Chapter 2
TWO
Suitcase checked at the front counter and ticket in hand, I ran up the escalator and to the TSA checkpoint.
The line wasn’t long, Roseville International was the smallest of all international airports in my state, but I didn’t have a moment to spare.
I wove through the ropes that made up the security line.
The queue was moving fast. Thank goodness.
A buzz tickled my hip.
I took out my phone. The screen was black. I blinked and looked around when the vibrating continued. None of the passengers near me seemed to be getting a call. The buzzing grew louder. Where in the hell was that sound coming from? I tilted my head and frowned down at my overstuffed carry-on.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
The whirring was coming from inside the bag.
“Next!” one of the TSA agents called.
There were just two people in front of me now.
I slapped the fancy weekend bag I’d splurged on as hard as I could without causing a scene, and the buzzing grew even louder. Only one thing in my carry-on would make that sound. My neck went hot.
Fucking hell.
I knew I should have put the girthy vibrator in my checked luggage, but it was stuffed with the books I wanted to get signed by my favorite authors and the costume I planned on wearing to the book con after party.
Besides, my youngest had helped me pack, so there was no way I was going to put it inside there.
“Over here, ma’am,” the agent ordered.
I shook my bag violently, willing the girthy vibrator inside to stop.
“Ma’am?”
The vibrating grew louder.
Why is it that whenever you’re in a rush, the most annoying shit happens?
“Ma’am!” the agent barked.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I whipped my head around to face the person behind me. It was the cutest old man with wisps of white hair sprouting from his head. Now this was an old man. The men on my dating apps were simply men. Not old dudes, I told myself soothingly.
“They’re calling you,” he said.
“Me?” I whirled toward the front of the queue, realizing I was the “ma’am.” I certainly didn’t feel like a ma’am. I felt like a miss. Like a hot, young thing, with perky breasts and zero fine lines whiskering her eyes. My mind was generously delusional in that way.
“Hurry up, lady,” someone grumbled.
I adjusted my still-vibrating carry-on and shuffled forward. The TSA agent blinked at me from over her cat-eye glasses, but let me through. I placed my bag and purse on the conveyor belt and sent a silent prayer to the heavens that my vibrator would shut the fuck up.
Once through the metal detectors, I rushed forward to spy on the thick-mustached TSA agent standing behind the X-ray machine. Two bags passed inspection with little fuss. Now it was my turn.
Wincing, I observed my leather bag worm through the X-ray machine.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The vibrations rumbling from my newly purchased dildo grew so loud, I felt it in my stomach. From the raised eyebrows and curious glances cast about, I was sure everyone around me felt it, too.
The thick-mustached agent retrieved my bag from the conveyor belt. Horrified, I stood there, feeling all eyes turn toward my carry-on. The agent took hold of the walkie talkie hanging on his shoulder and whispered something into it.
“No,” I groaned. My cheeks grew flushed. I wiped my sweating palms on my jeans. This poor agent probably thought there was some sort of weapon inside. I mean, it could be used as a weapon, if need be. It was extra-large and hard as a rod.
Two agents left their positions at the metal detectors to join him. A third stormed forward, readjusting his belt. He had that harried, bloodshot look that people who took their jobs way too seriously seemed to always sport.
“Everyone, stand back!” he shouted.
Yup. I was right. This man was serious about his duties.
The other agents looked at each other and pressed their lips together to hold back their laughter.
“Whose bag is this?” the harried agent barked.
A dozen thoughts sprinted through my mind. I should just run. Turn around and find the nearest exit and never fly or leave my home ever again. Or pretend to faint. Cause a distraction. No, even better—I should pretend I was appalled like someone had played a trick on me.
“Whose bag is this?” he bellowed for the entire damn airport to hear.
Was it really that serious? They could see the dildo on the X-ray. Surely they knew the shape of a dick and balls when they saw one. Now they were causing a scene far bigger than my dildo, and everyone was staring. I wanted to melt into the floor.
As if caught in slow motion, one of the agents, a tall young man with an American flag pin on his collar, plucked at that fucking bright pink luggage tag I just had to have. I never traveled, which was why I got a little too excited and bought every accessory I thought I needed.
“Victoria Lopez! Which one of you is Victoria Lopez?”
I closed my eyes. This was it. My life was over. I was now going to become some GIF on the internet. Shaking, I raised my hand.
“What is making this sound?” the harried agent snarled at me.
The other agents snickered. They knew exactly what lay inside. My ears flamed. They were enjoying this. They probably didn’t even care about the dildo. They must have been trying to get a rise out of this agent, but I was the one caught in the crossfire.
“Ma’am!” the agent called.
There was that damn word again.
I shuffled to the glass wall standing as a barrier between us. I held my head low, trying to hide my face behind my hair.
“It’s my vibrator,” I whispered.
“What?” he yelled. “Speak up!”
“It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s my dildo.”
The harried man’s jaw dropped. One of the agents behind him snorted. We were off to the side of the line now, but, with so many agents hovering over my things, the TSA queues were backing up. I shrank into myself as much as possible.
The tall agent nudged the harried man with his elbow. “You better check what’s inside. Just to be safe.”
“I do always say it’s better to be safe than sorry,” he agreed.
Like a doctor on TV, he stretched latex gloves over his fingers with a snap.
He unzipped the bag slowly as if it were an actual explosive device.
I gulped. There, vibrating on top of my makeup bag, lay the lifelike dick of my dreams, still secured inside its clear packaging.
The buzzing whirred louder. The balls at the base undulated with a mechanical hum as if the universe wasn’t quite satisfied with the depth of my shame.
“Good God,” a tiny grandma gawked beside me.
A father shielded his child’s eyes.
And the harried agent just stood there staring like he’d unearthed Pandora’s box.
I didn’t have any minutes to spare, and the crowd was growing.
“May I try to turn it off?” I asked, but I didn’t give him time to answer.
I rushed around the glass and snatched my prized dildo.
It was heavier than I remembered. Thicker, too.
I don’t know what I was thinking buying this.
I hadn’t had sex in three years. Did I really believe I could handle something so meaty?
Shakily, I tore the bottom of the packaging open and tried the switch tucked away on the underside of the balls. To my confusion, the dildo wouldn’t stop. I pushed it again and again.
My phone, still inside the bin along with my purse, lit up with a notification.
Hello, Happy Skies customer. Please make your way to Gate 15B. Your flight is boarding.
Cursing, I tried smacking the long shaft against my palm.
“Can’t you take the batteries out or something?” the harried agent asked, his face a mix of horrified and mesmerized by the size of the cock in my grasp.
“It doesn’t have batteries!” I cried. “It’s rechargeable.”
I slapped the dildo harder, and the guards winced, unconsciously shifting their crotches away like they experienced phantom assaults.
A young person pulled out her phone and looked into her screen. “Oh my god, guys, I had to go live because you’d never believe what’s happening.” She pointed the camera at me, not even trying to be sneaky about it.
I whipped my face away.
“It . . . it won’t turn off,” I hissed to the agent.
The agent opened his mouth to offer advice, but the intercom crackled to life.
“Victoria Lopez. Victoria Lopez. Please make your way to Gate 15B. All other passengers have boarded the flight, and doors will be closing shortly.”
I squirmed. “That’s me.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you take this thing on the flight without consulting my manager. What if it overheats? What if it explodes? It will just take a few minutes for her to get here.”
I almost started to cry right then and there. Because I was humiliated. Because I knew phone cameras were pointed in my direction. Because I was so looking forward to alone time in my hotel room the next three days with my king-size dildo and king-size bed.
Alas, I had to make this decision or risk missing my flight.
I grabbed my prized dick and chucked it into the garbage. The buzzing amplified, thumping against the plastic walls of the rubbish bin in protest. Frat bros howled with laughter. Now the tears really did start to come.
The thick-mustached TSA agent who had originally flagged my bag offered me a sympathetic grimace. He silently closed the zipper and grabbed the blue receiver near the X-ray screen.
“Attention Gate 15B,” his voice blared through the speakers. “Victoria Lopez is coming.”
I mouthed my thanks and set off at a sprint.
My tears quickly dried, and mortification turned into a deep and consuming sort of disappointment. Because I might be coming to Gate 15B, but I knew that I wouldn’t be coming the way I really wanted this weekend.
And it had been far too long.