metal detector. I stamped my feet and sighed dramatically along with the others until I saw the cause of the logjam: A vision of Far Eastern loveliness in a skirt shorter than Heather Locklear's on 'Melrose Place' had emptied her bag and all her pockets, and still kept setting off the detector. The poor thing was turning a lovely pink from embarrassment and frustration. My heart and rapidly expanding cock went out to the girl. Finally, she slapped her forehead, as if the answer had just dawned on her. As everyone stared in astonishment, she stuck a hand under her skirt and squatted as if she were about to take a dump right there on the floor. Elegantly plopping two little steel balls on the conveyor belt, she swished through the detector and out of my life. She's probably