The below is my story and I reserve all rights. If you want to talk about it or simply comment on it, email me at twylamarie @ ymail.com ########## I cheated often when traveling early in my marriage, but never in my home town. It's not that Seattle is a small town, it's that every town is a small town. Every guy you fuck has friends he wants to brag to. Every desk clerk at the cheap hotel where you wore out the walls with the slamming bedpost is someone's sister or girlfriend. That parking garage where the windows fogged, the car rocked and a single used condom was left after the car drove off - that guy watching on security cam might be a next door neighbor. You might not even know them - but they know you - and that's how the rumors start that can spread and destroy your world. When I cheated I did it on business trips far from home and never with anyone I planned to see again. Perhaps a guy from the hotel bar or the cute man also dining alone in the restaurant, but never a co-worker or client where you might be discovered. I looked for the times when I was travelling alone, or in hectic environments like major conventions that swamp a town with out of towners. Places where no one knew me and where I wasn't likely ever see my bedmate again. Places where I could use a fake name and a one night hotel room or even a rental car in the remote part of a hotel parking garage. As sneaky as I always thought I was, one time in Las Vegas my boss saw me stepping out of a hotel room very, very early one morning wearing the clothing I'd worn the night before. He was doing the same - his own formal evening suit as badly out of place by the morning light as my cocktail dress - and we both knew we weren't staying at that hotel we were in. At first we both just acknowledged each other and said nothing. What was there to say really? But on the elevator he turned to me and simply said "We're on the road Twyla. No stories. No judgments. No names. No memories." It was a combination of advice, an order and a bit of a prayer and I never forgot it. Had he not been as guilty as me that morning, that chance meeting could have gone very bad for me indeed. You'd think that the near miss on being discovered would have made me give up my life of carnal crime, but instead I just redoubled my efforts. The next business trip was to Vegas and I knew that my coworkers would be hanging out on the strip near our hotel at the MGM. So, I took the expensive cab ride to "old" Vegas and found a young tourist on a budget nearly 10 years my junior with six-pack abs and a $50 hotel room. He was timid at first since I don't really think he believed I was into him, but once we were in his hotel room he practically tore my skirt and panties off. I was still wearing my half-unbuttoned blouse and bra when he bent me offer the cheap chair in the corner of the room and entered me with an urgency that felt closer to a sexual assault than a seduction. If he hadn't spread me with his fingers he'd lubricated with his own spit before entering me, I would have likely screamed so loud that they would have heard it in the casino six floors below. He was done so fast I felt like we were back in high school. The second time he'd given me a chance to completely undress and even taken some time to make amens for his violation by thoroughly eating my pussy. The stained mattress was almost as thin as the hotel walls, so when he entered me my moaning let the other guests know that someone in the hotel had won big in Vegas. As we athletically went at it, the idea that the walls were thin, the hotel room was seedy, and that the sex was throwaway and cheap made me enjoy it all the more. After a repeat performance he pleaded with me to stay the night. I was soaking wet with sweat, sex and spunk, and was tempted, but common sense got the better of me. I was to my hotel before midnight and in the shower and to bed before my coworkers were likely done at the poker tables. Laying back in my rather palatial suite in the MGM and looking out the window at the hotels shaped like castles and pyramids beyond, I couldn't help but admit that the rather cheap and tawdry nature of the encounter had really made it very hot. I was still sore from the rough treatment than my cooch had gotten earlier in the evening, but masturbated myself to sleep anyway. The next few business trips I indulged myself by wallowing in down rent infidelities. On a trip to Chicago with a hotel room on the miracle mile I skipped out on a business dinner at The Chop House to find a rowdy bar on Rush St. Two hours after arriving I swapped drunken and in-elegant oral sex with a salesman from Ohio in the backseat of his car. Luckily he did me first, as after he came in my mouth and I opened the door to spit his seed into the gutter he lost interest in further contact. I was out of the car and he was drunk driving away within moments and it took me almost 40 minutes to find a cab to take me back downtown. In Orlando the team attended a swank dinner at a ballroom at the Dolphin Hotel, I found myself eating with, and then being eaten by, a good looking conventioneer near Lake Buena Vista. We were so drunk that he actually attempted to finger me in the cab from the restaurant to his room at the Marriot Courtyard, and I spread my legs and let him. He loved standing in front of the hotel room mirror while I sucked his cock - both of us otherwise fully clothed - an act that led to me needing to soak cum stains out of my lavender colored silk blouse before bed once back in the safety of my own hotel room. The cheap sex in cheap locations continued in a downward spiral for a while - but I eventually scared myself when I picked up a rather large and good looking man in Los Angeles. His look was a mixture of Hollywood bad boy and LA street thug complete with the muscles and tattoos. He took me to his home in the hills above Burbank and what began in a hot tub as very pleasant foreplay quickly escalated to what could be called rough sex and then near anal rape as he got amped up more and more on the lines of cocaine we shared on the glass of this bed stand. Despite the good time, when I let him know that the ass wasn't happening he became ominous and verbally abusive. When I held my ground and got pissed with his persistence he at first would not let me have my clothes and then wouldn't call me a cab. (We were far from any major street.) Finally, after I gave in and let him do some very demeaning things to me that didn't include an assfuck he called me a cab and I was allowed to go. After that affair, I swore off cheap sex and one night stands on the road for a while (at least with men) and when I returned to sport fucking a few years later it was back to higher class locations, a more gentile class of men, and closer to my own evenings accommodations. I have never been caught again - at least so far - and doubt I will be as I have really cut back on my extramarital activities. I scratch my itch maybe once or twice a year now. O confine my fun to times when I'm traveling alone and I have gotten rather brazen about communicating "my rules" before I ever let a man enter my hotel room. I no longer go to their rooms and never let them spend the night in mine. That's rule #1. I always take off all of my clothes first to avoid stains and marks on my clothing. (I do occasionally leave on my heels. That's rules #2. And it's always safe sex, either through use of condoms or simply by using mouths and fingers. (I know this isn't really "completely safe" sex - but I do so enjoy when a man cums between my breasts or on my neck and I have never enjoyed sucking a cock that has a rubber on it.) That's rule #3. Men seem to get it and respect my limits and we end up having a marvelous time anyway, and at the end they don't ask for my phone number or email address - they get and respect that this was a one night stand. After all, I'm on the road. No stories. No memories. No names. No judgments. Just a hot zipless fuck and a good nights sleep. And I wouldn't have it any other way.