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“Can you even name one Rolling Stones song?” I remembered asking him.
He rattled off a couple titles, none of them sounding familiar to me, which wasn’t a surprise seeing as how I for sure wouldn’t be able to name a single Rolling Stones song.
The security checkpoint cleared up ahead. I went through, letting them check my suitcase and scan me with those metal wands. The security officer—Lionel, read the tag, with a tiny mistletoe over his name—asked me to turn around. I faced the rest of the line, my gaze instantly finding that mysterious man with the sexy jaw and the cap, which was now flipped so that I could see the rest of his face.
Holy crapola, this man was everything. I wasn’t sure what I liked better, the top half of his face or the previously introduced bottom half?
Then again, why not have both?
His eyes—wow, they were multidimensional, like two little blue-and-gray galaxies held inside the most perfectly sculpted face. He had a strong brow and thick eyebrows that added a frame to a picture I could stare at all day and night.
Especially night.
Lionel waved the wand over my shoulder and down my back before he ran it over the front of my chest and then down over my shorts.
A loud beeping sounded. Directly above my penis.
“Oh, that’s, um, weird.”
Lionel tried again. More beeping as he held the wand right on top of my crotch. I could see people in line beginning to look in my direction, but thankfully, the handsome man straight out of my dreams (and most likely my league) had his attention held by something on his phone. I guessed that I had approximately fifteen seconds before he looked up and saw me getting dragged away for a weaponized penis.
“It’s nothing,” I said, turning to Lionel. “The zipper maybe?”
“Do you have any piercings?”
“Oh no, just the thought of that is making me contract into my own body.” I pursed my lips. “Which is probably too much information.”
“We have an area to the left where another agent can check you.” Lionel motioned to what appeared to be a makeshift changeroom, ignoring my mention of an inverting dick. It was a circular area concealed by a wrinkled blue sheet. I wanted to roll my eyes and assure Lionel I had nothing between my legs that needed to be checked, at least not by security. But, on the same token, he was just doing his job and making sure every passenger stayed safe. I turned and walked to another security officer, who led me into the changing room.
“I think my zipper triggered it.”
The officer, a muscular guy with an impressive forearm tattoo of a roaring lion, offered me a surprisingly apologetic smile. “The sensor’s been a little sensitive. I’m just going to ask you to take your shorts and shirt off for a quick search, and then you can board.”
I glanced around at the flimsy blue curtain. If I looked hard enough, I could make out faces through small holes that dotted the fabric. I felt my cheeks turn a fiery red. Not because I had to have a surprise strip search, but because that handsome god of a man was standing feet away from me as I began to undress. It was an odd place for my brain to go, but I couldn’t help it as I started to wonder if he could see me, if he could see the shape of me through the shadows on the curtain. I took off my shirt and went for my shorts next, not remembering what underwear I had put on but knowing that it at least wasn’t one of my jockstraps.
I unzipped my shorts and took them off. My briefs were bright yellow with cartoon bananas playfully placed around them, the band around my hips was jet black. I faced the officer and tried not to think about the fact that my briefs looked a little more full than they normally did.
Handsome Cap Man is doing things to me without even being near me.
The officer used the wand again, quickly swiping it up and down, the machine staying quiet this time. He then personally checked my shorts, flipping the pockets inside out. When he was done, he handed back my shorts and turned around so I could change.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Yup, that’s it. Thanks for cooperating.”
I nodded and “mhmmed” as I lifted a leg to put my shorts back on.
That’s when things went from “fine” to “what in the actual fuck is my life” all in about fifteen seconds flat.
As I was lifting my leg, I lost my balance. Normally, I’m not a clumsy guy. I competed in gymnastics all throughout high school and college, even making it up to the Olympic qualifiers before I took a terrible fall off the pommel horse and had to take two years off to recover. Since then, I never got back into gymnastics, instead finding a new passion in parkour, joining a team who’d practice inside of one of their home gyms before we went out to the streets.
