Tuesday, May 06, 2014

This One Time in Korea, My Luggage Got Booted

Join me for a trip down memory lane...

On my last trip to Korea, returning before the great Korean breakup of August 2014, I was on a flight back, bring with me (in a fairly ordinary fashion) a suitcase full of gear. On this particular trip, though, I had a shit tonne more gear than normal, as I had stopped by IML and bought a bunch of gear for the Irish per his request.

This gear included several beautifully balanced metal-handled whips. When packing, I thought nothing of the fact that I had all the gear in one bag, although I did consider for a moment the possibility of separating it. Instead I just went ahead and packed it all up, nestling the whips in between panties, dildos, and restraints. Eventually, I was on my merry way.

Imagine my surprise when two days later I get off the plane to retrieve my bags and found that the gear bag was wearing something funny. Upon closer inspection I realized that my bag was wearing a boot. The boot looked roughly like a lock with a large plastic part and a strap around the handle. As I saw the bag coming towards me all I could think was fuck.

I pulled the bag off the belt and considered the possibility of going to a nearby bathroom and trashing my gear. Not optimal. I had close to three grand worth of gear in that bag and some pieces I had owned for close to 15 years. I was not ditching my gear.

So, going through customs it was. The bathroom idea was quickly put to bed when, as I was walking, the boot started to sing. It belted out this happy, friendly tune, clearly designed to alert everyone that my bag had questionable contraband and I was going to have to answer for it.


I eyed the customs desk and worked to figure out the best plan. At customs there were four lines open. Three were manned by ajjumas who looked grumpy and tired. One was manned by a younger Korean man. I was waved into a line with an ajjuma, but I played stupid foreigner and went straight for the line with the young man.

As I pulled up, I started the “I can’t imagine why I’m here” speech, which he smiled at and shyly ignored why taking off the singing boot and placing it on a reader. The boot had an X-ray attached. On the X-ray I could see handles for five or more floggers, all with metal handles. Gear I brought back specifically for the Irish.

“Do you have weapon?” asked the friendly customs agent.

“Weapon? No sir, of course not.”

“I have open your bag, okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t have any weapons.” Considering how nervous I was, it was sort of surprising I wasn’t sweating, I was just sort of trying to figure out how to play this. As the young customs agent began to unzip my bag, out fell a dildo.


I grabbed the dildoa big double-ended pink dickand started waving it at the customs agent.

“I have a dildo in my bag,” I said, smiling.

He just looked at me.

Another dildo fell out of my bag. I picked that one up too and waved it around, along with the first dildo.

“Maybe it was my DILDO?”I said it loud, much louder than necessary, while waving my dildos like the flag of sexual deviance they were meant to be.

He looked at me, stunned. “How many dildos do you have?”

I shrugged and did my best impression of coy. “Like, five?”

It was if something snapped in him, I waved the dildos again to emphasize that I had five, and he lunged toward me, grabbed my hand, stuffed the dildos in the suitcase, and started zipping as fast as possible.

“You go, you go now.” Without ever having opened my bag he shoved it (now zipped) and dildos in place, down the belt and pushed it onto the floor.

“Go, go, go.” With that, he practically drop kicked me out the doors and into Korea.

Saved by dildos again.

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