I didn't know his name or anything about him except that he was pretty and his lips were soft and addicting. I don't remember much, only snippets of the events that took place last night. I clearly remember walking into a bar though, ordering a drink and mulling over the decisions I've made. Then this stranger showed up and started talking to me, he was nice and fucking gorgeous and I almost hated that I wouldn't be able to get in his pants that night or any other night for that matter. Why? Because I was engaged to a girl who I was supposed to marry the following Monday. I liked her, she was an alright person, but I didn't like her that way. I mean, come on, I'm telling you that I met a gorgeous man and wanted to get in his pants. Does any of that spell out 'straight' to you? But I'm not marrying her because I love her, I'm doing it for my parents. They don't have a clue about my sexuality and they make it very clear how they view people like me. It's not at all positive. I don't know how they'd react to their one and only son being as gay as they come. So here I am, hating myself because I'm leading on an innocent girl and lying to everyone around me. Pretending to be straight is extremely painful and fucking exhausting.

My fiancée, her name is Meagan. Long hair, really slender, pretty, basically model material. It's not like I hate her or find her unattractive, I just don't swing that way. And thank fuck she wanted to hold off on sex until after marriage because that would've been the most awkward and torturing thing ever. But she'll probably hate me after she finds out I cheated on her. Or that I'm gay. Whichever comes first.

Anyway, after this stranger and I had talked and laughed about almost everything, he paid for our drinks and we left. Well, I think that's what happened. I had lost count of the number of drinks I had but they ranged from beer to vodka to whiskey then to something I forgot the name of but it was fruity and colorful.

I don't exactly remember leaving but I know we did at some point. I think he sucked me off in the nearby alleyway and I think I returned the favor in the backseat of his car. Now, I could be wrong but it's possible all of that is somewhat true, I'll never know unless Gorgeous Stranger was sober enough to remember and fills me in.

I do, however, remember kissing him. There was a lot of that and no matter how drunk I was that will always be the one thing that's clear as a bell. His mouth was like something you only saw in porn, wrapped around a dick and impossible to ignore. His smile alone made me want to drop everything and just fuck him against the brick wall of the bar, but I didn't (or at least I don't think I did) because I at least had a little bit of self control. And even when our lips weren't touching I could feel a tingle as if they were, buzzes of electricity going through them like a current through water. And they only seemed to be satisfied when they were connected to the other man's.

I remember passing some streetlights and a few wandering touches, maybe some laughing and giggling, I think we left his car behind though and just walked off somewhere. I didn't care about my fiancée at that point or how she would react to me cheating, I tossed that whole loyalty thing out the window and just thought 'fuck it'. I couldn't remember the last time I got laid and decided it was time I finally did.

One night to be completely care free wouldn't change anything, and I really needed this to happen.

Fast forward about ten minutes, we're at his hotel and he's trying to unlock the door and kiss me at the same time. It wasn't really working considering he just dropped the key to the floor and wrapped his arms around me instead. There was biting and tongue, lots of it, I was in a blurred state of liquor induced lust and I didn't want it to ever go away.

At some point we did manage to get inside the room, I don't remember how or when exactly but it didn't matter. We were in a dark room with a double bed, I couldn't give a fuck less about how we got inside.

I fell onto something soft and the man's body went down along with me, on top of me. His lips never left mine and my hands grabbed at his clothing, desperate to get them off and feel his bare skin against mine. I hadn't been kissed like this in what felt like forever, and that alone made me so impatient, made me want more of him.

I don't remember us getting out of our clothes, and I definitely don't remember when my cock went into his mouth, but that's where it was. I tried to buck my hips but he held me down, forcing me to be still. He made sure the whole thing had been covered with his tongue, made sure he didn't miss a single spot. And I moaned so loud some of the staff had possibly heard from the lobby. He had such a talented mouth.

"Fuckfuckfuck," I slurred, my back arching off the bed as I felt myself get closer to the edge. I was almost ready to-

The next thing I knew, his mouth had disappeared and the warm feeling in my belly began to subside. I must have whined because I heard a low chuckle come from the other man. I think he said something afterward, but I was too full of booze to remember.

I remember begging though. I begged, I fucking begged for this man to fuck me. I begged for his cock to be inside of me and fill me up, begged so much it was ridiculous. But, no, he wanted to take his time and be all gentle with me. Like I was some expensive vase that cost a goddamn fortune. His soft touches made my skin hot all over and the press of his lips to my collarbone made me melt. I had a love/hate relationship with his caresses. First it was 'oh my god, what the hell are you doing? Just fuck me already' but then it was 'holy shit, do that again and don't you dare stop' and my thoughts just kept going back and forth.

At one point he looked me in the eyes, he knew my head was swimming and I knew that he knew. And even in the dark I could see how blown his pupils were, I could only imagine what my own eyes looked like. He reached a hand up and cupped my cheek, his other hand doing god knows what while he leaned in and kissed me with those intoxicating lips. I'd die happy knowing I got the privilege to feel them.

Fast forward some more because, goddamn, I drank a lot. He was hovering over me, his hips between my thighs, full, hard cock finally inside of me. I had a hand tightly fisted in his hair, the other clawing at his back as he plunged into me. Over. And over. And over again. I cried out, I know I did, because I remember him mumbling about how pretty I sounded. It only made me shout louder, and it only made him go faster. Fuck, he felt so, so good. Nothing in my life could ever compare to the pleasure of him.

There were only two things I remembered hearing: our moans, and the sound of our sweat-slick skin slapping together. Probably the two most beautiful sounds I've heard because it came from both of us, together. We created something beautiful. Damn, liquor makes me such a fucking sap.

Swearing. There was a lot of that as well, mostly from me as he kept hitting my prostate. He didn't miss once. And it sounds like something like that could never be that precise but it was, I know it was. If he kept it up I was gonna cum without him even laying a finger on my dripping cock.

And oh, what do you know, that's exactly what fucking happened because this man was unreal. This had to be some really amazing wet dream or something because he was perfect.

I screamed. That's right, I screamed, loud and unattractive but I didn't give a damn. My muscles tightened, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging into his skin, my orgasm slamming into me like a car on the freeway. Never in my life had I cum so hard, it was nearly blinding.

He swore a few times before I felt his dick pulse and throb inside of me, letting me know he had just filled me up with everything he had in him. I almost wanted to go a second round. Almost.

After he pulled out, we both had eventually come down from our overpowering highs. I held him tight as he relaxed on top of me, lazily kissing my neck. I started dozing almost immediately, being drunk and having sex kind of multiplies the post orgasmic fatigue.

I heard him say something, I could be wrong but it sounded something like, "...beautiful..." Before he rolled us over and fell asleep.

And the fucked up thing was, I didn't even feel bad about cheating on my fiancée. And that I also wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. Why? Because I can never have nice things and life is unfair.