I have worn a Latowski belt through airport security.
I flew from the Palm Beach Airport to visit a friend in San Francisco. I took off my boots and threw all my stuff into a gray plastic tub.
Before I walked through the sensor, I warned the woman with the scanner that I was wearing a stainless steel chastity belt that I couldn’t take off because my partner had the keys. She was a black woman with bleached dreads and a piercing through her lower lip. She was a loud bawdy woman who laughed and repeated what I told her in secret to anyone could hear.
“You’re wearing a chastity belt? I gotta see this! I’m going to get my husband and son one of those things!”
A male TSA supervisor and a Federal Cop took me through a door near the security scanners and marched me down a hall to a windowless room where I had to strip and show them my belt. One of the guys reached into the front of the belt, barely inching a finger in, to make sure I wasn’t “hiding anything besides your pecker.”
The cop seemed appalled and disgusted. The TSA officer knocked on the pouch with his knuckles and smiled.
“How does a man let another person lock him in something like that? You must have a jealous wife!”
They walked me out past the gate to the concourse and I was on my way. I had a layover in Atlanta. I was sure not to leave the secured area when changing planes.
San Francisco was a repeat of my experience in Palm Beach, except that it almost seemed a matter of course. I think they expect to see just about anything there. The TSA people were more discrete and the trip to the back room was little more than perfunctory.
I actually experienced more of a hassle years ago when I brought a bullet shaped cigar cutter with me. They actually took it away and gave it to the pilot to give back to me when I deplaned.