I didn’t plan to be alone. The trip was supposed to be a celebration of ten years of marriage. I had envisioned a luxury resort and sunsets melting into the sea. But my partner canceled at the last minute. “Work emergency,” he said. I came anyway, determined not to let disappointment ruin everything.

By the third night, the silence in my suite felt louder than the waves outside. I slipped into a black silk dress I hadn’t worn in years. It hugged my body like a memory. Soft, daring, a whisper of rebellion, I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay in.

The club was alive. Music throbbed through the floor. Lights flickered like fireflies, and bodies moved with abandon. I let myself be pulled into the rhythm. My hips swayed, and my heart raced. That’s when I saw him.

He was tall, with dark eyes that lingered and a smile that felt like a secret. He didn’t ask my name. He just asked if I wanted to dance. I said yes. I couldn’t resist the attraction.

We moved like we’d done it before, as if our bodies already knew the steps. His hand found the small of my back, and my fingers brushed his jaw. Every touch was a question. Every glance, a promise. After a couple of minutes, he asked if I wanted to take a walk. I obliged, curiosity overwhelming me. We walked in silence, the short distance leading to my suite.

Back in my suite, the air was thick with heat and hesitation. But when his lips met mine, the hesitation vanished. We kissed like we were starving. Clothes fell away in pieces, like petals from a flower. His hands explored me slowly, deliberately, as if he was learning my language one breath at a time.

I responded with urgency. My hands traced the lines of his chest, the dip of his hips, the strength in his arms. I felt powerful and wanted, like a woman waking from a long sleep. I gave him access to every part of me. He caressed every inch of my body. He worshipped my breasts, fondling them and sucking like his life depended on it. My desire flooded with want. I guided his hand to my core. He felt the wetness and spread me on the bed. He was hard as a rock!

His lips worked wonders on my pussy. He flicked and sucked, and I came multiple times. I cried out with pleasure, feeling like I was going to burst. Then he plunged into me. I saw stars. I had never felt this good in years.

He filled me completely, pumping me over and over until we both climaxed in each other's arms. I was shaking, and this man whose name I still didn’t know held me firmly, as if I were worth a billion dollars. He covered us with the sheets and didn’t let me go until I fell asleep.

I woke in the early hours of the morning, filled with intense pleasure. I opened my eyes to see my pussy being fingered slowly while he sucked my left nipple. His eyes shone with lust as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. Just when I was about to scream in ecstasy, he replaced his fingers with his cock. From behind, he fucked me with an intensity that felt like it was in my blood. It was like meditation and medicine; I felt high, as if I were on drugs. He fucked me hard and whispered, “Call me Oscar.” Afterwards, I was so full I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke up tangled in the sheets and silence. The stranger was nowhere to be found. What was his name again? Oh yes, Oscar. He was gone!

As I busied myself around the suite, I thought about how wild last night was. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. Our bodies did the talking: urgent, raw, electric. I let go of everything; guilt, rules, expectations. I let him take me apart and put me back together.

But the second night was different.

He found me again at the beach bar, just as the sun was sinking into the sea. This time, we talked. He told me about his life in Cairns, his love of painting, and his own loneliness. I shared things I hadn’t said out loud in years. When we returned to my room, it wasn’t just lust; it was intimacy.

He undressed me slowly, like he was unwrapping something sacred. His fingers traced every curve, every scar, every secret. He kissed my thighs like they held answers. I felt myself melt under him, open in ways I hadn’t known I could.

He kissed his way to my pussy, as if he had an assignment to discover the power within my body. He dug into my core with his mouth and fingers; it was a work of art. I had more orgasms this one night than I have had in years. I was lost in ecstasy!

Then he bent me over the table and fucked me doggy style. I love being fucked that way, so I responded to every thrust, and we came undone within minutes.

That night, I didn’t just feel pleasure; I felt seen.

And then came the third night.

I invited him before he could find me. I wanted him, not just his body, but the way he made me feel desired, daring, and alive. We didn’t rush. We bathed together first, warm water and soft laughter. He washed my hair, kissed my shoulders, and whispered things in Italian that made my skin shiver, even though I had no idea what they meant.

In bed, we explored slowly. He asked what I liked. I told him. He listened. My body responded like it had been waiting for this freedom, this abandon. I discovered things I hadn’t dared to ask for. I let him guide me, challenge me, worship me.

He fucked me in the corridor. He fucked me in the bath. We fucked on the bed, slower and then as though we were chasing time. It was rough and hot!

While watching the movie "365 Days: Part 1," I became so wet from one of the scenes that, without saying a word, I pulled off his shorts and sat over his hard on riding him in cowgirl position. I took it slow, driving him over the edge. He turned me around and continued fucking me against the wall. Harder, faster, driving me crazy!

It was electric. I moaned deeper. I let myself be wild.

By the time I stood alone on my balcony again, watching the moon dip into the sea, I didn’t feel guilty.

I felt reborn.