He grasped me firmly, but gently,

just above my elbow, and guided me

into a room, ‘his’ room.

Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone.  

He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and

spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear,  

“Just relax.” 

 
Without warning, he reached down, and I felt his strong, calloused hands

start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving upward along my calves,

slowly but steadily.

My breath caught in my throat. 

I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn’t care.  

His touch was so experienced, so sure.

When his hands moved up onto my thighs,

I gave a slight shudder,

and partly closed my eyes.

My pulse was pounding.

I  felt his knowing fingers caress

my abdomen, my ribcage.  

Then, as he cupped my firm, full breasts in his hands,

I inhaled sharply.

Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted,

he brought his hands to my shoulders,  

slid them down my tingling spine

and into my panties.

Although I knew nothing about this man,

I felt oddly trusting and expectant.  

This is a man, I thought, a man

used to taking charge. 

A man not used to taking ‘No’ for an answer.

A man who would tell me what he wanted. 

A man who would look into my soul and say .. . .

“Okay, ma’am, you can board your flight now.”