My Favorite One Night Stand

People always ask me why I moved to Australia. “For a man,” I smile, flashing the sapphire on my wedding finger. What I don’t say is that my husband wasn’t the first man I followed 10,000 miles across the world because my pussy couldn’t contain herself.

He had a generic name. The kind of name you google with no hope of finding the person you’re looking for because there are about a million other men who share it, first and last. I know because I looked him up after he wrote his name in the notes app of my phone at the end of our one night stand.

I never planned to sleep with him. In fact, I’d sworn off sex with strangers during my trip to Mexico, given the fact that two out of three of my regular fuck buddies were staying at the same beachside resort. I could laze in the sun with my girlfriends all day, sipping tequila sunrises until we felt gooey inside, spend hours bobbing in the calm salty waves, and call upon one of my suitors each night, depending on what my pussy craved – one’s slow worship of my body from head to toe, or the other’s fast, freaky fucking that often left me feeling like I’d just run a marathon.

So when I stood at the bar one night – clad in my tight black mini skirt, denim vest, and bare feet, the humidity causing my long sun-bleached hair to stick to the back of my neck, waiting for the bartender to pour my vodka lime soda – and saw him staring at me, my immediate reaction was to roll my eyes. He held my gaze from across the bar as he whispered to his friend, his lips curving up in one corner, and I quickly looked away, taking my drink from the bartender.

I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk with a stranger, to have him spout the same cliched pickup lines I’d heard all week. I wasn’t in the mood for a tipsy, sweaty groping that was the highlight of his night and totally gave me the ick. I wasn’t in the mood for mediocre sex with a man who didn’t yet know my body.

He and his friend weaved their way through the crowd that buzzed around us, moving towards me. When he wedged himself into the space at the bar next to me, I turned away from him, sipping my too-weak vodka lime soda through its tiny paper straw that seemed to disintegrate with each swallow, scanning the crowd for my friends to rescue me. 

And yet, when I heard him whisper-shout to his friend in a subtle Aussie drawl, “She looks exactly like Maddie…” my curiosity twitched its ears awake.

“Who do I look like?” I turned and asked, hand on my hip. And to my surprise, his cheeks stained pink. He leaned in, brushing his fingers through his sandy blonde crew cut, his forearms flexing, and told me I was the doppelganger of the only girl who’d ever broken his heart. 

“You’re gonna laugh, but you look exactly like my ex,” he confessed. “I thought I was going to marry her… but she left me when she fell in love with a woman.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

I raised my eyebrow at him, surprised by his confession. “And now you’re hitting on her lookalike in a sweaty beach bar in Mexico?”

He shrugged with a sheepish smile that gave me a glimpse of his perfect teeth. “Stranger things have happened.”

The rest of the night blurred in shades of lime and vodka and heat. Each time he leaned in to whisper in my ear, his breath made my spine tingle, his accent wrapped around every word like honey, and his laugh cracked through me, sending heat between my legs.

“Where are you from?” I asked as we wandered away from the bar to the outskirts of the crowd, his tanned arm grazing mine, making my hairs raise, despite the heat.

“Brisbane,” he said, expecting me not to know where it was.

“Is that the part with all the dangerous animals or just the ridiculously hot accents?” I joked.

He laughed. “Bit of both, honestly.”

We continued talking and couldn’t stop, falling into rapid-fire questions.

Books or movies? Books, always.

Top travel destination? Italy, 100%.

Go-to karaoke song? Backstreet Boys – I Want It That Way.

Plans after Mexico? Travel – he was backpacking across the country and up through the western states of the US before heading home, and I was mapping out my plans to see the world as soon as I graduated from college in a couple months.

Nearly every one of our answers matched or complemented the other. I narrowed my eyes at him and said, “Okay, seriously. Are you just agreeing with me to get laid?”

He grinned. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

We moved through conversation like we already knew each other. Like the world had just forgotten to introduce us until now.

“You should meet me in Vegas,” he suggested, the corner of his lip curving up in amusement. “We could hit a chapel. I’ve heard the line’s shorter if you’re drunk.”

I laughed and nudged his elbow with mine. “You don’t even know my last name.”

“We’ve got time,” he shrugged.

He dropped to one knee, reached for my left hand hanging at my side, held it tightly in both of his, and looked up at me. “Marry me?” he winked. 

As his eyes darkened beneath his long lashes and that cheeky curve appeared at the corner of his lips, I imagined him looking up at me with his tongue worshipping the heat between my thighs, and my pussy fluttered. 

A laugh bubbled up and out of me. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but admit it – you’re tempted.”

He stood and reached towards me – grinning, half-drunk – brushing my fallen bangs out of my eyes, tucking a strand of my sun-bleached hair behind my ear as I bit my lower lip. The air between us changed. Charged.

“I’d totally marry you,” I laughed, and honestly, I kind of meant it. Even if it was stupid. Even if it was vodka-induced. Even if the only reason was because I couldn’t shake the idea of those icy blue eyes looking up at me as he ate his heart out.

I raised up on my tip toes and his strong hands gripped the denim of my vest, pulling me in closer, our mouths barely touching before I felt a tug on my arm and my friend pulling me away, finally coming to my rescue when I no longer wanted it.

~~~

I didn’t see him the next day. I didn’t look for him either. The fleeting connection faded as I spent my final day on holiday laying in the sand in between dips in the turquoise ocean, letting the hot Mexican sun bake me, freckles scattering across my nose and cheeks, the salt water tightening my skin and crisping my hair over and over again.

That night, I showered and put on the only clean clothes I had left – faded jean shorts that hugged my ass perfectly, a white tank top that I could only pull off with sun-kissed skin after a week spent on the beach, and my favorite gold gladiator sandals laced up my tanned legs. I took the elevator down to the lobby of my hotel to meet my friends for our final night out, not yet ready to go home. 

When I stepped out of the lobby into the balmy evening air, I immediately caught those blue eyes smoldering at me. He and his mates stood with my friends, as if they were part of the group already, and he flashed me that perfect smile that made my insides melt.

To my surprise, he scooped me up in his strong arms as if I weighed nothing at all, spun me around, and pecked me on the cheek before setting my feet back on earth. 

“I’ve been searching for you all day,” he whispered in my ear. “Come to the club with me, my gorgeous fiancé?” he smiled, extending his hand, and I took it. His palm enveloped mine as we wandered toward the resort’s only nightclub with my friends and his, the air so thick with humidity and sexual tension, you could slice it with a knife. 

He opened the door to Club Nitro, letting me slip through first—I was hit in the face with a blast of cold air and my heart immediately began to pound to the beat of the bass. I was there for a boogie, to shake my ass and maybe grind up on this delicious man before catching my 7am flight the next morning, no strings attached. So when he pulled me deeper into the throbbing heart of the crowd, I went with him.

With my back flush against his broad chest, I let the music take over my body, rolling my hips into his as his fingers intertwined with mine. We moved together, sweat beading at my hairline, a bolt of electricity moving through me every time his hips ground into me from behind, feeling his cock grow harder with each hip roll. I turned to face him, letting my hands graze over his chest and down his sculpted arms, and then reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, feeling the hairs rise in response to my touch. His hands gripped my hips, still swirling to the music, as he leaned in and kissed me.

Slowly, savoring each nibble. His lips were soft in comparison to every other part of him that was chiseled and rock hard beneath my touch – and they molded to mine as if he’d kissed me a thousand times. The music seemed to dull, overtaken by the thud of my heartbeat, the crowd around us melting away as the only things I could feel were the heat from his palms bracing me, his cock grinding into the most perfect places, and the pulse in my pussy as his kiss deepened.

He nipped my lip and then licked it, coaxing my mouth open and sliding his tongue against the tip of mine. One hand moved to the back of my neck, the other to my lower back, teasing the skin just above my jean shorts as he pulled me into him. He kissed me like he was pouring himself into me, like he needed to leave his mark.

As soon as our lips broke apart, I knew – my whispered promise to myself not to go home with him didn’t stand a chance. We looked at each other, having an entire conversation through eye contact. He grabbed my hand, and we all but sprinted toward the exit, weaving our way quickly through the crowd, back out into the balmy evening air, and towards his hotel room just past the beach club.

In the lobby, he pressed the elevator button and the doors slid open immediately, inviting us inside. As soon as they shut behind us and he pressed for floor ‘3’ he was on me, devouring my mouth whole, pressing my ass into the mirrored wall. A groan escaped my lips as our tongues danced together and he growled. I swear I could feel my wetness dripping through my shorts.

He pulled away from me just as the doors slid open on his floor, grabbing my hand again and tugging me after him. We flew down the hallway, skipping and bursting with laughter that was muted by paisley carpet. As we approached his room, he paused, spinning me around as if we were still on the dance floor, his eyes moving down my body from my head to my toes before he swiped his key card and nudged me inside.

We were magnets—our mouths crashed into one another, his teeth sinking into my lips, his hands in my hair, tugging until I moaned for him. I slid my hands up his soft cotton t-shirt and scraped my nails down his back before pulling it up and over his head, tossing mine to the floor shortly after. His fingers smoothly flicked open the button on my shorts, and in only a moment, clothing was scattered across the entire room. My pussy throbbed, reminding me of the tampon I’d slipped in at the start of the night, and I pulled away from him.

The warm breeze from the open balcony door washed over us, reminding us to breathe for a moment. I stood facing him in my lacy black thong and a nude pushup bra and I let my eyes drag down his body – the tousled hair that was now falling into his eyes, the pink swollen lips and his clean shaven, perfect jawline… every dip and curve of muscle that told me he was obviously an athlete, the V-shaped sex lines guiding my eyes down to his massive erection barely masked by his black boxer briefs.

“We can’t have sex,” I said. “I have my period.”

Another growl escaped him as ocean waves crashed in the distance. He stepped forward, wordlessly closing the space between us, nipping my lip quickly before stalking past me toward the bathroom. A rush of water pattered on the tiled bathtub floor. He stalked back out to me, brushed my hair behind my shoulders, and purred into my ear, “Get in the shower.”

I walked into the bathroom first, closing the door behind me, stripping off my bra and panties, easing out my tampon and tossing it into the bin. I climbed over the lip of the tub, letting the hot water from the shower head pelt down on my back, the steam wrapping its arms around me. A soft knock, and then he was there, pulling back the shower curtain, climbing inside – his huge, pink cock finally free and begging to be touched.

“Let me massage you,” he said with a cheeky grin, pumping lavender body wash into his hands. He stood behind me and I leaned into him, letting the back of my head fall to his chest as he lathered the suds onto my breasts, grazing his fingers over the peaks of my nipples. His hands moved down my belly, around my backside to cup my ass, down my legs and up my inner thighs. Each stroke had my pussy throbbing, opening, craving him more and more. I backed up into his touch and felt his slippery cock between my legs – and I widened my stance, letting the tip of him tease my entrance. 

I was losing control. I needed him. Right. Fucking. Now.

His hands stilled on my hips and he whispered in my ear, “Yes?”

“Yes,” I nearly wept as I bent over, bracing my hands on the cool tiles, and backed up onto the length of him. His cock filled me so overwhelmingly that a guttural moan broke through both of us at the same time. He inched his way in, slowly at first, stretching me, sliding in and then out, each thrust growing a little harder. His hands found mine on the shower wall, pinning me there as he filled me. 

His lips were on my neck, soft and then scraping as he slowly unraveled, his growls in my ear reverberating through my entire body as my moans echoed off the tiled walls. One of his hands slid between my thighs and he stroked my clit, slowly, achingly. My legs quivered and he wrapped one arm around me to hold me upright. Skin slapped against skin as his thrusts bounced off my ass, faster and faster, harder and harder.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.” 

I’d had one night stands before, and they never felt like this. Every thrust was perfectly in sync. His hands were everywhere, all at once. My body melted around his, as if I couldn’t get enough of him, as if I’d die if he wasn’t buried inside me. My legs shook as I arched my back, letting him undo me. I cried out as his tongue slid inside my ear, his finger circled my swollen clit, and his cock fucked me open.

“I need you to cum,” he urged, and I fell apart at the seams, as if on command, my pussy pulsating as his cock thrust into the deepest part of me. He pulled out and came all over my back. We were breathless, shaking from the ecstasy rolling in waves through our bodies, the water crashing down on us, blood and cum spilling onto our feet and spiraling down the drain.

~~~

After, he wrapped us in matching white fluffy robes and we laid in his bed – him on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, giving me the perfect view of his biceps; me on my belly next to him, chin propped on my hands as we talked. 

We joked again that we should meet at the chapel in Vegas – after all, I did say ‘yes.’ He told me it was his birthday at the stroke of midnight and we kissed lazily before I told him I had to go finish packing. As I pulled my denim shorts over my waist, he grabbed my phone from the floor where it had fallen, swiped open to the notes app and wrote his name. “Look me up,” he said and kissed me goodbye.

I googled him. About a million men came up in my search, and not one of them was him.

~~~

One month later, I heard my phone ding from my nightstand as I opened my bedroom curtains and let the morning light spill in. I glanced down at the screen to see a pending Facebook friend request and a private message. 

“Vegas wasn’t the same without my fiancé – I can’t believe you got cold feet.”