This story was making the rounds via email. A modern take on romance? Or just a sign of the times? (content is m/f)
(c) istockphoto.com, Mlenny 2007
He held me firmly but gently just above my elbow and guided me into a room. I had never been there but I knew this was his room. I knew what he was going to do to me, and I knew I was going to let him. The door closed quietly and we were alone.
He approached silently 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 caressing upward along my tender calves slowly and 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 under my skirt to my thighs I gave a slight shudder and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. His knowing fingers continued upward across 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, his teasing hands quickly moved to my shoulders and slid down my tingling spine. My entire body was throbbing when he discovered my pink, lace thong.
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 all done. Here’s your purse, ma’am. Have a nice flight.”
