My hottest love affair lasted a few weeks -- it was sordid on so many different levels -- he was married, I had a business relationship with him, I was married, he had a pregnant wife -- we would meet in a sleazy motel for sex.
Now, Knute (that was his name) was a not-to- bright potato farmer from Bakersfield and I had a professional marketing job in LA, grad school, the works. He belonged to a creepy fundamentalist Christian church, I am lapsed Catholic - he thouught I was a papist, or something.
I would tear up the I-5 in my RX-7 and meet him halfway in a one-motel town called Gorman. And, it was the hottest sex ever. I've stayed at some swanky places in my day, the Waldorf, the UN Plaza, the Ritz Carlton (many times - the franchise, not the real Ritz), but nothing was better than that motel in Gorman. What happens in a hotel is more important than the lobby decor, IMO.
And, he was gorgeous ... blond hair, naturally streaked by the sun, eyes green as grass (pure green, no hazel, nor gray) and the kind of body you get from working the fields.
We never ran out of things to talk about -- although he asked me to rephrase things in smaller words.
After a while the sex fizzled, his wife gave birth, and his church had some scandal with the preacher and he felt he shouldn't be taking risks. (Don't know - maybe was afraid of being shunned or something.)
Didn't mind it ending, but I will always remember him.