more feminine, and a little more helpless. I take off my earrings, my necklace, deliberately placing the girlish silver with my glasses. I’m usually still smiling now, because it’s time to take off my belt. I know what’s going to happen. I unbuckle the metal and leather, sliding the belt through its loops around my waist, which serves to loosen my pants and move the denim to and fro as I work the belt free. The top straps of my g-string always peek out; I can’t help this. I unzip my hoodie and peel it off, revealing the light cotton tank top I always wear. And even though it makes no sense, I always take off my stripey arm warmers, because if I don’t, they *make me* take them off. So I do it in a subtly slow demonstration, one opera-length glovelet at a time. Next, and last, I unclip my hair, letting my almost waist-length black and blonde locks down over my now-bare shoulders and arms.
They all watch. Then I wait for their commands, and their approval. I do what they say, unconditionally, and this is an unspoken agreement between me and the men. Hardly a word is said, and I make sure to smile as I softly pad past all eyes, which are on me, even if just for a flicker or two. Then at the end of the line, I slowly dress — I like to take my time putting my clothes back on.
That’s Violet Blue — well, anybody, really — going through airport security. As she explains:
[W]hat I related to you above is very much my experience when I go through security…. [W]hen you think about it, the modern process of going through pre-boarding security has far more kinky sexual elements than it should. Here’s why:
* You have to undress.
* While you undress, you are being watched and sized up.
* It’s a power-exchange scenario.
* Lots of uniforms.
* You are totally vulnerable, and it is humiliating.
* You are exposing intimate details of your person and dress in front of dozens of strangers.
* Your submission is unspoken, it is a rule, and it is unconditional. Your submission is for public consumption.
* There is a constant threat that a stranger will touch you. They can touch you anywhere, and in your most intimate places if they want to.
* There is an undercurrent and tension that they will open your posessions and touch your private items, such as your underwear, clean or dirty.
* It is nonconsensual. And in garden-variety BDSM practice, even this is forbidden territory.
As well it should be, in BDSM and at the airport.
Shorter URL for sharing: https://www.erosblog.com/?p=1716
Should the screeners ask for permission to go through someone’s luggage? Should there be a sign apologising for the invasion of privacy?
One feels, after reading the first portion of text (as one is supposed to) that this is part of a bizzare sexual club’s ritual, not an everyday event at our airports. . .
but I think her point is to describe it as a strange, bizarre, perverse sexual ritual to illustrate what disresepct perhaps the american society has for an individual’s person, to treat it with avarice rather than compassion, and to hopefully reach such a person out there (hopefully within the circles which dictate these screening procedures) who equates sex with shame and transfers that shame onto the general daytime experience.
Justin, perhaps the point is that we shouldn’t be conducting bizzare non-consensual BDSM-like rituals as “everyday events” in our airports?
It is nonconsensual. And in garden-variety BDSM practice, even this is forbidden territory.
It’s totally consensual, in fact, it’s voluntary. You aren’t forced to be there, you choose to be. You can refuse any request that they make; they just won’t let you past.
She’s no more forced to do it than the girl who comes over to my place every Tuesday to be disciplined.
The difference between that girl, and an airline passenger, is that your girl doesn’t have to suffer your discipline in order to get to her mother’s funeral.
Or continue to do their job. some people are required to travel as part of their profession, should they be forced into a BDSM/exhibitionist ritual to make their living?
In Japan, the airline security guys actually ask for permission to open bags, and they apologize profusely for inconveniencing you.
Althought they’re proficient, they’re also very respectful and kind. It’s a shame I only get those type of screeners before or after my 16-hour flights.
Ya, well getting blown up in midair is a bit of a buzz kill . . .
“One feels, after reading the first portion of text (as one is supposed to) that this is part of a bizzare sexual club’s ritual, not an everyday event at our airports. . .”
I think I wasn’t clear enough in this sentence, Violet is obviously trying to point out that this kind of event really Should be out of place in every-day bustle of an airport, and I don’t disagree with her.
Honestly, I’m not offended by the screening type stuff, its all in our best interest, security, survival, all of that inconvenient type stuff. Its not that hard to dress light for the flight, wear sandals, don’t wear a belt, don’t wear metal things that’ll make the machines go beepy. We know about the requirements before we get to the airport, its not that difficult to keep it in mind when getting ready in the morning. Possibly it could just be me, I prefer to dress light when I’m travelling. A skirt and a comfy blouse, sandals I can kick off while in the car/on the plane/whatever…
As for the first part, its incredibly erotic and I think… I may have a new fantasy. Silly, isn’t it? Thinking of going through security, going through the ritual, proving myself worthy and whatever else it is that is asked of me… and then having a low voice whisper in my ear “I’m going to have to ask you, miss, to come aside with me over here. Please undress and stand in the center of the room.” Followed by a leisurely inspection and… a very thorough search. His voice a low growl as he tries to remain focused in passion “I’m going to need you… to lean back against this table now…” and oh my…
Or, possibly that’s just because I’ve a bit of a lust on for a boy I know that works airport security. ::grin::
Melacynthe, it’s a little bit harder for a guy who’s a business traveller to dress light in sandles, no belt, and a skirt.
And yeah, a small dose of that surprisingly un-common common courtesy would go a long way.
Never been to Japan, but sure like some of what I’ve heard about the way things are done there.
My Dad is now retired from the Navy, one time at least, he was asked to remove ribbons and his name tag from his shirt. No way, he told them, the government says he would then be out of uniform, which is a disciplinable offense.
Eventually, they did see it his way.
When I was a grade-school child, I would have been mortified to even have to show my underwear. Today, I would be tempted under this sort of circumstances, to enthusiastically express my disappointment over not being given a body-cavity search. I would try to make THEM as uncomfortable as I could, about having to do their jobs…