Get the air marshal

Jenny soon came back with a burly man.

"The name's Steve," the man said, "I'm the air marshal for this flight. This woman tells me you were masturbating in your seat after disrobing in the bathroom."

"No, I really wasn't!" Candace said all flustered, "I can explain it all..."

And she did, as flustered as she was. The stolen jeans and lost shoes at Logan Airport, the panties getting ripped by the seat and caught on the bathroom door hinge, the soaked shirt, and just now the sensitive touch while drying herself off.

"I just need a blanket to cover up until I can get my clothes from checked luggage!" Candace protested.

"Hang on," the marshal pondered, "why didn't you just make a toilet paper skirt or undergarment in the bathroom? That seems a lot more efficient than taking your shirt off and making a new one out of toilet paper..."

Candace's heart sunk as she couldn't explain that lapse in judgment. Her eyes just bugged out as her mouth dropped.

"I see you're flustered," Steve continued, "but I can't quite tell that you don't, in some sense, want to be naked right now. Let's have a deal, shall we?"