One night about eight years ago, when I was separated from my then-husband and living in the same small, one-stoplight town as my dad (and sister, cousins, uncles, aunts), I went to the bar, as I'm inclined to do, and was having great conversation about Europe and various museums with a guy, Greg.
Greg and I sat in his truck after the bar closed, waiting for my ride, and proceded to do some light making out. I had all my clothes on, as did he, but it was just a nice way to end the evening, kind of like saying "thanks for the good conversation", when his wife pulled up behind us. Greg freaked out, made me duck down in the seat, peeled out of the parking lot, and led her on a high speed chase.
I heard later that he claimed to have an alcohol problem and volunteered for some treatment, since he obviously would never make such poor life choices if he had been sober. My guess is he was mostly upset about getting caught, but I continued on with my life, moved a couple dozen more times, and never thought about the incident again.
My sister went to Atlanta to spend the weekend with this great guy from high school she's always had a crush on who is now a pilot for Delta Airlines. They got along famously. She asked if it was difficult staying faithful to a girlfriend, since pilots have plenty of opportunities to cheat. He said he wasn't like that, ever since the traumatic experience in high school when his parents almost got divorced over some girl and a bizarre high speed chase. Greg, Jr.
Gulp. Let's just hope he didn't get any names.