She was nearly half my age, blonde, compact without being petite, and she had a disarming smile and an aura of contained sexuality—in short—she was perfect to my way of thinking, and somehow I knew from the beginning that she was very special.

I met her entirely by accident. I had a four day conference in Salina, Ks. that I had to attend in connection with my work. Salina was just far enough from where I live that I decided to book a room in the area rather than drive the four hour round trip that it would take each day. Instead of getting a room in one of the many motels in Salina, I decided to book a room for three nights in a little town of about 3500 located 20 minutes south of Salina. I had heard that Lindsborg (also known as Little Sweden around Kansas) was a unique community that traded on its Swedish-American roots to attract the tourist trade, and since the first day of the conference was mainly registration and welcome speeches (which I didn’t feel compelled to attend), I decided to check in at the conference as early as possible, attend the one late morning seminar that I was interested in, and drive back to Lindsborg to spend the afternoon exploring the town.

The morning of the conference, I left my little town shortly after 6:30 and drove to Salina, stopping only once in Hutchinson to grab some coffee. I arrived at the conference site at Kansas Wesleyan College shortly before nine. After registering, I wandered around the campus before the seminar began at 10:00. The seminar ended at noon and afterward I went to lunch with some people who were in my discussion group at the seminar. We visited for a while after eating, and I finally got on the road back to Lindsborg at about 1:30.

After checking in (a bit early) at my motel (it was named The Viking motel quaintly reflecting the Swedish cultural emphasis of the community), I set out to explore the town. I soon discovered that it was filled with little shops, many of which featured arts and crafts with a distinct cultural flavor. I also visited an art gallery, the Birger Sandzen Memorial Gallery, which featured some local artists as well as some nationally known ones. After leaving the art gallery, I wandered down the main street, basically just window shopping. Passing one gift store, I noticed a book display. I rarely pass up the opportunity to browse if I have time, so I went in.

As I looked over the titles, I saw her for the first time. She stood at the end of the display with a book opened, reading the inside cover. She was dressed casually in walking shorts and a v-necked T-shirt. Her clothing was neither tight nor loose, but it was tight enough for me to admire the curve of her ass and the gentle swell of her breasts underneath the cloth. I chastised myself mentally for entertaining the thoughts that her body aroused in me, especially since she appeared to be a very classy, respectable lady. . She caught me looking at her and smiled sweetly. I smiled back and turned my attention back to the shelves, hoping she wasn’t thinking I was some old pervert. I quickly picked out a book, Love In The Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I had been meaning to read it, and I decided I might as well use my evening to get started.

She was in front of me at the checkout. Again I found myself admiring her sweetly rounded ass and the way her blonde hair graced the curve of her neck. I was close enough to smell her perfume which I found mysterious and erotic. She paid and walked out. I stepped to the counter and paid for my book, got my receipt, and headed for the door, still thinking about her. As I stepped through the door, I ran smack into her. Apparently, she had forgotten something and was coming back into the store. The collision knocked her shopping bag from her hand and her books scattered onto the sidewalk. I mumbled a lame apology saying, “I am sooo sorry. I promise to get a seeing-eye dog if you will just forgive me.” As dumb as that sounded, she laughed. I knew then she had a charitable heart as well as a lovely laugh. I bent over and began picking up her books. I couldn’t help but notice that one of them was Fifty Shades of Grey. I rose up to give her the books and found myself momentarily staring at her crotch. I probably turned fifty shades of red, but she pretended not to notice. I returned her books, apologized again, and went on my way.

I wandered around a bit more, checking out a few shops and admiring the charm of the town, before deciding it was time to get something to eat. In my ramblings, I had noticed a place called The Sugar Shack which looked like a typical hamburger joint and that suited my needs just fine, so I headed there. When I entered, it was obvious the place was really busy and I couldn’t see a place to sit. I started back to the door, I heard a sweet feminine voice, “Would you like to sit with me?” I turned and there she was, seated in a small booth by herself, her lovely blonde hair shining from the overhead light.