She crossed her legs, right over left, then recrossed them, left over right. Shifting in the hair, she tapped her index finger against her chin, thinking, planning, desperately trying to quell the wicked nervousness that was clawing at her stomach. Droplets of water still clung to her skin from the hot shower she'd just taken, and she'd wound a thick towel around her head to hold up her soaking-wet hair.
You can back out,
she thought, sighing at herself in disgust.
No, no... I want to go. Yes, I want to go. Ok. What am I going to wear? I have to get moving if I'm going to make that plane.
She stood up from the overstuffed chair, and walked over to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer.
What do you wear to meet a stranger you have every intention of fucking?
she mused. Rooting around in the drawer, she pulled out handfuls of white cotton panties, looking at them with disgust and rolling her eyes.
Sure. White cotton. Let him think I'm a schoolmarm. What a turn-on.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and froze, staring at her bare skin. Her eyes traveled critically over her still steaming skin, frowning at her round, full breasts, the chubbiness around her middle.
At least I didn't cut myself shaving,
she thought as she looked at her perfectly smooth mound.
Well, he's seen me in pictures. He knows I'm nothing special. May as well get this over with before I chicken out.
She selected a pair of light blue thong panties and pulled them on, and a simple white bra.
Panty-lines are a no-no.
Dressing conservatively in purple slacks, a white tuxedo shirt, and a matching purple blazer, she slid on socks, and black oxford heels. In the bathroom, she piled her long hair on her head, put on a dainty pearl choker and a touch of lipstick.
Before she had time for second thoughts, she grabbed her purse and suitcase, and dashed out the door for the airport.
****
The moment the plane touched the ground her knees began to shake uncontrollably. She'd had some very naughty talk with him, and confessed her most intimate fantasies. They had been talking via telephone and email for well over a year, and grew increasingly close as the days went by. He knew about her desire to be controlled, and her shame at being unable to orgasm with a partner. He was so understanding, so kind, never adopting a scornful attitude, listening patiently, occasionally sharing some of her fantasies. He seemed a gentle bear of a man, tall and stout, with a sweet smile and dark, thoughtful eyes. She sighed softly every time she looked at one of the many pictures he'd sent her, desperately wishing that he was with her.
And although she was very excited to go see him, and they'd talked animatedly about the prospect, now that he was waiting for her inside the terminal at the airport, she was losing her nerve.
Could he possibly be as nervous as I am? God, what if he thinks that in reality I'm hideous? Jesus christ, I'm going to throw up before I even de-plane.
She clutched her handbag tightly as the passengers exited to the gate, following them like a lemming, blindly going where they went, talking herself through her anxiety as she willed her legs to move. She strode with false confidence up the hallway that led into the terminal , her heels clicking against the floor, her heart banging on her ribs.
Maybe I should go to the bathroom and get ahold of myself,
she thought, panicky. Her eyes darted around, scanning the crowd, and her heart stopped as her gaze came to a sudden screeching halt.
That's him!
her mind screamed. He was smiling at her, eyes flickering with recognition and moved quickly toward her.
Oh my god!
she panicked, the sound of her blood rushing echoing in her ears. Without a thought he enfolded her in his arms, squeezing her tightly for a long moment.
