Maria saw him. The foreigner. She pulled her thin, golden body close to her mother's side at the reception desk. He was tall, white and handsome. Her heart quickened and her legs went limp as he leaned to sign the guestbook. How could she ever bring the welcome flowers to his door, she wondered, transfixed by his light scent of spicy cologne mixed with the unmistakable odor of man? Within the hour, as was the custom, she stood in the passageway, hesitating breathlessly before tapping on his door. Had she tapped too softly? Had he heard her? The door opened abruptly, revealing the American: tall and intimidatingly handsome, his loins wrapped only in a clean white towel. She extended the flowers tremulously as he smiled and invited her in, surprised to find her legs transporting her through the threshhold as he closed the door. He rattled off something in English and motioned toward the bed, where she soon found herself sitting, her hands toying with something nervously as her conscience scolded her for acting so much like a "whore." He sat beside her, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the nape of her neck. Maria wanted him desperately, but could not silence the judgmental voices in her head. Suddenly, she slid two pillowslips from where she had placed them in making the bed earlier. "Tie...my...hands," was all she could say. . . .
[From there, we'd get into the good stuff, though I'd like to get a better idea of how far Maria and this guy would go]
My bid for the job in MSWord follows.
Best Wishes,
David Tal-Mason