Some years ago I flew to LA to see my bf of 7 years (with whom I'd broken up 9 months previously but remained very close to) to tell him that I'd fallen in love with someone else; I felt he ought to hear it from me personally before he heard it from one of our friends. So I'm trying to get to the point that evening and he's trying to initiate sex (which we were very good at together) and I'm feeling guilty about it but seeing it as goodbye sex when I experience the first and only earthquake I've ever been in. He screams "Get in a doorway!" and I run to the first one I see and brace myself for what seems like hours only to hear him bust out laughing because I'm standing naked with a massive hardon in the door to his balcony where half his neighbors are also standing. I started laughing too and said "I guess you can still make the earth move" and luckily, that ended that.
The next morning, he wanted to go for a drive so we got in the car and suddenly we were at LAX. When I asked what we were doing there he said "Never mind" and before I knew it, he pulled my bags and his out of the trunk and we were on a plane for Cabo San Lucas where he'd booked an amazing suite at an absolutely stunning resort for the remaining 5 days I was to be there. It turned out, of course, that he knew exactly why I was there and he was planning to convince me that I was just having a fling and we needed to get back together. Trust me, we didn't.
It was a mad, sad, lovely gesture, but doomed. It was 5 days of wistful tristesse, beautiful but draining. I was trying all the time to run back to the room to call my boyfriend to reassure him without hurting Blaine's feelings and yet constantly feeling like I was cheating on them both (there was no sex in Mexico).
Anyway, I'll always remember him for that. And five years later, when he became sick, he moved back to NY and I took care of him until he died.