The reason the situation warranted a hero lost any trace of importance the second the hero walked in the room. What's important is the effect said hero had in changing the direction of my evening and gracing my afternoon pilates class with Nora Roberts-worthy flashbacks. Flashbacks usually fade overtime. Flashbacks are supposed to fade over time. But the more time that passes, the stronger his effect.

I stared down at my suitcase, trying to remember where I put my pajamas. My cheeks burned from embarrassment and I tried not to look up. The spots on my face where tears had escaped, now felt dry and tight. Emma Dilemma, I thought. From the corner of my eye I saw him taking off his shirt, and even though I told myself not to stare, to look straight, my head turned. I gasped quietly then quickly turned back to my bag. Do not think about it. Do not think about it. Do not even think about it, I told myself, but my head turned again. His skin stretched over his chest, arms, abs like someone had packaged neatly defined sets of muscles in smooth, flawless skin. His stomach reminded me of the faceless guy on the 2(x)ist boxer brief packages at Bloomingdale's. I called on every ounce of self control not to reach out and touch him. Even in the most desirable of situations, I can normally keep it together. His heroic gesture had changed my emotions from confused and distraught to relieved and obliged, and that night I could not keep my movie-worthy desire in tact. He stepped towards me and my heart started to race. I pictured myself the way he found me babbling about having to go and wiping my eyes. He had pushed the sticky hair out of my face, and told me that it was all okay. I needn't worry. Some sleep would make me feel better and in the morning he would make certain everything worked out. The only other words that came out of my mouth were various forms of "Thank You," and when he looked over his shoulder at me, I thought I saw a hint of regret in his piercing blue eyes. What did he get himself into? 

But now his eyes looked different, and I with all of my mental might I attempted to repress every naked thought. But I failed. I am totally going to have sex with this guy, I thought. I stared back at my sleepwear. I probably won't need you. In the bathroom I changed my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. Mascara was smeared under my eyes, but for the most part I still looked presentable. I adjusted my tank top, put on some chapstick and took a deep breath. You're tired. Just go to sleep and if you still feel this way, you can get naked with him in the morning. 

When we climbed into bed I stared at the ceiling. "I'm sorry again...that you're so distraught. You'll feel better in the morning. Goodnight," he said and rolled over. I glanced over at the shadows on his back creating mini mountain ranges. In my mind, I could hear my yoga instructor saying, "Focus on your breathing. Just you and your breath." I looked back to the ceiling. When he turned over onto his back, I wanted to look over to see if his eyes were open, but before I had the chance, he turned to face me. Like a magnet, I rolled over to face him and reached out to touch his chest. We stared at each other through the darkness. My hand was burning on his chest. Just a few more moments went by before we pounced on each other biting and clawing like to feral animals. My arms and legs wrapped around him while his mouth went up my neck, down my shoulder and around back to lips. I couldn't decide which part of him to touch first. I needed more hands. I needed all of his body touching all of my body. Like he read my mind, he stripped off my clothes and touched every inch of my skin. My eyes squeezed tightly together, and a small, desperate noise escaped from my mouth as he put himself inside of me. We rolled around the bed completely unaware of anything around us until finally, eventually we fell asleep.

In the morning, I thought I'd imagined the whole thing until I felt his arms pulling me into him. I looked in his eyes, wondering who is this guy was who heroically led me to tranquility. Then a small wave of panic took hold of me. Yeah, who is he? Where did he come from? He's basically a stranger. I basically had wonderful, mind-altering sex with a complete stranger. How do I know if he is really nice or maybe he is going to kidnap me and sell me? Am I too old to be sold? Maybe he won't even get that much money for me? Like he could sense my mind racing, he tilted his head and pressed his lips against mine. I was too tired and emotionally hungover to really process my concerns, so I found a spot in his arms and for a little while fell back asleep.

He didn't sell me.

Emma Dinzebach