I Hooked Up With a U.S. Customs Officer Who Hit on Me at the Airport

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As someone who has globetrotted across more than 70 countries, I’ve gone through customs at many airports worldwide. But this time, entering the U.S. from Canada was, well, a little…different. Is this border patrol agent flirting with me? I wondered. No way. He can’t be. These folks are usually all business.

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Drew*, as I’ll call him, was super chatty. When I told him I was going to Texas to check out the food scene there, he gave me restaurant recommendations while staring deep into my eyes and looking super handsome in his uniform—a younger Denzel Washington vibe. Whatever it was, he stirred something inside of me and our possibly flirty exchange stuck with me for days. I felt like I dreamed it.

Flash forward a month or so and I was flying to Australia via Los Angeles when I somehow ended up in front of Drew again. He remembered me and asked about my Texas trip as he scanned my passport—his coy smile making me quiver like I’d just stuck my finger in an electrical socket—then asked me for my business card. I’ve been asked for one before to help verify my employment, so I tried not to think too much of it as he wished me a good trip and we parted ways once again. But when I looked back over my shoulder, he was watching me.

A few weeks later, an email with the subject line, “U.S. Customs Inquiry” landed in my inbox. My heart sank. Was I being flagged by the government? But when I opened the message, my fears turned to butterflies. It was from Drew. He just wanted to say hi and asked if I wanted to meet up sometime, leaving his cell number. I couldn’t resist—I called him right away. The conversation was so easy, flirty, and fun, even as we exchanged the most basic details about ourselves.

I’d been dating a woman for the past three years and the sexual chemistry just wasn’t there—but it was definitely here.

We made plans to meet up at a Mexican restaurant where he told me about his time as a Marine and how he spent his weekends at church, volunteering for a local Republican candidate in his hometown, or taking one of his prized guns to the firing range with his friends. Meanwhile, I, a liberal-loving, non-gun-owning, Canadian atheist, quickly determined we had almost zero in common.

And yet, I couldn’t deny it: there was a spark between us, and it made my goddamn heart race. Nothing physical happened on that first meeting, but the flirting was at full volume. At one point, he casually touched my hand with his index finger and stroked my wrist, sending a flame through my cheeks. I caught his eyes lingering over my lips and sensed he wanted to kiss me, but we ended the night with just a friendly wave….

Until a few weeks later, that is, when I went to his high-rise condo with the intention of making him a Philly-style steak sandwich. (He’d complained that he couldn’t find a good one in his area.) I knocked on his door, grocery bags in hand, and he welcomed me inside. Before I could even look around, he pushed me against the wall and kissed me hungrily. He teased my mouth with his tongue as I dropped the bags, peppers and onions spilling out and rolling across the hardwood floor.

Feeling me start to slide down the wall as I melted with pleasure, he put one of his knees between my legs to support me. The pressure against my clit only turned me on more and I felt my panties get wet as he playfully nibbled my neck and his hands squeezed my butt—hard. I grinded against his knee, dizzy and breathless with pleasure until I suddenly groaned and bit into his shoulder, my pussy exploding in waves and shudders, leaving a damp spot on his gray track pants.

But we were nowhere near done yet. Drew took my hand and led me to his bedroom, his uniform hanging from the door and his badge sitting on his dresser. I stripped off his boxers and pants in one swift motion and pushed him onto the bed, taking his beautifully swollen cock slowly into my mouth—just the tip at first, then the entire shaft to the back of my throat. He gripped the headboard as I worked his cock with my tongue and lips, my fingers roaming over his balls, squeezing them gently as I brought him to the brink of orgasm.

I stopped just when I thought he was almost ready to let loose, the salty taste of pre-cum lingering on my tongue. I laid back and spread my legs, inviting him into me. Now it was his turn to tease me, sliding the tip of his cock back and forth through the juicy crevice of my pussy lips. My clit was engorged and sensitive from coming but still responded to his strokes. When Drew saw me clutching at his bedsheets ready to explode again, he slowed his pace and let the tip of his cock linger just at the entrance of my vagina.

All I could muster was a weak, “Please.” I was so ready for him. He pushed into me slowly, a bit at a time. Aware of his size, he moved into me gently and I tried to focus and stay in the moment as my pussy engulfed all of him, moaning when he was fully inside.

“Just relax,” he breathed, motionless inside me where his cock instantly felt at home—like it was always meant to be there.

I absorbed every sensation as his hands explored my ass cheeks, my thighs, my nipples. I knew he was waiting for me to give him a sign that I was ready for him to pump his cock into my pussy, so I gave him the signal, putting my ankles up on his shoulders. He thrusted deep and I gasped with the first stroke, then pushed my hips into him wanting more, more, more. It had been too long since I felt this; I’d been dating a woman for the past three years and the sexual chemistry just wasn’t there—but it was definitely here.

Drew rubbed his thumb against my clit as he pushed into me repeatedly until I hit my second O of the night, yelling so loudly that he put his hand over my mouth for fear of disturbing his neighbors. I felt like every bone in my body had evaporated, but he still hadn’t had his turn and I wanted him to feel the kind of pleasure he’d just given me.

He took my hand, pulled me off the bed and led me to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lights of the city.

“Right here,” he said, pointing.

I got the message. I bent over and supported myself, planting my palms firmly against the glass as Drew wrapped his arms around my waist and entered me from behind. Five or six thrusts in, I felt his cock go hard as steel and his hot panting quicken against the nape of my neck.

He grunted just once and then his body totally relaxed, not letting go of mine until his cock softened and dribbles of cum snaked down my thighs. We started laughing and dropped together with a loud thud onto his bed. The bottom corner of his box spring gave way and part of the mattress sank toward the floor. I looked at him apologetically. He shrugged his shoulders. “I think it was worth it, yes?”

We saw each other off and on for about five years after that first bed-breaking romp. We’d meet up, we’d fuck, we’d argue about politics, get angry, take a break, then reconnect again in a few months and the cycle would repeat itself. We never really broke up, but life happened. He got a new job working as an air marshal and was constantly traveling. I ended things with my girlfriend, dated both men and women for a while to see who I clicked with best. My texts with Drew slowed to once or twice a year, then eventually stopped.

Still, I think of him almost every time I go to the airport. Whenever I see a good-looking U.S. customs agent in uniform, I think about Drew and all the things we could have done together to break another bed.

*Name has been changed.

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