I was putting the magazine away in the seat back pocket as the flight steward came down the aisle. "No sir" he instructed "all magazines have to be collected before we land, Saudi customs will not allow magazines to be laying about the aircraft in their country" "Sort of anal of them isn't it" I joked "I guess they're afraid something in Time magazine might corrupt the youth". "Well sir, it may be that, but all I know is that people have been detained for trying to bring magazines with pictures of women into the country". "Whatever" I replied in frustration, looking less and less forward to my stay in the Kingdom. It was a business trip of 5 days duration, and in addition to the lack of booze, there is very strict censorship, and pictures of women are controlled by the religious police. In a male dominated society, which enjoys the good life outside the borders of this desert kingdom, they live a sparse cultural life in it. Needless to say, it's not my favorite place to visit, coming as I have, from 2 fulfilled days in Amsterdam on my way over, where Leslie has been "out" having a good time. As a matter of fact, I've had a hard time sitting through the six hour flight, my ass having performed a different role entirely during my stay in the decadent city of canals.

The landing in Riyadh was without incident, and after the normal delay coming through immigration, I was standing in front of the baggage carousel looking for my bag. Collecting it, I made my way to the customs queue and stood there idling awaiting my turn. All bags are opened in Saudi, and the thought crossed my mind that this was the first time I had brought a Leslie outfit with me, having repacked it in Amsterdam since I was going on to Cairo after Riyadh. Oh well, no problem, I was traveling alone, so even if I had to explain it, no one who knew me would be there to see it. Soon I was at the head of the queue, my bag on the table, yielding to the custom inspectors efficient search. "Excuse me sir, just whose is this?" he questioned, holding up my white patent leather 4 inch spike heels. "Uh.....mine" I stammered. "And this?" he asked, his face becoming more worried looking, as he pulled the red micro mini I had so recently worn in the Amsterdam TV club from the bottom of my bag. "Mine again" I replied, starting to get the hang of this. It's not so bad asserting yourself when you know that no one knows you, and when you feel within your rights. "And this?" he said loudly as he dangled my favorite emerald green, nylon g string in front of my face. "You guessed it" I said, flippantly, "mine".

"Excuse me sir, but you must come with us" the customs guard said as he bundled up the contents of my bag and another guard took my arm, "we must discuss this in private". I was sure they just wanted to shuttle me through, out of the eyes of their women, most of whom had been wearing western style dress in Amsterdam, but now, by law, were veiled and covered head to foot. Oh well, I thought, get it over with and let me get to the hotel so I can get out of these traveling clothes and into Leslie, the thought of my intimate apparel being displayed to the wide eyed Saudis beginning to heat me up a bit.

I was taken through a smaller customs area to an office belonging to the "chief inspector - customs - RKSA". An imposing figure while seated behind his desk, when he rose, it was apparent he was over well over 6 feet tall. He didn't greet me at all, just asked the guard a question of two in Arabic, and began poking around in my luggage. Before long, he had my heels, stockings, garter belt, g string, micro mini, bra, blouse, wig, and nylon teddy laid on top of my bag. "Yours?" he asked, looking at me for the first time. "Mine" I said simply. "You must be aware" he continued "that the import of these banned items of decadent feminine apparel for sale into our Kingdom is strictly forbidden by law, and you are contributing to the breaking of our holy laws by bringing this to a Saudi woman".

"Whoa, chief, I'm not importing these at all, they happen to be mine, for my personal use, and I know that there is nothing illegal about bringing your own clothes into Saudi, or any other place" I was beginning to worry a bit about the way he phrased it. "Impossible, do not lie to me, these are women's clothes, not yours, you are importing them against our laws, admit it"! he screamed, his face barely inches from mine, causing me to step backward into the guard standing behind me. "Look" I started to say as the guard closed both hands around my arms, bringing them back in a security hold, "I, uh, wear........" but the guard pulled up on my arms bending me half over. "YOU WHAT?" the chief inspector screamed in my ear, as I stood facing the floor in a most uncomfortable position, but attentive. "I wear these clothes myself" I whispered between clenched teeth.

There, it was out, and now that I had admitted it maybe they would let me get out of there. "No, that is not possible, you are a man, and you are a smuggler, and you will pay the price for smuggling, we are not stupid!" he ranted, his voice again shrill and his excitement obviously building with each word. "I am a transvestite, a cross dresser" I tried to clarify "these are my clothes, and I wear them when I want to be in my female persona" I was desperate now, I had read about how they punished smugglers, hanging, and I was past caring what they thought about me, I just wanted this ordeal over so I could be on my way. "I don't believe you, you are lying to protect your stupid neck, but you will pay the price for thinking us fools" he said. I was desperate now, "Look, let me prove it, let me put those clothes on and you'll see that I'm not lying". "Go ahead" he said, turning and leaving the room "you have 5 minutes and I will return".

The guard released his grip on my arms, and I stumbled toward my suitcase, grabbing up the clothes piled on top of it. There was a chair next to the desk, I sat in it and began removing my shoes and socks. The guard watched me intently as if he thought I was going to disappear in thin air from the small room. I unbuttoned and removed my shirt, pants, and underwear, standing as I did, now completely nude in front of the guard. I noticed his gaze move up my freshly shaved legs, stopping briefly at the small triangle of hair around my dick and balls, then up my smooth chest, pausing at my small nipples and slight breast like chest, before glancing away as he sensed that I could detect his gaze.

I took the g string out first, untangled it, and stepped first through the right and then left straps, pulling it up my legs and snugly into place, tucking my dick and balls back between my legs. As I seated it higher on my waist, the strap fit tightly in my crack, perfectly bisecting the pucker of my ass pussy. I then pulled the bra on, fastening it at the side, then adjusting it so it divided my chest into two small tits. With no time to waste, I sat down and straightened the wadded up hose, rolled them, and began pulling on the right one. When I had it fully extended and tight, I put on the other one, aware that the guard was still starring at me, seemingly excited by the sight of the sexy looking girl I was becoming as I added each article of underclothing. I didn't bother with the garter belt, choosing instead to pull the micro mini up over my legs and snug it around my waist. It hugged my ass suggestively, and as I put on the blouse I couldn't resist the temptation to stretch, pushing out my chest, arching my back, letting my ass and long legs strike a seductive pose. I was sure that the guard was getting excited, but I didn't dare look at him again, fearing he might catch on to my intentions. I picked up the blonde wig, careful to smooth down the hair, and fit it on my head. Without a mirror or comb I couldn't be sure what it looked like, but reaching up and touching it, it felt all right. Then I sat down and put first the right and then left high heel on my stocking feet. Well, I was Leslie again, I couldn't see myself, but from the feel of everything and the look on the guard's face, I knew everything was in place.

If as on a cue, the door opened and the chief inspector strode into the room. "Interesting" he began "stand up and let me have a look at you" . As I complied with his instruction, both he and the guard walked round me, giving me the visual once over. I'm really an exhibitionist at heart, and the attention, rather than embarrassing me, provided a stirring of feminine desire within. I turned slightly, extending my right leg diagonally in front of me, cocking my left hip and placing my left hand on it in my best "lady of the evening" pose. "Sit down" the inspector said. As I sat, I crossed my legs and let my skirt ride up to the top of my hose, giving a good view of both my ass on the chair, and my g string encased cock and balls in front of it. "Very convincing sir" the inspector after a long silence, "very convincing indeed, but what may I ask do you dress like this for?" "Well, like I said, I'm a TV, and I dress like this when I am with men, or when I want to attract men" I explained, the sound of my confession stoking the heat I was beginning to feel in the pit of my womanhood.

"And do you like to be with men?"

"Yes, I do"

"And what do you like about them?"

"Everything"

"And do you like their sexual organs?"

"Yes, very much"

"What may I ask do you do with their organs?"

"I hold them and stroke them with my fingers and hands"

"And do you take them in your mouth?"

"Yes"

"And do you like them in your mouth?"

"Yes, yesssss, very much" I sighed, half whispering.

"And do they ejaculate in your mouth?"

"Yes " I answered, on fire.

"And do you swallow this ejaculation?"

"Yes, yes" and in my mind I could taste the salty wet taste of cum on my tongue and in my throat.

"And do you let these men, sometimes, take you in the anus, like a woman?"

"Oooh, yes"

"Then sir, I do believe that you are a transvestite, and not a smuggler as I had thought".

"Thank heaven for that" I cried, hoping one of them was as hot as I was from the conversation.

"Not really sir, you see, we have made a video of your confession, and we are going to return you to Amsterdam to be barred from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia for life. If you apply for a visa, we will use the tape of your confession to explain to the US government why we can't grant it." And with that they pulled me to my feet, gathered up my suitcase, and escorted me out, through the airport, and to KLM, where they instructed the Dutch to return me on the next flight to Amsterdam.

As I sat in the waiting area, aware of the eyes staring at me, the severity of the situation somewhat defused by my deportation instead of what could have been fatal, I started to laugh. "My first movie" I said out loud "and I'll have to come back to this place to see it!"