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Old Sep 3, 2010, 2:40 pm
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Tyler1988
 
Join Date: Sep 2010
Posts: 1
Tantric TSA: The art of foreplay

It had been a long summer with lots of sunburn, so I wanted to avoid radiation from the scanner, I told the TSA screener I will call Matt

Twenty-something, a few years older than me, I imagined him working this job for the health benefits or to support his young family. He seemed kinda nervous, it must be his first day on the job.

He guided me through security telling colleagues "this one's an opt out -- do you want your patdown in private?" In a rush and thinking it was like the old 30-second patdowns I told him it's OK to do it here. "Do you have any injuries?" he asked. I was made to take off my belt and run my wallet, pen, and tissue through the X-ray scanner.

He stood behind me and placed his arms around my neck, surprising me with how strong and firm his grip was -- it felt like someone choking me from behind. He squeezed the area around my collar, his neoprene blue gloved hands tickling my ears. And he kneaded around my shoulders, pressing with his fingertips into my muscle, as if he were tenderizing a piece of meat. With my arms held out straight he grasped both his hands around each one and pulled all the way down to my wrist.

With the palms of his hands he stroked down my back to my belt, rounding the curve of my rump, with the tips of his fingers slicing into the cleft of my cheeks, pulling them apart with a gentle tug. He continued down the back of my thighs, his fingertips like a paintbrush running down my legs.

"That kinda tickles," I said laughing nervously. By now a crowd of people was standing around us watching him run his fingers over every inch of my body. A lady pointed at me and said "what did he do?" to her friend.

When he was done with my backside he moved to the front, again painting stripes down my chest with his palms and fingertips, running down from my shoulder, to the curve of my pecs, down my abs to my waist line. Moving methodically from left to right, never missing an inch.

In high school and college track my co-athletes and I would pinch a bicep in jest, squeeze a shoulder blade, snap a wet towel against bare skin, but I had never been touched by a man like this before. This felt like my girlfriend, on our third or fourth date running her hands over my chest, my arm around her in a darkened movie theatre.

Now Matt was kneeling down in front of my crotch, lifting up my T-shirt, studying my belt loops, carefully feeling each one. A crowd of 20-30 people was now watching us, and in that sliver between my shirt and pants they could see the tufts of hair that cascade down my belly, the treasure trail as my ex-girlfriend called it.

While I don't think of myself as gay -- I've heard we all have a bit of that inside of us -- I couldn't help but having a reaction to all this, blushing. "Some people pay a lot of money for this," I joked as now a growing crowd was staring at me and Matt wondering why we were holding up the security line.

Matt had me lift up my feet, patted down my soles, and felt the space between each toe. Still kneeling, his face less than a foot from my crotch he advised me he would pass the back of his hands over my crotch, under my testicles, and in the fold between my legs. I felt him cup my testicles and run his fingers from my anus down the back of my balls. By now I was turning red.

Wait here he said while a colleague handed him a wand with a piece of fabric. He rubbed his gloves all over the cloth which went into some kind of sensor. "For explosives," he said. I was free to go. I wondered what government official in what dark alley dreamed up this groping to protect the public?

Last edited by Tyler1988; Sep 4, 2010 at 12:03 pm
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