The business trip in Stockholm was fine, and I'm ready to fly home. I'm standing in line for security at ARN, still dressed in my suit and tie, ready to get on a plane and get home. Shoes are off as I go through the metal detector and a buzz puts a frown on the security agent's face. He asks for my passport again and scans it into their computer. A well dressed man in a black suit, very tall with gray hair and piercing blue eyes appears, looks with the agent at the computer, then at me.

“Will you come with me sir?” he asks, though it’s much more of a command. “Please leave your shoes and carry on luggage, you will receive them back later,” he explains in his accented voice, putting a forceful hand on my shoulder and guiding me to a discrete door at the side of the atrium. We walk through the door, down a hallway past several doors. He scans his badge on a door and points me in. The room is large and sterile white. Along the far side there is nothing but white walls and white floor. Along the side with the door is a table and two large lamps, turned off. The room is lit brightly from above by halogens.

“My name is Captain Olsen. Sir, you have set off our metal detectors and from an analysis of your passport you have been selected for a random search. This is a formality, but it will be extensive and may be uncomfortable. Please submit to this search, be cooperative, and you will be able to make your flight. Do you agree to cooperate?”

“Yes,” I say. Captain Olsen taps a few strokes on his smart phone and then the door is opened as three uniformed security officers in navy blue step in, one blonde, one black hair, the last with brown hair. They are all in their 20s, very handsome and muscular. Following behind is a very tall bald man in his fifties. He’s dressed in a button-down shirt and tie and khakis and is carrying a medical bag and suitcase. He puts them on the table and opens the suitcase. He removes a white lab coat.

“This is Doctor Swenson,” says the captain. “He will be assisting us with our search. Doctor, are you ready to begin?”

The doctor nods.

“Please remove your jacket, shirt shirt and tie.” I take off my jacket. The black haired guard comes to take it from me. I loosen my tie and start unbuttoning my shirt. I’m wearing a white tank top underneath. The black haired guard takes these too and brings them over to the table. He starts looking through them, searching every pocket and seam. “Please remove your undershirt,” the captain says. I pull it over my head and the blonde guard comes to take it over to the table. “Please remove your belt and trousers.” I unbuckle my belt, and hand it to the blonde guard who has come back. Then I unbutton and unzip my pants, and pull them down. The brown haired guard comes to collect them, leaving me standing in my black briefs and black dress socks. “Socks please, and underpants.” I take off one sock, then the other. Then, I slowly lower my briefs and one leg at a time step out of them. The captain himself comes to collect these, and very gingerly lays them on the white table for inspection.

The black and blonde haired guards go to the two large lights and switch them on. The bright lights are pointed directly at me. The doctor steps forward to examine my brightly lit naked body. “Arms out and spread your legs,” he says and I oblige, extending my arms parallel to the floor and spreading my legs. He eyes my entire body, starting at my head, neck, chest, arms, stomach. He looks closely at my penis, down my legs at my thighs, ankles and feet. “Turn please.” I do so, and he does the exam again: the back of my head, neck, shoulders, back. I sense him eyeing my rear, and then down the backs of my legs.

He walks away. “Is that everything?” I ask.

“No,” says Captain Olson. The doctor opens his medical back and takes out a small flashlight and a pair of rubber gloves.

“Turn toward me,” the doctor says. I do so. “Open your mouth, wide,” he says, and no sooner have I done so, that he shoves two fingers in and starts feeling every inch inside. He removes them and changes gloves. He starts running his hand on every inch of me, paying special attention to my scalp, my arm pits, my navel, and my pubic hair. He then takes my manhood in his hands, scanning and touching every inch with great care, the head and shaft of my penis, each testicle, the underside.

He changes his gloves again. “Turn away from me, bend over and grab your ankles.” I do so, exposing my naked rear to him. “Captain,” I hear him say, followed by the sound of snapping gloves and Captain Olsen walking over to my exposed body. My cheeks are grasped firmly by the captain’s gloved hands and spread apart. The doctor’s light clicks and I sense his eyes looking deep into my opened hole.

The doctor grabs something else out of his bag and I hear the opening of a bottle and the squeezing of liquid. He returns to me, my cheeks still held wide by the captain. “Bare down, as if you were making a bowel movement,” the doctor says, and a moment after I do, I feel two lubricated fingers enter my hole. He explores in every direction, not leaving an inch of my hole unfelt. After three solid minutes, he removes his fingers. The captain removes his hands, and they step back to the table. The doctor takes a piece of paper tissue and quickly cleans the excess lubrication from my rear.

“You may face us,” the captain says, as I stand back up straight and turn to face the five other men. The guards are finishing examining my clothes. The captain asks a question in Swedish that I cannot understand, and they shake their heads no. “You may get dressed,” the captain says, and the guards hand me back my clothing, one piece at a time. My black briefs, my black socks, the white tank top, shirt, trousers, belt, tie and jacket. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but thank you for your time and cooperation. My officers will guide you back to security to collect your remaining belongings, and then to your gate.” The doctor is taking off his lab coat and putting it back in his suitcase as the guards lead me out the door. I feel Captain Olsen’s eyes on the back of my head as we leave.

The trip to security, then the gate is uneventful. As soon as I get to the gate, they are boarding coach and I walk down the gangway and onto the plane. As I sit in my aisle seat, a flight attendant approaches me.

“Sir, we are pleased to offer you a first class accommodation today. Please follow me.” Pleasantly surprised, I get up, take my carry on, and follow her to the front of the plane. On this large plane, the first class seats are private cabins. She leads me to the door of cabin 1. “Please ring if you need anything.” I open the door and there is a small room with a curtain beyond. I close the cabin door behind me. There is a hook on the wall for my jacket and a small rack for my suitcase. I set it down, take off my jacket and pull open the curtain to my private suite. I am of course amazed to see the huge chair that folds out to a comfy bed, but this is far from the biggest surprise in the room. Folded neatly on a table is a dark suit, and standing before me in a pair of tight, white boxer briefs is Captain Olsen.

“Hello sir, I believe it is your turn.” He smiles, I smile, and his skivvies drop to the floor.