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There’s a specific memory of my wife that still gets me fired up, it was before we had even started dating.
Years ago, my roommate invited me to a massive bonfire party. After a few hours of hanging out, I lost track of him and, feeling exhausted and a bit buzzed, decided to go crash in the cab of his truck.
I was shaken awake, literally by the truck rhythmically rocking on its suspension. Confused, I stepped out and heard the unmistakable, breathless sounds of a woman losing herself in the heat of the moment. I looked back and saw the truck bed filled with blankets and a low-slung air mattress. I couldn’t see faces, but I could hear every frantic gasp and the steady, heavy thud of bodies colliding against the metal.
Not wanting to interrupt and not having anywhere else to go, I climbed back into the cab, feeling the vibrations through the seat as she grew louder, her moans echoing through the glass right behind my head. I sat there in the dark, listening to her peak until the truck finally went still. It was a hell of a performance.
Come to find out a couple days later that it was my roommate having sex in the truck bed and the girl I was hearing moaning was my future wife.