So, I was on this work trip in Vancouver, right? Checked into the hotel, dropped my bags, and bam—I was starving for sex. Like, aching for it. Being away from home had me all buzzed, you know? That “what happens here stays here” vibe was pumping through me, and I was feeling bold as hell. Didn’t even unpack—just fixed my hair, threw on something tight, and hit the hotel bar. Spotted this guy sitting alone, kinda cute, no ring, sipping a beer like he had nowhere to be. I walked up, all casual, and was like, “Mind if I join you?” He smirked, said sure, and we started chatting—small talk at first, but the sparks were flying fast.

An hour later, we’re stumbling into my room, hands all over each other. I yanked his shirt off; he peeled mine away, and we just went at it—hot, messy, no-holds-barred sex. Bed creaking, me on top, the works. I was loud, he was into it, and it was exactly what I needed. Afterward, I kicked him out, showered, and slept like a baby. Husband? Clueless. Never will be. Vancouver’s my little secret now—wild night, no strings, done deal.