The Hotel Bar Leads to the Hotel Room, and the Hotel Room Leads to… [FM]

*Warning up front: this story is my only time truly cheating. If that’s a problem, move on. I was still married at the time, I’m not anymore, but our breakup had nothing to do with this. I felt bad about it but, as you’ll see, it still ended up pretty hot.*

I’ve had plenty of times in my life where I’ve pursued women. A good deal successfully, plenty unsuccessfully. But some of my favorite memories are when I didn’t even realize at first that a woman was pursuing *me*, or at least was interested in a way I didn’t initially recognize*.*

When I was in my early 30s I traveled a lot for work. Various hotels in big cities for meetings, presentations, conferences. I was young and newly married, but it was fun to be in a different place for a few days every other week. Like anyone in that position, I got used to the “hotel circuit.” Hotel fitness centers, hotel restaurants, hotel bars. They all have a vibe all their own.

So here I was in Irvine, California for a week. One of the nights I didn’t have plans with colleagues, I sidled up to the empty hotel bar alone and ordered a beer while I watched a ballgame and slowly perused the menu. Halfway through my chicken wings and second local beer, a woman maybe 26-27 years old plopped down on a seat two down from me. She was maybe 5’5″, decent proportions with some curve, not big but not a rail, dressed like she had just came from a casual cocktail hour, in a nice blouse and jeans. But I was in wings-and-baseball mode, I noticed her (I do have a pulse), but didn’t think about it. Like I said, I was married, never wanted to be a creep, and had no reason to think I wouldn’t go to my room and follow my normal hotel evening routine of whiskey and masturbating.

She ordered a chardonnay and asked the bartender if it was any good. I had been chatting with the bartender a little bit so couldn’t resist joking. I chimed in, “don’t listen to him, I’ve known this guy for three nights now and I know you can’t trust him.” She actually chuckled, then asked about the ballgame I was watching.

It wasn’t too long and suddenly she had moved down a seat, right next to me. It wasn’t too long and suddenly I had turned my swivel barstool, without even thinking about it, and was facing her more than the TV. And suddenly our knees were almost touching–hers, mine, hers, mine–as we chatted about our travel and the jobs that brought us there. Both relaxed by a few drinks, both having finished our food, we were smiling and enjoying the night. But pretty soon, I didn’t realize that the conversation that had been flowing had involuntarily become filled with halting, awkward pauses.

“So…what’s up tonight for you?” she said. I knew now her name was Kate. “I dunno,” I replied, “just was planning on finishing watching this Dodger game,” which was in its 6th inning. “Where?” she asked. “In my room or whatever,” I said. “Well, you’ve gotten me into it,” she said, which was a lie as we’d hardly discussed the game since she first asked about it.

Before I knew it I was saying, “put hers on my card” to the bartender. And before I knew it, we were walking down the hallway. I don’t know how to explain it and I don’t mean to be making excuses for myself, but what was in my *mind* was that a new friend was coming to my room to watch the Dodgers. I wasn’t *planning* on what was going to happen, even though, obviously, you can tell where it was going.

I awkwardly set up pillows on the bed as I fumbled with the remote, ostensibly and stupidly setting us both up to watch the game. And then the charade was over as quick as it had started. We were kissing, my hands were grabbing tits through a blouse. My rational brain started alarm bells, “no no no no no, you’re not supposed to be doing this.”

And then I became an animal.

Because a part of my brain was telling me this was wrong, another part of my brain–or maybe my dick–told me to just take what I wanted. I took off her shirt and bra, faster than she was expecting. My hand was inside her panties, faster than she knew what to do with, as we kept necking and kissing.

“Fuck I want to fuck you,” I whispered. “I *just* got here,” she smiled, but noticeably not resisting my moves.

And I was feeling trashy. The shame and sexiness of my cheating made me just take over and issue orders in a way that I had never done with my wife at home. “I need you to suck my dick. Come on baby, that’s it, that’s it, on your knees for me.” And Kate didn’t resist. She did everything I asked as I slapped my dick on her tongue, her cheeks, and said, “oh, you like that dick, don’t you? Yeah, you want that dick.” Just a level of assuredness that I didn’t use at home.

And she gave a *beautiful* blowjob. It would have been enough to satisfy me in a normal situation. In a normal situation, I would have loved to lie back and enjoy it and fall asleep after cumming. But this time, it wasn’t two minutes before I said, “bend over on the bed.” Remember, I was feeling dirty and trashy and horned out of my mind becuase of this incredible cheating taboo. And you know what? She did it. Bent over the bed with her ass in the air.

My right hand went to her pussy as I bent over her and whispered, “oh fuck you’re so wet baby.” So I didn’t waste any time lining up my cock and starting to rub it up against her slit, waiting for her to say something about protection. I’m a huge fan of safe sex and don’t recommend what I did that night, but this time, I wasn’t offering unless she asked. She didn’t say anything and pushed her hips back onto me, so I took that as my cue.

And I just started pounding. I wasn’t hurting her but I was *angry-*horny, a mix of emotions I’m not sure I’ve ever had outside of argument-makeup sex. Fuck this woman for making me cheat (my stupid lizard man’s brain told myself). I’ll show her what’s what.

In the porn video version of this I would have lasted for hours in multiple positions. In real life, it lasted for about 10 minutes, my entire mental energy laser-focused on getting myself off. I don’t even remember giving a second’s thought to whether she was enjoying it, whether she needed it slower, faster, deeper, or whatever. I was just *going at it* for once. I wasn’t talking dirty, but I was louder than usual, grunting and moaning, occasionally saying some man-nonsense like, “oh this pussy, oh this fucking pussy.” The kind of shit we’re lucky no one is ever recording lest it sound totally incoherent and stupid. I remember reaching down and grabbing her tits as I continued to fuck her doggy style, rolling her nipples a bit between my fingers. And then I was ready to cum. “Oh, I’m gonna fucking cum,” I said as I pulled out and launched a load on her back and ass. For maybe the first time as a real adult, I had just done whatever the hell I wanted in bed without worrying (other than knowing that I had consent) about whether it was what my partner wanted.

We both fell back in bed, happy, but she seemed bemused and surprised. “Well, that was fun. You definitely knew what you wanted,” she chuckled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I had the courtesy to gasp even as some post-nut clarity set in. What the fuck had I done, some stupid cheater in a lame-ass hotel bar? What a fucking loser I was. Having unprotected sex with this person I didn’t know.

I wish I could say that was the end of it. That I kicked her out, repented, knew I had fucked up. But the 9th inning of the Dodger game was on. We watched for a few minutes as we both had bottles of water and chatted a bit. My dick being what it was, and my male lizard brain being what it is, she spent the night in my bed, with another round–slower, sensual, more reciprocal–still to come.

Later, slinking off to my doctor at home for an STD test, doubting my integrity, questioning my self-destructive choices, there turned out to be plenty of time for angry feelings. But that night, getting some strange for the first time and just doing what I wanted, it felt fucking amazing. It’s not what caused my marriage to break up a few years later, but the memories of knowing how to seek and get what I wanted sexually would eventually be a hugely important thing in my life.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/qxxcuf/the_hotel_bar_leads_to_the_hotel_room_and_the