Where did I leave my vibrator?

By Odeon Black
Please note this article contains adult content and language.

Where did I leave my vibrator?  Well as it happened, my vibrator was eventually found, but I will get to that later.  First, let me give you the back-story.  My girlfriend (we will call her Becky) and I had always liked traveling.  We would travel any chance we got.  It was so great to get away from the dull drum of every day existence.  To go someplace where no one knows your name, or cares.  You are just a visitor or tourist, there to have fun.  My disability would often get lost in the dancing, sun, drinks and my favorite, sex.  This was and continues to be an escape, a place to simply be a sexual gimp with a hard-on for life.

One of our exciting trips took us to the Bahamas, fabulous beaches, great drinks, and so many foods made with conch.  There was deep fried conch, stewed, sautéed, boiled and the ever-popular sandwich.  The hotel was filled with tourist, clean and surprisingly wheelchair accessible; given it was over 10 years ago. Becky and I could not wait to check-in and get to our room, flying always frustrated us, but also made us very horny.
If you think flying with a power chair is hard now you should have flown 10 or 15 years ago.

We check-in to the hotel and race to the room, the door swings open and the clothes drop like heavy raindrops in a storm.  She tears off my t-shirt, and I rip the three buttons that hold her skimpy shirt together, off with my teeth.  The smell of sea salt wafting in through the window and the scent of sweat fills the room.  Then we remember, we brought a new sex toy; a 7 inch pink vibrator.  It was an average size I suppose, made of silicone and took two AA batteries.  We also, brought a bottle of lube and of course condoms to our mini-soirée.  She unwrapped the vibe and we worked it until the batteries died.  I held it in my mouth, my splint, and she held it in every position imaginable.  All our hotel neighbors heard was, “Oh my God, I love this Vibe”, “that’s my vibe”, “nothing better than your tongue and the vibe”.  Yes, four days and three nights of lube filled, condom smacking, pink vibrations.

Well, on the last day we pack and are ready to go; but we cannot find the pink vibe. We must have searched the whole entire room.  We came to the conclusion that maybe the maid took it or accidentally fell in the garbage can.  We had to go or miss the plane. We left wondering where it was?   We arrived at the airport and rushed to security.  They had a system where they run your carry-on baggage and suitcases through the X-ray machines, while one stands there.

We wait for our bags to go through, as the line behind us gets longer.  The Security officer, in standard white shirt, shorts an official Bahamian hat, begins his review.  One carry-on goes through, and then another, and finally the suitcase has a turn. As it is starting to come out the other end the officer stop the conveyer belt, and backs up the suitcase, he yells to the other guard.  “There is a long metal object in here!” at the same time Becky remembers where she put the vibrator.  She packed it in the suitcase first,  “so she would not forget it”.  She leans close to me and says,  “oh my god, I hate that vibe”, that’s not my vibe”, “how embarrassing”.

Now everybody is looking at us.  We have become microbes under a microscope of possible wrongdoing, passenger curiosity and Security guard indiscretions.  Yikes!
The guard slowly but methodically un-zippered the suitcase as two others watched, Becky, turned a beet red as they lifted the flap and felt around for the “long metal object.”  Yes.  His expression said it all when his hands clutched what could only feel like a worn down silicone cock.  As he “pulled-it-out”, the other guards simultaneously looked up at the young girl and her “friend” in the wheelchair.  Becky looked mortified, horrified, she was not into the “vibe”, right now.  I shrugged.

The guards quickly threw the vibe back, zipped the suitcase and yelled, next!  I was so glad we were not next.

Sex Travels By Odeon Black

This blog is not about going to Indonesia, Thailand or some other exotic land to get your “rocks off”.  It is about getting them off where ever you are!  It is about the ease of “mental masturbation” like you want it.  No holds bar. So take a trip with me.  Clothing optional.

Sometimes when I close my eyes I can picture the perfect sex.  The kind that makes you want to “stay in the moment” and never leave.  Sometimes it involves the ultimate surrender, one that only a quadriplegic can provide, where my vulnerability is part of the sexual game she and I play.  She knows I cannot move, but ties my hands anyway.  She knows I will be where she left me, but commands me not to move.  She believes that I will follow her every command and understands the sexuality of my stillness.  She feels the sexual energy where she makes it, where she allows it to be – like the monks of a thousand years, her understanding is enlightened by the fact that she believes.     It is what it is, for it can be nothing else unless we make it so.  I could be a prisoner of her lust because she treats me like her other lovers.  She does not lessen my ability to be bound.

In another instance, I close my eyes and see myself in the middle of a crowded bus towards Frisco Bay, my wheelchair pressing into the folded-up seat and the heat just rises.  It is an unusually hot day for the Bay and even hotter for me, as I pretend not to notice her.  She stands so close.    Human bodies pushing upon each other in their summer wear, pressing in a careless manner and acting like they don’t realize it.  She realizes it!  Her bohemian blue and green skirt tightens as other passengers push her towards the side of my wheelchair.   I pretend not to notice, but can feel myself getting a mental hard-on to challenge the Washington Monument.  There are small beads of sweat on her neckline and they run down to meet her white tee.  Her hard nipples reveal no bra and she catches me peering at her.  She stares back, and with her fingers, brings back her dark straight hair.  I do not look away.  Then, as if we rode the bus together, she leans over and starts whispering in my ear.  Her voice is soft and her breath is warm like Redwoods in July.   She smells like incense and sex.  Her words are deliberate and meant to evoke the animal instinct in men and women.  They pour into my ear down to the tip of my dick and they dare me not to cum.

I understand how good sex is in the flesh.  However, I am captivated by the places I can go by just closing my eyes.  The scents and the taste I can have without ever leaving my space.  I fall in love and make love with people I will never meet.  I am the thought that flowed into a river of passion because I wanted it.  Where do you go when your eyes are closed?