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.  And 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."