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I’m a thirty-something wife and mom who previously partied like a rock star and has all the memories to prove it. I had a strict religious upbringing and let it all go when I hit my twenties. I can currently be found reading books to my toddlers, relaxing at a local bar or writing about my previous party life.

I knew what I wanted when I drove to the mall that night. I didn’t care that it was snowing like hell outside and that the parking lots were iced over. I wanted him and I wasn’t sure when I’d see him again.

We both knew that it was risky, but I for one did not care. All I wanted was to experience his hands on me, sense his tongue tracing the inside of my lips and to feel him inside me again. It was all I’d thought about that afternoon at work, after he’d brought lunch to me and I’d sat next to him, having to control myself when all I had wanted was to fuck him, right there, in his truck.

Later I found out that originally his intentions for that night had not included sex, but of course he didn’t protest when I got on top of him. I could not help myself. Five minutes of kissing him, feeling his hands touch me, first over my skirt, then pushing my skirt up and out of the way so that hwane could grab my hip, and then finally slide his fingers inside me, where I was already so wet and so ready that I was moaning – I simply couldn’t wait any longer.

I had to have him, right there in the parking lot, in a snow storm, in his truck. I got on top of him and positioned myself so that I could feel every inch of him.

I still remember everything about that night: how amazing he felt inside me, the scent of his sweat mixed with mine, his hands, grabbing my hips to pull himself deeper into me; the feel of his mouth on my neck, my collarbone, finally my own mouth, kissing me with a passionate but controlled need. The excitement of possibly getting caught made everything more intense. The look in his eyes when we came up for air, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his breath on my neck: he’s a vocal lover, something that turns me on so incredibly quickly. I never had to wonder if I felt good to him, his words and moans told me everything.

We completely fogged up his truck that night and were both left dripping, covered with the sweet smell of sex. I had come three times and was blissfully exhausted. There were more times between us after that, but something about that particular time was different. Maybe it was the contrast of the cold outside and the hot, sweaty sex inside the truck. Perhaps it was the intensity with which I had to have him. Whatever it was, that night is now one that I will never forget.