I slept with a stranger when I was 62… and the next morning, the truth left me shaken.

As I watched people come and go, I noticed a man walking toward me. He looked to be in his early forties, with a few strands of gray in his hair and a calm, thoughtful expression. He smiled and asked politely,
“May I buy you another drink?”

I laughed and replied lightly,
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’ — I’m not used to it.”

Our conversation flowed effortlessly, as if we had known each other forever. He told me he was a photographer, just back from a long trip. I spoke of my youth and the journeys I had once dreamed of taking but never did. Perhaps it was the wine, or the way he looked at me, but I felt an unfamiliar pull — a warmth I hadn’t known in years.

That night, I got drunk, so he took me to a hotel. For the first time in so long, I felt the comfort of another person’s arms, the quiet security of being held. In the dim light, we didn’t speak much; I fell asleep without realizing it.

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