Now why'd I go and give away my underwear?

Dear Cary,

I recently did some traveling, where I met one of the most amazing people ever to stumble into my life. It was a complete coincidence, one of those romantic, impossible stories that make you catch your breath. I was traveling with a companion, and when we met these two free-spirited and generous young men, I informed them quickly and cheerfully that I had a fiancé at home. I led no one on, in any way whatsoever. To make a long story short, we ended the night rather late, and had to spend the night camped out at their impossibly beautiful house, rugged, close to nature, built from scratch. My new friend, let's call him K, was sincere, authentic, adventurous -- everything I ever wanted to be when I thought I could "live deep and suck the marrow of life" as Henry David Thoreau suggested. I told K that my intent was to stay true to my man at home, but he pleaded with me with the most beseeching green eyes to let him hold me, to which I consented, because it seemed merciful to a man so starved for love (and he was!). He then began to masturbate beside me, and later, he asked me for my underwear as a sort of a sensual souvenir.

No, of course I didn't give him my underwear (but I did!). That would be slutty (and it was!), and would betray the man I love most (I do, really, and he's much sweeter, smarter and, let's be honest, angelically beautiful than this fellow). Why did I do this? --