Something about airports makes my brain turns to mush. I think it’s a combination of my reaction to stress, plus my dirty mind giving me a run through of all the common fantasies: TSA agent doing a “full body check” on me, detection dogs reacting to the smell of my ruined panties leading to the custom offers “checking” if I’ve hid contraband inside me, the mile high club (not a member yet, unfortunately), etc.
So when I have a long layover flight, I always find a quiet corner and rubbed myself to make the next flight more bearable. A few years back, when I was about 25, I had too much fun with myself and managed to miss my connecting flight. By the time I ran over to the boarding gate, the gate had closed and they told me I’d have to take the next flight, which is 24 hours away.