One warm summer night, a guy hit me up on Scruff. He was staying at the Best Western around the corner from where I lived, and he invited me over for a late-night visit.
He was cute, clean-cut, with a welcoming smile - a (former) Mormon who was now stationed at a military facility down the coast.
The guy was in town showing his parents around, who were in the next room. We chatted for a bit, but before we got physical, he stepped out of the room to make sure his parents' lights were out. They were.
He was out to his military buddies, but not to his family.
So we got our rocks off, and we didn't even make much noise in the process. (I guess Mormons know how to keep quiet.)
After the fun, we said our goodbyes and even promised to keep in touch. As he stepped into the shower, I exited and quietly shut the door.
Outside on the walkway, a woman leaned against the balcony, smoking a cigarette. She gave me a curious look as I made my way down the stairs.
By the time I reached the ground level, I realized the woman had to be his mother, as the door on the other side of his room led to a janitor's closet.
I had to walk with this realization down the entire length of the hotel in order to get back to the street - directly in her line of sight.