For the first time ever they were going away on a trip abroad. A trip to New York, where they will spend five nights in a hotel on Sixth Avenue. Rebel had been there before and for years now she had tried to convince her husband to join her for a return trip. At last he agreed and there they were, on their way to board the plane.
Since they were going to be in New York for a short time, they had made a planning of the places they wanted to visit. Their planning also included a lot of naked fun time in their hotel room. Yes, they were planning to make the most of their time away from home. The little clothes that they were taking with them for the week were packed in one small suitcase. Just as they were about to leave the house, Rebel ran back upstairs and grabbed a small backpack from the room. She had been debating with herself for days whether she should take it with her or not. In the end she could not leave it.
“Ah! Afraid you might not have enough clothes with you after all,” her husband laughed when he saw the backpack. Rebel only smiled, but did not answer.
They checked themselves in electronically, being hours too early for their flight. They had already planned to roam the duty free shops before they would board their flight. Both the suitcase and the backpack would go into the cabin with them as hand luggage. As they approached the customs check point, Rebel’s pace slowed down. Her eyes were fixed on the conveyor belt with the x-ray machine where they would have to place their luggage to be checked. When she grabbed the backpack from their bedroom, she had not given one thought to the different luggage checkpoints. She straightened her shoulders and hoped that she had a matter-of-fact and relaxed expression on her face.
The suitcase her husband was carrying went through the x-ray machine first. Rebel busied herself in small talk with her husband, pretending not to be worried about the backpack at all. She and her husband were already on the other side of the conveyor belt after being cleared by the security arch next to the belt. The suitcase her husband was carrying earlier was already at his feet and they were waiting for the backpack to be released.
The two custom officials were now both looking at the screen in front of them – a screen that neither Rebel nor her husband could see. The conveyor belt was not running anymore and a line of people were forming on the other side, waiting for their turn to be cleared through customs so they could board their planes. Every now and then the two men glanced at Rebel, while they were talking in whispering voices and pointing at the screen. Rebel blushed and felt more uncomfortable each time one of the men looked at her. She knew exactly what they were looking at.
Rebel sighed with relief when at last her backpack appeared through the rubber strips of the x-ray machine. Her relief was short-lived as one of the men took hold of the backpack, lifted it off the conveyor belt and approached Rebel and her husband. The expression on his face was stern, but not unfriendly. Behind his back the other customs official was talking to a third man. Rebel’s attention was back to the man standing in front of them when she heard his words.
“Sir, Ma’am, could you please follow me?”
“But…” Rebel spoke, but she was interrupted.
“Ma’am, just follow me, please. Don’t make this worse than it is,” the man said.
Rebel’s husband – always the calmer and more sensible one of the two of them – nodded towards Rebel as if to silence her. The custom official started to walk towards a door marked ‘Authorized personnel only’. He held a security card to a small display on the wall next to the door. The door buzzed and he opened it. He held it open and motioned for Rebel and her husband to enter into a corridor on the other side of the door. Just before the door closed, the other customs official entered the corridor too. The door shut behind him with a click.
Rebel was standing with her back pressed against the white wall. She did not know where she had to go. The first official walked pass her and again asked them to follow him. They had no choice. Rebel assumed that her husband was right behind her. It was only when the man stopped at the last door in to corridor that she turned around, just in time to see her husband entering a room a couple of doors closer to the door through which they had just entered. She panicked. Just as she wanted to turn to go to the same room as her husband, her arm was grabbed by the custom official. She fought him, trying to get him to release his grip on her arm.
“I want to go to my husband,” she said.
“If you cooperate, you will see your husband soon enough, ma’am,” the man said in a stern voice, holding onto her arm firmly.
“No, I want to go to him,” she whined, pulling hard, fighting his grip.
“Ma’am, please cooperate,” he said, “or I will have to restrain you.”
Rebel did not listen. She was fighting hard now, pulling and twisting her arm, feeling very panicked.
In a flash the man spun her around, pushed her against the wall and pulled her arms behind her back. Within seconds she was handcuffed.
“You are hereby arrested for sexual terrorism,” he said and pushed her into the small room. Holding onto her arms he guided her to a chair on the other side of the steel table. As she sat down, he made sure her arms were behind the backrest of the chair. This caused Rebel’s breasts to be pushed forward and for the first time she regret wearing the low cut top without a bra. The blazer she wore to cover what was beneath now had no function anymore. The darker coloring of both aureoles could be seen just above the fabric of her top.
Rebel was not even aware that the official was looking at her breasts. Only one word kept on repeating in her mind: terrorism.
How could they think she and her husband were terrorists? What have they seen on the x-ray screen that gave them that conclusion? Why did they take her husband to another room? Why was he not in here with her? But surely, when they look in the backpack they would know that they are no terrorists? She blushed when she remembered the contents of the backpack. She deeply wished that she had left it at home. At that moment Rebel hated her own impulsive nature. But really, her thoughts returned to the remark of the official, terrorism? There is no way that she and her husband could be accused of that.
To be continued… Customs officials (2/4)
© Rebel’s Notes
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