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I smile at the well-built, attractive security guard when he motions me through. I wouldn’t mind having this one frisk me right about now. I have plans to get frisked repeatedly on this honeymoon of mine, but not because I’ve broken the law. I’m going to let my wild side out just as Ruby suggested.
“Carry-on check!” another guards yells.
Security guy doesn’t return my smile. He seems rather unfriendly. Instead, his somber expression grows even more somber as he looks to the yelling guard.
I step toward the line of people putting on shoes, collecting purses and phones, and do the same, but my carry-on isn’t on the belt. I look around for it, worried someone has taken it by accident. I’m relieved when I spot it over on a separate bay where a serious-faced guard stands with his fists on his hips, engaged in a conversation with the unfriendly one who didn’t return my smile.
I make sure I have the rest of my things, including my passport, and wave at them. “Hi, hello!” I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile again, hoping Serious Face is friendlier, and that I come across as sweet and unassuming. “Um, can I just—” I reach for my carry-on but they both put up a hand to stop me.
“Is this your bag, ma’am?” Unfriendly asks. They’re both attractive in an authoritative, uniform-wearing kind of way. Or maybe it’s the only reason they’re attractive. That and the fact that Unfriendly has a sleeve, which immediately puts him in my Anarchy Amie Bad Boy Fuckable category.
I really need to get laid on this trip. A lot. A year of polite sex is more than anyone should have to tolerate.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry. Pardon?” Have I really just been ogling two security guards? The answer to that is yes. For a second I feel shame and then I remember that my marriage is a sham and I can ogle whoever I damn well want. I could even offer oral services if I felt like it, not that I would, just that I’m free to do as I please.
It’s at this moment that I notice a humming sound. I rub behind my ear, thinking maybe it’s ringing thanks to extreme exhaustion. Or maybe it’s my phone. Except the hum isn’t coming from my purse, it’s coming from behind the guards.
“Are you carrying any weapons?” Unfriendly asks. He doesn’t have a nametag, so that one is sticking.
“Excuse me?” What the hell is he talking about?
“Do you have arms to declare?”
What an odd question. I can’t imagine I look like someone who would carry a weapon. “Arms? Apart from the ones attached to my body, no.” Neither of them smiles at my joke.
“Carrying an undisclosed weapon is a serious offense, punishable by law, ma’am.”
“I understand that, and agree wholly with that law, however I’m not carrying any weapons. All I have in my purse are tweezers. I thought those were okay.” Oh my God. Why are my palms damp?
They look at each other, and then me. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one more time if there’s anything in your carry-on that could be considered a weapon.”
I mentally review the items in the bag: I have a change of clothes, my makeup, jewelry, extra panties, and . . . “Oh God.” I slap my hand over my mouth as I note the winky emoticon sticker on my carry-on bag. I have two carry - on - sized bags packed for this trip, which are coincidentally the same color. The one with all my special items is marked with the winky face. The emergency, if - my - bag - gets - lost carry-on doesn’t have a sticker at all. The wrong suitcase is on its way to the baggage hold.
Serious Face’s hand goes to his holster. Sweet lord, he thinks I’m a criminal. “We’re going to have to check your bag, ma’am.”
“No!”
I take one step toward him and he puts his massive palm out. “Do not take another step, ma’am, or I’ll be forced to restrain you.”
People are watching. I’m causing a scene. Well, I’m not, but my suitcase is. And this unfriendly, dickwad security guard. I lower my voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You don’t need to check my bag.”
“I’m afraid we do, ma’am.”
“You don’t understand. I checked the wrong bag. That one has all my . . . special items in it.” My plea has absolutely no impact. The one opening my bag pauses to glance at me. Unfriendly’s eyes widen just a bit. It’s the most expression he’s had since this whole debacle started.
Serious Face carefully flips my bag open. The buzzing grows louder. Oh shit. I threw my favorite vibrator in there as an afterthought, and I forgot to take the batteries out. This is the second time this has happened with this stupid vibrator. I should’ve learned this lesson by now.
Unfriendly glances in the bag. Serious Face adjusts his ball cap and his gaze flips up to me. The hint of a smirk tugs at the right side of his mouth. I’m not sure if it’s actually possible to die from embarrassment, but I would really like to right now. Or I’d like to be Hermione Granger and perform a memory erasing charm on everyone currently witnessing this.
Serious Face must take pity on me, because the vibrating ceases. Thank God. Except he can’t leave it there. He twists the end and the vibrations start up again. “This has some power,” he says to Unfriendly.
Awesome, they’re making fun of me. Well fuck them. I can make them just as uncomfortable as they’re making me. Probably even more. I let Anarchy Amie take the wheel. “It’s actually amazing for prostate stimulation.” I give them a conspiratorial wink.
Serious Face fumbles the vibrator and drops it back in the case, where it continues to bump around ominously.
I drag my finger down the side of my neck and bat my lashes. “The bulbous, curved head is specially designed for that exact purpose. The sensation it produces is quite intense. Of course I would never suggest using a toy like that without the appropriate preparation.”
They look anywhere but each other.
Serious Face nervously reaches back in to my bag and quickly shuts off the vibrator, then unscrews the end and dumps the batteries out. He places the unit on the steel table, possibly in retaliation to the prostate stimulation revelation. Jerk.
He takes a little stick—as if the contents of my bag are lethal—and pokes around in it some more. A few lingerie pieces make an appearance, along with a studded thong that he holds up for far too long.
I think I’m finally safe, but then he unzips the other side, which contains all of my fun plastic, glass, silicone, and stainless-steel friends. All of them. Because my plan for this week was to introduce Armstrong to the amazing world of sex toys and show him just how much fun they can be. Could’ve been. Also, I actually wanted to be able to orgasm without a whole hell of a lot of effort. I figured I might as well bring all of it along to ensure there would be no shortage of orgasms for me.
Serious Face peeks inside. His eyebrows climb his forehead. This should be interesting. He seems particularly fascinated by the steel butt plug. He opens the bubble wrap envelope and withdraws the contents, which are also covered with more bubble wrap. I’m very cautious with my toys since they’re rather expensive. At least it’s mostly out of view of the people still rubber-necking as these goons search my carry-on for weapons. I suppose some of these could be considered weapons—of pleasure.
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m past mortification and have moved into annoyed territory. “Please be careful, that’s glass.”
