There I was, back in another airport. Which one you ask? The answer is irrelevant. In fact, all airports have become irrelevant to me. When you have to look at your itinerary to tell them apart it’s safe to say you travel way too much. Given that airports are a regular part of my existence, I’ve found a way to extract a small measure of personal pleasure enabled by otherwise routine business travel. My pleasures come from a combination of a very erotic imagination and a propensity to have an animal lust living just beneath the surface of an otherwise harmless, road warrior exterior.

Perched on the high seat of a shoeshine stand, partaking in one of life’s small pleasures, I was able to enjoy the parade of travelers scurrying to and from various departures and arrivals. Families were walking together; lovers were reunited, while others walked with blank looks on their faces of having just said their farewells to one or the other, or maybe both. Watching the shoeshine ply his craft, my cap-toed lace ups were responding with an arousal of sorts, as they seemed to relax under the attentive hands of this professional. His buff rag popped as he caressed a mirror-like shine out of ordinary dress-browns.

"There ya go cap'n," he said joyfully, tapping the side of my foot and displaying a huge helping of pride in his work. "Whadaya think?"

Smiling, I replied with conviction, "I swear there’s a connection between professionally shined shoes and a person’s soul."

I dug into my pocket and doubled his fee with no hesitation.

"Right you are cap’n," nodding in agreement. He knew I was right, and with a smile of his own pocketed my money adding one more touched soul to his collection.

"Come back ‘n see me next time yer in Minneapolis!"

"Thanks, I will."

I turned to walk down the Gold Concourse toward gate 12 for my return flight to Chicago-Midway. After taking only three steps, a cart full of elderly travelers, a fat man with crutches, and a driver with an attitude blew by on my left brushing the LCD unit I was toting. There was no horn, nor was there verbal warning of any sort. I was startled. The near brush with injury and most likely a major lawsuit jerked me out of my silent reverie and inner glow from the shoe shine experience.

"Goddam," I muttered under my breath, voice increasing in volume as I delivered the rest of my thoughts, "a little warning might be nice."

The cart disappeared into the crowd of travelers. I swear there were a row of icons stamped on the side of the departing cart that resembled pedestrians carrying a suitcase. Each was in a circle with a big "X" imprinted over top. They looked like notches on a gunfighter’s pistol handle, proudly displaying previous "kills".

As I was counting myself lucky, a woman walking toward me caused another collision. This time proximity with physical contact was not an issue, at least not like the death-cart incident of a few seconds earlier. But then how do you measure proximity or distance between a private smile and killer eyes? I was fully impacted by a smile like none I’ve seen in a very long time bracketed by class-four dimples. The dimples obviously embellished the visual delight of her smile, but there was something else connected to it. Her eyes were smiling too, and I had no idea why her smile was so broad. Maybe she just witnessed my death-cart encounter. Deep pools of sensuality in her eyes negated the need to know any history at all. Why she smiled at me was unnecessary information.

My head jerked back visibly as my eyes met hers. Just like the shoeshine dude touched my soul, I was touched once again. My soul collided with hers. An instant surge of energy exploded behind my eyes. A rush of adrenaline flooded my body, heart skipped a beat, and my breath was taken from me. A rush of sensation like that is a very rare one for me; maybe for many of us. Our eyes locked and a simultaneous download of pure lust exchanged in the course of three short steps. Our heads turned slightly as we passed each other, eyes never dropping or looking away. The urgent sense I had only a split-second to make a decision swelled in my thoughts.

In three quick steps she was gone.

My mind and heart waged a battle of enormous proportion. The source of conflict centered on my decision to turn and look after her. She was a thing of beauty even though all I really saw of her was a smiling invitation to look into her eyes. I knew that if my heart won the battle, a second conflict would arise immediately. I knew my mind and heart would clash again over whether I should pursue her or not.

Three more steps.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to look after her. Maybe it was over-active erotic imagination of mine working overtime, but I swear she was in the final stages of turning away from me. She’d been looking back in my direction. Perhaps she’d been looking after me for the very same reason I turned to look after her. In those three short steps I missed something amazing. I was convinced of that. What did I miss?

My mind began to race though all the scenarios my imagination served up on short notice. I stood in a moving stream of travelers, like an island. My mind conjured up images of kissing her. And I’m not talking peck on the cheek. Adrenaline coursed through me, stirring lust beneath the surface into a frenzy. Questions came at me like fence posts flashing past the window of a car racing down a country road. Could I? Would I? I wondered if I could get into the hollow of her neck and smell her. Touch? Taste? Would she let me? Could she? 

I slowly turned back toward Gate 12 on the Gold Concourse, trying to refocus on my flight to Chicago-Midway. Lingering in the back of my mind was the only question that haunted me. What if I’d not taken those three steps before turning to look back? I wished I had those three steps back. I wish there was someplace I could go and make that simple request, "Please, just give me three steps."