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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," said a voice, "all done."

My eyes snapped open, and he was standing in front of me, smiling,

holding out my purse. "You can board your flight now."

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