My older, wealthy boyfriend—the Stetson man—had a voracious appetite for sex, and I was surprised to discover just how healthy his sex life was. I had always assumed that as men grew older they became less interested in sex. I went from years of not being desired by my husband to being wanted on a daily basis by the Stetson man. And I have always made a point of pleasing my man, but there was this one instance when we had huge disagreement over how to handle a situation that involved highly sensitive information about our sex life.
The Stetson man would often buy sexy lingerie for me to wear, but eventually, he grew tired of Victoria’s Secret teddies and garter belts, and so he ventured into an adult entertainment store for items a bit less “pink.” He began to bring sex toys to our rendezvous to add “spice” to our bedroom antics. He would store these items in a black doctor’s bag, and when that bag became too full, he bought a second bag.
Now we had two doctor’s bags that we took with us when we traveled. Unfortunately, these particular bags did not lock, and there were a couple of times I heard the bag vibrating while airport personnel were handling our baggage. I would turn red from embarrassment, and shield my face as best I could in front of the pilots. I am private about what happens behind closed bedroom doors, and these two doctor’s bags full of adult toys held a lot of potentially embarrassing contents. That’s why I couldn’t have been less prepared for the day we accidentally left behind these two bags at the airport.
The Stetson man and I flew in and out of this airport several times a month. We were familiar with the airport personnel, and even knew many of them by name. I am sure they always wondered about our relationship, and on this particular trip, the airport staff may have discovered more than they wanted to, because when we arrived at my house, we were sans doctor’s bags.
Of course, it was only when the Stetson man asked me for them, miles away at my home, that we realized we had left them on the tarmac or in the small airport’s lobby. I began to pray that the pilots had just forgotten to unload them, and then I suggested we just forget about those two bags. I said that we could check the plane on departure, and if we did not find them, we could just start over with new toys. After all, the bags did not have a name on them, and so our secret would remain safe if we left it alone. The Stetson man, however, did not agree to forgetting about those bags. He was determined to find them. He decided to phone the airport, and he was told that the airport personnel had found the two missing bags. They had placed the bags behind the counter in hopes of reconnecting them with their rightful owner. I knew the personnel had opened the bags—two unattended pieces of luggage in an airport? My face began to burn red from humiliation.
The Stetson man insisted that I accompany him back to the airport to retrieve the bags. I kept begging him to forget them, but he had already given his name and information when he called to inquire about the bags. I was worried that entire car ride back to the airport, because I knew that the airport personnel could potentially make the situation worse by handing the bags over to the pilots, perhaps with the bags already open and the personal contents exposed. I waited outside, red-faced, as out of sight as possible. I glanced up from my feet just in time to see the smiling Stetson man, a doctor’s bag in each hand, strolling back to the car.
After that trip, I was never the same when traveling through that airport. Each time we were there, I imagined the thoughts going through the airport personnel’s minds. I was humiliated by the entire bag debacle, but I think the Stetson man’s ego thought that misplacing those bags was in fact a wonderful thing.