Sex with a stranger

It starts with some flirty and then teasing talk, standing close and casually touching each other, and then one of you says in a meaningful way, "Let's go up to my room (or out to my car)" or one takes the other's hand and asks, "Wanna go someplace more private?" and leads him or her to a quiet room or closet or corner of the garden or whatever.

Then, on the way there's usually no talking at all, maybe slight grinning at each other 'cause you have this naughty secret between you and you know what's going to happen very soon. Or maybe some gasping and furrowing of eyebrows as you wordlessly convey that you're shocked, yes shocked, that you are really doing this and you just can't believe it but you just can't stop yourself. If you do say anything, it's "I can't believe I'm doing this, I really can't" or "This isn't like me, it really isn't."

Once at the destination there's the heavy breathing, groaning and gasping and ripping off of clothing. Sometimes only half the clothing comes off, 'cause you can't wait another moment. And there's mad mad sex, not in the missionary position, but something a little more daring and possibly uncomfortable like up against a wall, or on the ground, or with your back pressed against the steering wheel steaming up the car windows, with the risk of getting caught in the act or found out later.

You don't care how slutty you act because you'll (presumably) never see this person again, and you're free to expose the wild side that you're too modest or reserved or scared to let your everyday lover see. This anonymous person is not going to judge you or say no to anything. They want you, and they want you now. You feel liberated.

And when it's over, it's over. One or both of you has to dash out, because someone will be wondering where you are.

And there's usually some evidence later--your car is parked somewhere it doesn't belong at a time it shouldn't be there, or you're driving home at sunrise, or you have carpet burns, suspicious bruising, clothing ripped and stained with makeup or tell-tale fluids, broken zippers or missing buttons, and you show up at work hungover, with streaked makeup, ratty hair, and wearing last night's party dress all wrinkled, no underwear, and your pantyhose in your purse. And, depending on the circumstances, you're completely filled with either shame or pride, sometimes alternating between the two.

(Previously posted by me on the NaNoWriMo site when someone had a question about anonymous sex. This will probably show up in an edited and more detailed version in my novel.)