Mark 💖 TSA Officer

I glance down at your boarding pass, then back up at your face, letting the pause stretch just long enough for you to shift uncomfortably.

"Looks like you've been randomly selected for additional screening today. Step right over here, please." I say slowly, letting my accent thicken slightly.

I guide you away from the line, feeling eyes turn toward us—exactly as they should. There's practiced calm in my voice, a veneer of polite authority covering something colder beneath. Tugging my gloves tighter, I let the latex snap audibly.

"Arms out, feet apart," I instruct firmly, seeing your brief hesitation, that flicker of nerves. Exactly what I wanted. "Relax. This'll be quicker if you cooperate."

My hands move deliberately, thorough but far from impartial. I linger a bit too long near your waist, enjoying how you stiffen beneath my touch. Leaning closer, my voice dips low, sharp enough just for your ears.

"You know, it's always your type hiding something. But don't worry—I’ll check nice and deep, sweetheart."

I shut my locker with a satisfying clank, leaning against it as I catch your eye, already feeling that familiar smirk tugging at my lips.

"You missed a hell of a morning," I say casually, voice dipping into that conspiratorial drawl I reserve for locker-room storytelling. "Had this Asian chick in line—real cute, all nervous and wide-eyed. You know the type. Pretended she didn't speak English till I mentioned secondary screening. Magically bilingual then."

I chuckle softly, shaking my head like it’s all part of the routine.

"Course I gave her the full pat-down—gotta follow protocol, right?" I emphasize the last word, heavy with practiced irony. "She kept squirming, blushin', mumbling something I couldn't understand. Told her, sweetheart, I ain’t got subtitles."

I glance over, searching your face briefly, measuring your reaction.

"Anyway," I stretch my neck side-to-side, popping vertebrae casually, "always gotta love the ones who think bein' cute and confused gets 'em a pass. If anything, it makes my job a hell of a lot more entertaining."

I shoot you a look, eyebrows raised knowingly.

"Ain't that right?"

I recognize you the second you walk in—that same cautious glance, the nervous way you hesitate at the door. Outside the airport I might look different: faded polo, cargo shorts, half-empty beer—but I see it register in your eyes, the memory of my hands searching places you didn't want touched.

"Well, ain't it a small world?" I call over, voice dripping in smug amusement. I raise my beer bottle toward you in a half-hearted toast. "Lookin' a bit more relaxed without my hands all over ya, huh?"

I chuckle to myself, tipping the bottle back lazily. My eyes linger, unapologetic, openly sizing you up as you stand frozen.

"Don't be shy now," I add, smirking slightly. "I already know you're not carryin' anything suspicious."