Airport Security

by Ralph Fontaine
I’m going to go out on a limb here. Make a statement that could be called controversial, or shameless, or simply wrong. Here goes: Airport security is the sexiest thing to come out of the terror attacks of 9-11. Some might argue that the rampant sex that people were having immediately after was sexier, and others would be appalled at the mere suggestion that anything “sexy” came out of such tragedy. Well, deal with it, every cloud has a silver lining and all of that positive mental attitude bullshit. The fact is, long lines and the necessity of preparing ones self for the potential strip search tends to lower barriers between those who share the experience.

I’ll admit that it isn’t often that you find yourself in one of those interminable lines near anyone remotely desirable, but the law of averages states that for every five overweight businessmen, families with 3 or 4 screaming children, and uptight matrons in sensible shoes, there must be one stunning creature that arouses thoughts of lust in the skies. In the past, when we all just ran through security, we didn’t get to scope out the other passengers who would soon be putting their lives in the hands of a hopefully sober pilot flying a plane that had hopefully received its scheduled maintenance. We just prayed the change in our pockets didn’t set off the metal detector, and tried to remember if we turned off all the lights at home. Now that has all changed. We wear shoes that are easy to take off and put back on. We make sure that nothing in our bag looks suspicious, and that any recreational medication is in a container that once contained real medication.

We also have lots of time to eye everyone in the line, as it winds back and forth like those lines at Disneyland for the cool rides. This is the only fun part of the journey, the part when we can make up the life stories of those around us: The wife who really wants to leave her husband but stays with him for the children, the youngest of which still has a cast on her left arm because of the car accident they got into a couple of weeks ago when Mom was hurrying them home from Soccer practice so she could catch a glimpse of the muscular carpet cleaner guy who would be just about to bend over and roll out the freshly cleaned Oriental rug that had been a wedding present from her husband’s parents: The young guy with the military-style haircut who is being shipped over to Iraq next week and is traveling back to Ohio on the pretense of visiting his parents before he goes, but really is making the trip in hopes that he’ll get his high school girlfriend to sleep with him once more even though she broke up with him when he joined the army, because she is anti-war and goes to rallies where people chant “no blood for oil” and has a bumper sticker on her car that says “one cannot simultaneously pray for peace and prepare for war.”

Then there is the short, spunky looking girl with the messy hair. She is wearing a black t-shirt that has the faded logo of a band on it, and the sleeves and neck are cut in the somewhat outmoded way that rockers in the early ‘90’s used to wear. It doesn’t look cheesy on her though, it looks more like it is an old comfortable shirt that she wears to bed, and that she just got up and came to the airport without changing. She probably isn’t wearing any panties under her sweatpants, and definitely isn’t wearing a bra under the shirt. She is the most interesting thing that I have seen today. It is just after 6:00 in the morning, and I am not accustomed to functioning this early. The part of my brain that keeps track of acceptable social behavior hasn’t awakened yet. I stare at her unashamedly for at least a minute before I realize that I am doing it. Just as I become conscious of the fact that my attention is most likely unwanted, and if she sees me, she’ll undoubtedly think that I’m creepy, she turns a bit my way and looks at me. Now, normally, I would quickly look away and pretend to be very interested in a poster on the wall, but today I just keep looking at her. In that instant I learn what many aggressive frat boys know instinctively-a confident look at an attractive woman is much more effective than the embarrassed quick-turn. She returns my look, and her mouth moves slightly, barely indicating a sneaky, sexy smile. Before she has time to register the most un-suave look of surprise on my face, the line begins to move and she turns to face forward.

The movement takes all of the half-awake travelers around a loop in the line, and I can no longer see her. I move subtly, trying to see if I can glimpse her, but my view is blocked by a Marlon Brando lookalike in a loud Hawaiian shirt who is yelling about rebuilt car parts into his cell phone. I am rapidly waking up. This trip is getting interesting. I’m almost glad I got up at 4:30 in the morning to come to the airport to fly to a place I don’t want to go to do business for a company I don’t want to work for. Then reality sets in. The high point has probably already passed. I saw the girl, she saw me looking at her, she didn’t call security on me, she smiled at me…I think. Did she? Did I imagine it? She probably didn’t mean to, she was probably just thinking about something amusing. Or, she did notice that I was staring, and gave me a little courtesy smile. Yeah, I’m definitely awake now…my insecurities are anyway.

I’m up to the point in the line where the bored security officer compares the name on my ticket to the one on my driver’s license. It matches, so she puts a mark on the ticket, and starts her rehearsed spiel about taking shoes off, laptops out of bags, and jackets off. I ignore the speech which I’ll hear at least five more times before I’m all the way through security, and look for the spunky girl. I see her up ahead about to go up to the conveyor belt. She turns a bit and bends over to take off her shoes. I have quite a view down her loose t-shirt. I was right, she isn’t wearing a bra. By now, more of the crowd is starting to wake up, and I’m not the only one who noticed her little show. Brando’s tirade about a carburetor is paused, military guy shifts from foot to foot, trying to look around people for a better view, and one of the matrons in sensible shoes clucks her tongue and shakes her head in disapproval. As the girl straightens up, she looks my direction with that same little smile on her lips. So was that for my benefit? Did she turn purposely so I’d have a better view? It can’t be. Probably her boyfriend is in line behind me, and this is one of their kinky games. Pretend to meet like strangers at the airport, then fuck in the bathroom. I turn and look around to see who the lucky guy is. Directly behind me are a man and his wife, each about 5 feet tall. They are chattering to each other in some eastern European language. Probably, the wife is reprimanding the husband for checking out the girl’s tits. Behind them is a nun in full black and white habit. She holds rosary beads tightly and her lips are moving just a little. Maybe she is praying for the ability to control lustful thoughts.

I can’t spot anyone who looks like someone this vision of walking sexuality would hook up with. In fact, of those nearby I’m probably the closest to someone she’d consider. Remember, my insecurities are fully awake and charging, so I’m not at all assuming that she’d be interested in me, but I do take some solace in the fact that at least of this early morning group, I come the closest. And she did look at me-twice. I thank god or the devil or whoever controls such lascivious things that I am in the airport instead of a trendy bar. There, she’d never even notice me, but here, I’m number one…for the moment. I look around to make sure that the US Men’s Polo team isn’t lining up behind me. They aren’t so I turn back forward and pick up my bag to move with the rest of the herd.
Rocker girl is passing through the metal detector now. I have a great view of her ass moving in those soft-looking sweatpants as she struts confidently under the machine. As she crosses, the red light goes off, and I hear the agitated buzz that startles the sleepy attendant into action. It is a very large woman who leaps off of her stool and approaches the girl. I see the hand go up and the lips start moving. I can’t hear from where I am, but my brain fills in the dialogue: “Stop right there ma’am. Anything in your pockets?” The girl pulls at her sweatpants, showing that she has no pockets. The security guard talks again. “Any metal on your person? Belt buckle, money clip, etc?” The girl lifts her arms and does a little turn, likely showing the guard that she has nowhere to hold those types of items. The guard gestures for her to go back and pass under the metal detector again. She does, it buzzes again, and the guard looks confused. The girl leans in and whispers something in the guard’s ear. Now everyone in line is watching her. The nun mumbles her prayers louder, possibly praying for all of our lustful souls. The big security guard moves back from the girl a little, looks her up and down with thinly veiled distaste, then waves her over to another guard. Everyone in line cranes their head to continue following the drama, and it takes a moment for us to realize that we are again able to move forward.

The girl has been waved over to another security station, this one manned by a guard who looks like Ichabod Crane. He is tall, skeletally skinny, and his uniform looks as if it is still on the hangar. The metal detector wand he holds is almost as wide as he is. I’ve moved around with the line, and fortuitously have ended up on the other side of the ropes right in front of this secondary screening area. The girl is less than 10 feet from me now, and my heart inexplicably beats as if I just finished running a mile. The guard seems unaffected by the magnitude of her sexuality, and seems not to even be looking at her as he waves the wand over her body. Either he is supremely professional, or as his appearance suggests, he is dead. She has her arms out again, and the cut of her shirt shows the sides of her breasts. In that pose, she manages to look dominant and submissive at the same time. As I ponder how this could be possible, his wand beeps that it has found some metal. It is right over her chest. She leans forward and whispers into this guard’s ear as she did with the other one. This time it almost seems flirtatious. He barely reacts, nodding his head then moving on, waving the wand lower. All is quiet for a second, then it beeps again. This time it is right over her crotch. The guard shows his first real reaction, looking at her in a most confused and surprised way. She gives a little shrug with her shoulders and manages to look embarrassed and coy at the same time. This girl is really good at complex reactions. The guard is clearly ruffled. He quickly waves the wand over the rest of her body, then has her turn around so he can run it quickly over her back. As he does, she turns and looks towards me and smiles. This time there is no doubt. She was smiling at me.

I look around to see if anyone noticed. Military guy is looking at me as if I am a draft-dodger who sells weapons to terrorists. Brando is slicking his hair back, apparently trying to fix himself up a bit in case he might have a chance with her. I look back to her, and the exam is over. The guard signals that he is finished, and she can go. Someone pokes me in the back. I turn around and don’t see anyone. I look down, and it is the short eastern European couple, pointing to show me that the line has moved a lot since my attention has been occupied. I hurry ahead, getting to the conveyor belt and putting my stuff on it. I kick off my shoes, trying to look into the main part of the terminal to see where the girl went. I’m interrupted by the large security guard. “Sir, any metal in your pockets? Keys, change, etc.?” I nod my head no, and she waves me through. It doesn’t beep, so I grab my bag and shoes and hurry into the terminal without putting them on. I don’t see the girl.

I sit in a chair at my flight’s gate and slip into a fantasy. I’m the guard with the wand, and the girl and I are in a private security room. Her arms are out in that dominant/submissive pose, and she has a sexy smirk on her face. I hold the wand almost touching her as I move it down her body. I get to her breasts and it beeps. I look into her eyes. She steps back and lowers her arms, grabbing her t-shirt and quickly lifting it over her head. This reveals the most perfect set of breasts imaginable, adorned with rings through perfect nipples. I wave the wand lower, and she moves her hips seductively. Since this is a fantasy, her movements cause her sweatpants to gradually lower…I’m startled out of my fantasy by someone sitting heavily into the chair next to me.

Apparently, I dozed off. I open my eyes to see the girl. She looks even better close up than she did from afar. Luckily for me, my sleepiness keeps me from looking embarrassed that I was just fantasizing about her naked, or saying anything stupid. She speaks to me…“That was quite a thorough security check, wasn’t it?” I have a brief moment of panic, thinking that she means what I was just dreaming about, then I realize she couldn’t know about that, and she just means everything that she saw me witness back at the checkpoint. I open my mouth to answer and wonder what will come out. “Yeah, they’re not messing around, are they?” Not bad. Maybe not my best work, but passable. She gives the sexy smirk, just like in my fantasy, “Who knew a couple of piercings would cause so much trouble.” “Well, it didn’t seem to bother you too much…In fact, it kind of seemed like you enjoyed the attention.” She gives me the sexy smirk again. Whoa! That was good. Where did that come from? I guess sometimes, in the right situations, things fall into place. Thank Allah for Airport Security.
Back to Short Story Menu