A memorable story.

Her face was against the wall and she was getting plowed from behind. She didn't know what was happening but she was incredibly turned on. Was she in a bathroom? She grunted with effort as she thrust herself backward against a rock-hard cock. Wait, whose cock even was it?

Sam was starting to get lonely.

He'd spent half his life pursuing his crackpot dream, and it would have been a major scientific breakthrough if he hadn't used it. He didn't care about fame, though. Quite the opposite. He had managed to completely wipe himself from the collective memories of the world and had become something between a god and a ghost in the process.

He motioned to the bartender, indicating his empty glass. The bartender came over, confusion evident on her face. He ordered a bourbon neat and she thought for a moment.

"Sure. Uh, name on the tab?"

He gave her the third fake name of the night and told her he wanted the well stuff. He knew better than to ask for anything she'd need to turn around to get. She grabbed the whiskey and refilled his glass. He smiled gratefully and raised it to his lips as she turned to enter it into the POS system. By the time her fingers were on the touchscreen, though, she was frowning. Sam never got tired of that look of disorientation and confusion, already feeling his arousal grow.

He was lonely, though. He had slept with dozens of beautiful women, dined on the finest food money could by, and experienced all of the pleasures of the world just like his fantasies. And now, against all odds, he was fucking lonely.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the woman who sat next to him until she ordered a drink. He turned to face her and she smiled. She was pretty and had an easy grace and friendly smile. She offered her hand. "Becky," she said warmly.

He eyed her skeptically, then shook her hand. "Sam."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So, what you brings you to the bar tonight, Sam?"