T&SA

Originally published in the anthology Out of Uniform (Bruno Gmunder, 2014).

I hate airports. I know: everybody hates airports. The hustle, the crunch. Frantic people zipping like pinballs around and into each other. Depressing bars and restaurants that look like hell's waystations.  

But the worst, of course, is going through security. The sheer indiginity of it all. Take off your shoes, take off your belt. Get computer-eyeball-assaulted then put back on your shoes, your belt. What purpose does it all serve? Couldn't you just choke someone with your belt if you were so inclined?

These thoughts went through my head as I approached the security check in the Portland International Airport. Shoes in one hand, bag in the other, laptop under my arm, belt draped across the back of my neck, pants held up by sheer force of will.  

Twenty hours ago I'd been in the middle of the ocean, sailing and fishing with my brother. I'd been mapping the course back to shore. I'd been catching, gutting, and preparing our dinner. I'd been a man of decision, a man of action, a man of free will.  

That was all gone now. The guy in front of me shuffled forward like a zombie; winced with the pain of having to bin the cellphone he'd been staring into for the last twenty minutes. The two children behind me exuded persistent whines like buzzing refrigerators. All of us had the same placid, resigned look on our face: Let's just get this over with.

That's when I spotted him. He was manning the body scanner two lines to the left. A bearded gent; couple years younger than me, devastatingly handsome.  His TV-blue TSA uniform shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing his tan-brown, muscled forearms. They flexed as he waved an old lady through the body scanner.  

What if I my pants fell down as I was walking out of the body scanner and he instinctively knelt down to pick them up for me but the packed crotch of my underwear bumped in front of his face and I got a boner and he couldn't resist...

"Doesn't need a bin." A gruff voice in front of me. I looked up into the embodiment of bitter disgruntlement: the agent eyeing the conveyor belt.

"What doesn't?"  

He huffed. Grabbed my roller bag by the handle and hauled it out the gray bin I'd just placed it in. Slammed the bag back onto the belt and shoved the bin my way. "Sorry," I said. He shook his head at me, at all of us: the great unwashed.

A chubby guy waved me through the scanner. I assumed the position: feet on stickers that looked like feet, hands above my head. It swooshed around me like a vortex.

A shrill beep. It seemed to resound through the entire airport. Every eye turned my way. The stocky guy looked at me, looked into me, and squared his body for action, for attack.

I guess that's about the moment I remembered the fish-gutting knife I'd left in the lower pocket of my cargo shorts.

The chubby guy took one of my arms. Mr. Beard took the other. They escorted me through a white door off the terminal, a door you wouldn't even realize was there unless somebody opened it for you. I went through three rooms, deeper and deeper, until I was deposited into an interrogation room. They handcuffed me to my chair, which scared me. Was this standard procedure? Who knew? It's so hard to know when your rights are being violated these days.

"Sit tight," the chubby guy said, twirling the knife he'd confiscated from my pocket between his fingers. "Agent Briggs will be here in just a minute." He smirked to Mr. Beard, who smirked back.  

"Who?"

"Don't you worry. Agent Briggs is gonna take real good care of you." They shot another look at each other; chuckled. Then just before he shut the door behind him, Mr. Beard shot a glance in my direction. What was on his face? Curiousity? Pity? I couldn't place it.

I sat in that room for over an hour. Surely my plane had already taken off. Had terrorism been in my heart from the start? Sitting there with nothing to do made me want to blow the place up, after all. I couldn't hear anything, was the weirdest thing, it seemed completely soundproof, a place out of place, a there that wasn't there. It was uncanny, and my unease grew.

Finally the knob of the door turned, slowly, ominously. The door opened and in came Agent Briggs. He filled the doorway. He was a brute with a cro-magnon forehead, a dark scrub of hair. Black stubble covered his granite jaw like coffee grounds from a particularly bold and acidic roast.

"Well, well. Mr. Audley, is it? Nate Audley."

"I usually go by Nathani -"

"Shut up," he said, and slammed the door shut. His massive hand could've been carved from the same block of wood as the door. "You talk when I tell you to talk. Understood?"

"Yes..." I started to say it, the natural follow up, but stopped myself. Briggs raised his eyebrows.

"Yes what?"

"Yes...sir?" Briggs looked down at me. He must have been six feet five with a body that looked like it'd been constructed from cinderblock - the kind of bricks that give off a radioactive charge.  His TSA-issue uniform shirt barely contained his tits, no doubt covered in the same mat of black hair that peeked out from his collar and co-mingled with the stubble on his neck. His forearms were thick as bowling pins, and the pressed crease in his pants were losing a battle with the circumference of his tree-trunk thighs. Those pants seemed to have been sewn around the bulge in his crotch which - unless he was keeping a grapefruit in there for lunch - was an indication of God's occasional generosity.  

He ran his tongue along the top shelf of his teeth. Frightened as I was, I had a feeling that I wanted that tongue, and that he wanted to give it to me.

"Good boy," he said. He had a cloth bag in his hand and he dropped it on to the table. He leaned his massive ass on the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest. Asked where I was going, where I had been, what I'd had for breakfast three mornings ago and whether my mother had breast fed me as a baby. Who had I voted for in the 2004 election? Had I ever been arrested? Had I been to Afghanistan? To France? Had I been involved in Occupy? Had I ever passed by one of their camps?

"There wasn't any Occupy in Tulsa," I said.  

"Sure there wasn't." Briggs smiled, revealing teeth that were like hunks of ivory some sculptor had hacked into existence after too many glasses of wine.

"We searched your luggage," he continued, lifting the cloth bag off the table. What did I care? Search my luggage, hell, search my apartment back in Tulsa if it's going to get me home sooner... "We didn't find any other forms of contraband. So you're lucky on that count." He reached into the bag. "But we did find something...well, at least, I found this interesting." I knew what it was going to be before he pulled it out. On my way out to meet my brother, I'd happened upon an adult bookstore and well, see, I'd been needing a new dildo for a while...

Briggs revealed it slowly, eight inches of pink silicone, veined and ridged to look like the real thing. I'd found occasion to use it during what was sort of a long, dry week, alone with my brother.

He brought it to his face and sniffed it. "Not your girlfriend's, obviously."

"Uh..."

"Also, nothing hidden inside it. I checked. But we'll still need to know if there's anything inside you. A standard cavity search." He set the dildo on the table, reached up to scratch his jaw. "Something you seem to be fairly familiar with."

He uncuffed me. "Now don't try anything funny. You'll need to strip completely. Nice and slow. Place each piece of clothing on the table as you go." Briggs folded his formidable arms in front of his chest. I took a deep breath. This was really happening. Actually, I didn't know what was happening, but I was somewhere between frightened and turned on and going along with it just the same.

I took off my shirt. I know I've got a great body, smooth and muscled, and it gave me a thrill to be getting naked in front of this guy. I did my pants and socks next, stood there for a moment in my underwear (designer, blue and skimpy). My cock was half hard. Briggs looked me up and down appraisingly.  

"Nude, Audley. That means those cute little undies, too." I took a deep breath and lowered my briefs. I could feel Briggs' eyes on me as I placed them on top of my other clothes. I faced him - totally naked and exposed. I tucked my arms across my chest. Briggs looked down at my feet, then all the way up my body to the top of my head. He smirked.  

My cock rose, then rose higher. There was no stopping it and soon it was completely hard, pulsating from my pelvis, the bell end peeking out of my foreskin.  

Briggs grabbed his crotch - just a quick heft, but things definitely seemed to be growing in there.  

"Turn around and place your hands on the table." I did so. "Stay still," he said. I heard him approach me then felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. "I'm going to do a quick pat down, just to make sure you're not hiding any contraband." His placed his rough hands on my soft sides and swiped them up into my armpits, prodding into them and then around to my chest. I got a chill as he ran them back down my sides and across my stomach. He knelt and felt up my ankles then my thighs. He stood and pressed two fingers underneath my balls. With his other hand he felt the smooth mound above my cock.

"You shave it yourself?" he said hotly into my ear. I felt the rough polyester of his uniform against my bare skin, the cold buckle of his belt just above my ass.  

"Yes sir. I've been doing it since high school."

"Very nice, boy," he said, and wrapped his big paw around my cock. He stroked it, sliding the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive head. There was a drop of precum on the tip. He swiped it up with his finger and popped it into his mouth. "Mm," he said.

Moving his grip to the base of my cock, he tightened his fingers around my whole junk almost enough to where it hurt, just so I knew who was in control.

"Now I'm going to examine your mouth, to be sure you aren't smuggling anything in there. You'd be surprised what some people manage to hide in their mouths." He slid two fingers past my lips and across my tongue. His fingers were calloused and tasted bitter and salty. I tried not to choke as he pushed them down my throat, tightening his grip around my nuts as he did. Slowly he began to remove them. As they passed back over my tongue I closed my lips around them, suckled. "Mm," Briggs said, pressing his crotch to my backside. I could feel his cock, coiled in his pants like a snake ready to strike.

"Now onto the rectal search. Usually we use a glove and some lube but you won't mind if I just do this the old-fashioned way, will you?"

"No sir."

"I didn't think so." With one hand he spread my ass cheeks until my hole was exposed. "Shave that too, eh?" He took the index finger he'd wet in my mouth and pressed it to my hot hole. I breathed, relaxed, because I knew it was going to be rough. One second his finger was poised there and the next he was shoving his whole fat finger inside me. I gasped.

"Now, now," he said, wrapping his Popeye arm around my bare chest. "This is strictly routine. Just making sure you're not hiding anything up there." He held my body close to his as his finger invaded my asshole, pumping it in and out as he talked. "That's a good boy," he said, turning his finger clockwise and feeling all around my insides. My cock was still hard and Briggs brought his hand around to stroke it as he fingered me. "Just relax. This is for your own good, your own safety, the safety of you and your country."  

He pressed down on my prostate, which always drives me crazy. My whole body convulsed and squirmed against his body. He held me tighter and put his lips to my neck. Then he was licking and biting my neck, still working my cock in his paw. "Nice and tight, just how I like my boys," he said.  I turned my head to meet his face. Our lips collided and we were making out, his stubbly jaw locked on mine, tongue shoving into my mouth as he fingered me mercilessly.

That was what pushed me over the edge. He kept kissing, fingering and stroking me as my prostate swelled and my balls contracted up into my body. I was lost, completely out of control, getting reamed and masturbated by this TSA brute. My hole squeezed his finger, the first volley of jizz flying across the desk and landing halfway across. The next shot went all the way across. Briggs never quit, he worked my body until I was milked dry.

Then he pulled out, backed away. He was just a little flustered. I was wrung out.

"Good job, boy. You took it like a true American. I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he said, and began to unbuckle his belt. "To show you my appreciation." He undid his pants, lowered them and his boxer shorts around his thighs.

There it was. A massive slab of all-American beef, a flesh-and-vein cousin to the Washington Monument. "I'm gonna let you give it a kiss. For your service here today."

I got on my knees and brought my face to his crotch. Briggs nuts were as big and fleshy as a bull's, his whole crotch a riot of black hair that tangled with the hair on his thighs, his stomach. Tickle-y little black hairs even traveled halfway up his shaft. He pushed it closer to my face. It smelled musky, animalistic. "Just one kiss, though. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes sir." I put my lips to the scorching hot shaft. Smooched it, right beneath the head. As I did, precum that had built on his pisshole dripped down his shaft and over my lips. I took my lips away and gratefully licked them clean, savoring the taste of him.  

God bless America, I thought.

Briggs, hoisting up his pants, instructed me to "sit tight" while he cleared me "in the system."  

"You'll be permitted to leave soon enough," he said, and left. I got dressed. I put the dildo back in the bag in case somebody else came in.  

Was Delta going to reimburse me? Probably not. I was most likely out of a six-hundred-dollar airplane ticket and I hardly had enough money to buy another one. I was going to have to call my brother, figure out some way to get back to Oklahoma.

I sat there with my head in my hands, spun by all that had just occurred.  

The door opened and in walked Mr. Beard. He glanced behind him as he entered, shut the door quietly behind him and locked it.  

"Hey," he said. "I'm Agent Erdmann." He held out his hand. I took and shook. "Um, so, we're still finishing up the paperwork before we, you know, let you go."

"Okay."

"Yeah, but I wanted to check and make sure you were okay. I mean, Briggs can be kind of rough on guys sometimes."

"It wasn't too bad, I guess."  

"Good," Erdmann said. He shuffled on his feet. He was truly adorable, with bright blue eyes set off by his thinning auburn hair. His body was thick with a few extra pounds around his waist, but powerful and strong.

"I just thought maybe you could use some comfort, after going through an ordeal like that. And well, I guess I should tell you, there's a camera up on that wall." He pointed to a small circle, hidden in the trim around the ceiling. I hadn't noticed it. "So I kinda watched what happened. And it was really hot."

I felt my cock begin to stir. Just what was going on in this passion pit of an airport? Who cared?  

"I'm interested," I said.

"And I think I should tell you, I'm a trans guy."  

“Nice,” I said.  

"I know he was pretty rough on your ass, so if you want to put it in my ass, well I'd be into that, and it might make you feel better." His earnestness was almost hilarious, but who was I to say no to this gorgeous piece of Portland?

"That sounds great," I said. "But I want to make out with you, too."

"Oh, well, okay, sure," he said. I stood and wrapped my hands around his waist, pulling him into me. I kissed him, my face burying in that thick and luxurious beard. His kiss was tentative at first, his tongue kept firmly in his mouth, but the deeper I went the more he opened up to me. I felt all the frustration of my ordeal melting away as this sexy otter gave himself over to me, relaxing into my arms.  

My hand naturally went to the crotch of his pants. To feel the soft, rounded presence there thrilled me, but Erdmann pushed my hand away.  

"No, no, you don't have to do that..." he said.

"Can I?" I said. He seemed to think about it for a moment. I tucked the tips of my fingers into the waist of his pants, felt his firm, flat, pelt-covered stomach, teased them further down. Erdmann didn't stop me so I went lower until I felt the folds of his front hole and his small, engorged dick. "Is this okay?"

"Yesss," he said in a low moan. He was so wet. I'd never experienced anything like this before, but something about that soft, inviting hole on his strapping, hairy body was a total turn on. My cock was ready to burst out of my pants. I undid my pants and let it spring out. Erdmann stroked it a bit, then undid his own pants. He turned around and lowered them over his ass, placing his hands on the table. His ass was a thing of beauty, round and firm as two halves of a rubber ball, smooth as cream and overlaid with fine brown hair.  

An ass like that deserved more than just a surreptitious fuck. Whether Erdmann was hoping for a quickie to avoid getting caught by Briggs I didn't know, nor at that moment did I care. This was all mine, a true gift from the TSA, and I was going to make the most of it.

I got down on my knees. "What are you--" Erdmann managed to get out before I parted his cheeks and licked up his hairy crack, from the base of his front hole and up past his gorgeous pink asshole. He gasped, seemed to have the wind knocked out of him. "Oh my god," he finally managed to say as I made a feast of his ass, digging my face in there, pressing my tongue deep. I jacked myself as I ate him.

When I stood I was hard and ready. I rode my thick dick against his asshole. That made Erdmann come alive. Clearly he was used to having a cock in that handsome little bum and was ready for more. He squirmed against it, and I almost thought he was going to slide himself on it raw, but even though he kissed the head a few times with his hole, sank it in just a few inches, he finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom.

"What about lube?" I said.

"Oh yeah," he said, and scooted across the room with his pants still around his ankles. He went out the door and came back a few seconds later with a huge container of SkinGlide. He handed it to me. "We have a whole cabinet. More than three ounces, you know."

"Heh," I said. I was glad at least some of the stuff the TSA confiscates was going to good use. Erdmann resumed the position while I suited up. When I had us both lubed I leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"You want me to fuck you?" I pressed my cockhead to his asshole.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Please fuck me, sir."

"You like somebody telling you what to do for a change?"

"Yes sir," he said. "Fuck me, please fuck me." I took it easy on him, slid it inch by inch. Erdmann groaned and cried out like a porn star. I didn't care if anyone could hear, or see for that matter. All I cared about was that his ass was tight and hot and available to me. I held tight to his hips, pulled back and shoved it in hard. Erdmann squealed. His ass was gorgeous and tan and I was splitting into it, my fat log piercing him right down the middle. I reached in front of him and wrapped my fingers around his cock, pressing against it, stroking it and making it pulse. That really got him going. He moaned and squirmed back on my cock. It got to where he was giving it to me as much as I was giving it to him. I pulled up his shirt so that I could see the taut muscles on his lower back, like coils of rope buttressing both sides of his spine. This was one seriously hot piece of ass.

"I'm gonna cum soon," I said.

"Oh do it. Cum in my ass." I held tight to his hips, held on for dear life as I fucked, my nuts slapping against him with each thrust, my cock going all the way in him from the head to the base and back again.

"Oh fuck...here it comes...fuck!" I shoved it in him to the hilt, held it deep and creamed away. Shot after shot filled the tip of the condom.

Erdmann seemed pleased with himself when he saw the load I'd blown. "Briggs usually gets all of them," he said, pulling up his pants, buckling them. "He's a bully."

"Sure is," I said. "So I'm free to go?"

"Oh yeah, sure," he said. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"You said you had paperwork to fill out."

"Did I?"  

"Never mind," I said.

"Well your flight already left. My shift is up and I'm off the next few days. I thought, if you want, maybe we could travel together."

"Oh really?" I had to admit, the idea of spending more time with this sexy dude was quite appealing. "Do you get free flights or something?"

"Sometimes, but I thought we could take my car."

"Your car..." I said, and broke into a big smile.  

He had a convertible. His first name was Evan and he looked completely delectable in his civilian clothes.  

We drove for the next two and a half days, taking side roads, blue highways, detours. We fucked our brains out every chance we got and made a mess of two cheap motel room beds. This was the real America, I realized. The America that doesn't suspect the worst, that encompasses all religions, all persuasions; everyone and everything. The America you don't see when you fly over it.