To continue… I’m now at the Houston Airport (Hobby) waiting for a flight back to SacTown. Setting aside the Christmas music, which makes me want to hang myself with the string from my hoodie in a dirty bathroom stall, I’m actually in a happy but contemplative mood. Moreover, seeing much of the native bird in these parts, I can’t help but think of one particular delay while waiting for a flight at the Orange County Airport.

Sometime in 2007, during my hard-drinking daze, I recall getting drunk as fuck at one of the small bars near the Southwest Airline terminals. Sitting at the bar, there was a drop-dead gorgeous woman, two guys, a very cool bartender, and me. We were drinking heavy pour margaritas, and all of the guys, yours truly too, were really into the woman. She was drunk like the rest of us, excluding the bartender, and a bit flirty too.

I don’t recall the specifics, but I do recall she was waiting for a flight to visit her husband, who was currently sitting in rehab for drug and alcohol addiction. I remember the group of us toasting his sobriety, and making jokes like: “Quttin’s easy. I do it all the time” and “Hey bartender, I need a drink. I’ve got way too much blood in my alcohol system.” She seemed to take a liking to me, and we scooted closer to each other with each drink.

I don’t remember how it happened, nor what we were saying beforehand, but the next thing I remember was “coming to” while kissing this woman in a passionate kiss. I love kissing. It’s my absolute fucking favorite activity, and this woman was an amazing kisser. I can still recall her lips, her tongue, and her hand feeling my cock through my attorney suit pants. It was truly one of the most beautiful moments in my life.

I will never forget that look on her face when we stopped kissing. We both must’ve had the same expression. One of excitement, desire, and surprise, coupled with bewilderment and wonder for how it all began. I have no idea which one of us leaned in for the kiss, and it really doesn’t matter. I like to think it was mutual. Just two people that enjoy kissing needing a release. A bit of ease and comfort while waiting for a plane.

The next thing I remember was the look of shock on her face, realizing she is making out with a stranger in an airport bar on her way to visit her husband in rehab. The other guys and bartender completely silent, eyes and mouths wide open in utter astonishment. Within moments, she released my cock, now hard and ready for more, and exited the bar never to be seen again. Truly one of the most beautiful moments in my life.

I was a regular in airports at that time, traveling weekly back-and-forth from/to Sacramento and Orange County. I was also a regular in airport bars, and this one was a favorite – and Jason was one of my favorite bartenders. He was generous by filling my glass with mostly liquor, and I was generous by tipping him a shitload of cash. Kismet. We were made for each other, and we would often talk about that one magical day.

I don’t wanna hear any judgment or bullshit about making out with a married woman. Honestly, in those daze, I regularly had sex with married women. I didn’t want a relationship, and they needed the sex they weren’t getting at home, without changing their situation. I recall very much thinking it was a public service – doing the lord’s work. I’d even go so far to claim some of them stayed in their marriages because of me.

Simply put, gentlemen, if you don’t take care of your sexual duties at home, then there are men like me delighted with taking care of that which you cannot do. It’s actually my pleasure. A little fetish of mine, thinking about you sitting at home while I’m fucking your wife. Dina was correct in calling me a whore in those text messages posted yesterday. My only issue: I take exception to the pot calling the kettle black.

People that fuck around on their husband; that lie and cheat behind my back; that make out with the same guy she fucked on business trips when married, should not be trying to take a self-righteous position with me. As stated: There’s nothing fake about me. Fiercely transparent. No – I did not fuck around on her for five years. Yep – I very much fucked around in the beginning, before moving back to Southern California; and, since we were constantly on-again, off- again, I most surely had regular sex with people when we were off-again. Also, by the way, although they’re married now, I also remember visits at my house after they got together.