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"We have a problem, "sir""

The tall, good-looking TSA agent had an unreadable expression as he looked down at me, holding something in his hand.

"What? Me?" I replied, my voice cracking embarrassingly. "I didn't even bring any liquids or batteries". I'd packed very carefully, to avoid any such trouble, and I was sure there was nothing in my carryon that could possibly have caused a problem. People were shouldering past us, completely ignoring us as they made their way to the benches to put their shoes and belts back on.

"These are treated with PFAs for...stain resistance, and textiles treated with PFAs are forbidden here". His eyebrow twitched as he said "stain resistance", like he was in on some private joke, and he waved what he was holding in my face.

Completely baffled, I looked at the pink lingerie in his hand. It looked like several pieces, but jumbled together I couldn't tell. I could tell it was pink, I could tell it had lace, and I could tell it was lingerie. In other words, not mine.

"What??" I repeated incredulously. "Those aren't mine, I've never seen those before. Besides, I'm...I'm a guy!" I stated flatly, as if that settled the matter. I moved to go around him to grab my bag from the belt and put this weird interaction behind me.

His large, strong hand, gripped my shoulder firmly. "Sir, this is a serious problem and you're going to have to come into the screening area". He began to lead me towards a gap in a wall made up of cubicle dividers nearby.

"You don't understand, that's NOT MINE" I repeated louder, trying unsuccessfully to shake free. "That's not my stuff, it wasn't in my bag, and I don't want to miss my flight, please excuse me". I was actually quite early for my flight, I'm a bit of a nervous flyer, and I always try to have an hour or more of wiggle room.

"Sir," I could almost hear the sarcasm in his use of the word "this can be a lot quicker if you comply, if you don't you could end up arrested and then I guarantee you'll miss your flight and wish you'd been reasonable when you had the chance" He stared at me with that expressionless boredom of people who deal with the public regularly.

"Fine. It's not mine, the sooner we get this over with, the better" I sighed, wondering if I'd have enough time to relax at my gate after all. I walked with him briskly, trying to make him work to keep up, but between the firm grip he maintained on my shoulder, and his long legs, he didn't seem to be affected.

On the other side of the cubicle dividers was a makeshift space, with a few fold-out tables, some cheap metal chairs, a desk with a computer on it, and what looked like the first aid area with an examination table full of drawers of various sizes. He guided me to one of the fold-out tables, which we stood next to. He dropped the handful of fabric on the table and sorted it out. There were some sheer panties, all pink except for a small black ribbon above the crotch, a garter belt made of the same stuff with a pair of sheer black stockings, and a fuck-me bra. The bra was very lacy, with leather straps, and what looked like slits for nipple access. It looked like high-end stuff, and I took a moment to appreciate that it actually looked pretty appealing. "As I said" he rumbled "these are stain-proofed with PFAs, and bringing them through an airport is against the law". His accent on ‘stain' was again apparent, and now I realized what kinds of stains he thought the owner was trying to avoid.

"That sounds serious. But, as I said, they. are. not. mine. They are obviously for a woman, I am not a woman, and if you let me get my actual bag you will see that it contains nothing like this. Someone is hotfooting it to a gate without their carryon right now to avoid this scrutiny, and she is your culprit. Not me." I looked up defiantly. I'm not very tall at 5'9", but I tried to be as imposing as I could to his 6'3" or better height.

He continued to look bored. "There's only one way to prove that. Put it

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