This kind of thing could only happen to me...

Living three miles from the Texas/Mexico border means that Border Patrol checkpoints are a part of life. The officers who work at my local one, a mile from my house, all know me and my car, so I pretty much breeze through--drug dog sniffs while I shoot the breeze with the officers, then I'm on my way.

Well, today I had to drive toward San Antonio, through a station where they don't know me. That's fine, no problem. They have a new officer there who's searching all the cars in front of me, so I'm ready for that. I pull forward when it's my turn, roll down the window, greet the officer as the drug dog (a very pretty German Shepherd mix) starts the sniff patrol.

Officer--"Is this your car?"
Me--"Yes, it is."
Officer--(looking around the interior, seeing all the kids' toys and assorted trash in the backseat... I'm not one of those immaculate car people) "Are you a citizen of the US, ma'am?"
Me--(remembering when I used to be a miss, not a ma'am) "Yes, sir."
Officer--"Mind if I have a look in your trunk?"
Me--(popping the trunk release) "Not at all."

Sounds of rummaging ensue back there. I recently moved, and since I have a little car, the transfer of stuff from the old place to the new has been piecemeal. There's still a bunch of stuff from my last trip back there. *rummage rummage* Let's see, there's that box of Avon stuff... *rummage rummage, sounds like he's about to come through the back seat* There's the nice designer gym bag I won in a raffle--who knew they even made designer gym bags? *rummage thunk rattle rummage* And there's... oh, shit...

There's the gay porn DVDs I borrowed to research positions for my m/m erotic romance, Out For Christmas. (I knew there had to be more to it than doggy style, but I don't do porn on the internet--I'm paranoid about viruses!) The locked trunk is the best place I could think of to hide those things where my 8 and 10 year old boys couldn't find 'em. But you know, they weren't really all that hidden in there... more like tossed on top of the rest of the crap. That officer has been searching around in there like he's looking for microscopic little illegal immigrants hiding in the carpet pile. There is no way he didn't see them. And darn it, he's really cute, too.

*thump* Trunk finally closes, but it's a little late now. Oy... no choice but to try to brazen it out, even though the very first question established that this is, in fact, my car. And therefore, that was, in fact, my gay porn in the trunk. (Is that better or worse than in the closet?) The explanation of borrowing it for research so I could write a gay erotic romance novel could only have made things worse, don't you think? So I attempt to pretend that nothing's amiss...

Officer--(returns to window, grinning) "You're clear. Have a nice day."
Me--(attempting to smile back, positive face is beet-red) "Thanks, officer." *resist urge to floor it, burn rubber as I speed away to find a place to hide*

You know, this sort of thing doesn't seem to happen to my author friends who write sweet and inspirational romances. Just saying.