It’s a bit of a stretch to consider Lisa a “girlfriend.” But less than twenty-four hours with her left a lifelong impression. 

I flew into Miami to go to the wedding of some old friends. I had introduced the couple a decade earlier and they were finally getting hitched. I arrived the day before the nuptials and went to the rehearsal dinner soon after my arrival. There I met Lisa. Or that’s where I thought I met Lisa. She came up to me as if we were old friends, called me by name, and leaned in for a kiss. She must have read the blend of shock and confusion on my face. 

“You don’t remember me?” she asked with disbelief. I did not.  Which was remarkable for more than one reason. First, she was beautiful. Long dark hair, the fine features of a model, pale blue eyes, tall, fit. Second, I rarely forgot even the most passing of female acquaintances.  Hell, to this day I remember the face and smile of a woman with whom I shared six seconds of eye contact on a subway train thirty years ago. And third, Lisa indicated that we had met more than once and had extended conversations. She went so far as to describe a party at our mutual friend Sarah’s apartment. She told me what I was wearing. She repeated a joke I had told.  I remembered the party. I remembered nothing of her.  It was bizarre; almost frightening. 

I ran to Sarah thinking that this gorgeous woman was gas-lighting me. Sarah confirmed that Lisa and I had indeed met and that she even had a bit of a crush on me. “Well, maybe one of you should have let me know!” I complained. 

I went back to my motel confused but intrigued. The next day I went to the ceremony. I was excited for my friends, a little nervous about a reading I had to do, and quite distracted at the prospect of seeing Lisa.  And see her I did. A lot of her. She walked down the aisle to the bride’s side and every eye in the chapel was on her. She was in a full-length silver evening gown. It was like a cross between a Grecian toga and a slip. If Sarah herself wasn’t so beautiful in her own stunning wedding dress, Lisa would have committed the sin of upstaging the bride.

At the reception she asked me to dance. She pulled me close and encouraged my hand to hold her low. The plunging back of the dress meant my hand rested directly against the skin of the flute of her lower back. Her nipples poked prominently through the silk that barely covered her cleavage. 

She told me how she had found the dress in a secondhand shop in Vegas.  She mentioned someone’s name that I did not recognize. “Oh yes, she designed many of the dresses worn by Bacall, Rita Hayworth, all of them!” Lisa elaborated. I followed along amidst the distraction of her body against me, while trying not to step on her high-heeled sandal-clad toes.  

“This dress makes me feel so damn sexy,” she went on.  “It’s like I’m out here naked in front of everyone, but somehow sexier than that.”  I understood exactly what she meant. She was making me crazy. I indecently pressed my hard-on against her belly. She indecently pressed back. I had a flash of déjà vu.  Maybe I did remember her. It could not have felt more like a dream.  We finished a song and headed over to the bar. 

On the way, Lisa dropped a bomb. “Oh, hey, this is my husband,” she said, introducing me to a perfectly nice and handsome guy.  That felt odd, but it got odder fast as she blatantly continued to flirt with me in front of him. She asked what he was doing after the party and what his schedule was for the following day — making it clear that she would have her own agenda. I was completely thrown. I was turned-on to the point of frenzy, but felt reticent at the same time.  The poor guy nodded along, uncomfortably.  I kept my mouth shut and ordered drinks.  I delivered champagne for the three of us, but only Lisa was left.  Lisa pulled me back onto the dance floor and between swirls, I saw her husband slump out the door. 

The reception wound down.  I gave my final congratulations to the happy couple, shook hands with the parents and the best man, and eyed the door.  Lisa was close on my heels. “So, hey, Andrew left. You mind giving me a ride home?” Lisa asked. Or, those were the words she spoke. Everything in her voice and manner said, “Want to take me to bed?”  I never bothered to clarify.  I grabbed a bottle of champagne from behind the bar, walked out with her on my arm to my rental car, and drove straight to my motel.  

I poured us each a glass of bubbly in the sad plastic courtesy glasses provided by the motel.  Lisa sat on the TV stand/dresser.  Her long lovely legs were on display as they pierced the slit of the gown. The three-inch heels of her strappy sandals hung a foot above the carpet.  I stood awkwardly, leaning against the door. We didn’t say a lot.  There was a lot of eye contact with the occasional drunken, spontaneous giggle.  What were we waiting for? 

Lisa chugged the last of her champagne, hopped off the dresser, and marched over to pin me against the door. We kissed deeply.  She moaned into my mouth. She started to slip the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, but I stopped her with another kiss. 

“Wait,” I said, “I want to be naked first.”  I didn’t want the magic of that dress to end just yet. Lisa lay across the bed.  She smiled as I stripped slowly out of my suit. Jacket. Shoes. Socks. Tie. Shirt. Shorts. I was pretty fit then. It was probably a decent show. I stretched my naked body over her, dragging first my lips, then my fingers, then my cock over the smooth satin of her dress and the firm flesh underneath. I held her to me, recovering the feeling of the dance floor.

After an unknown number of minutes of necking and fondling, I fed my pre-cum covered cock to Lisa as I stood beside the bed. The gown was now around her waist. I cradled her face and breasts as I moved gently between her lips. Her lovely long fingers curled around my hamstrings.  And then without warning … I came. It shocked me. But suddenly I was beyond the point of control and filling her mouth with seed. Lisa swallowed hungrily.  I tilted her head to look at me. 

“Oh, wow. Sorry. You’ve made me too crazy.  That snuck up on me,” I apologized. 

“Mmmm. I liked it!” Lisa said with a smile, licking her lips. “Why would a girl suck cock if she didn’t want some cum?” she asked rhetorically but provocatively.

At last, I peeled the silver satin from her, removed her heels, and made love to her naked body. I knelt at the edge of the bed, Lisa’s legs over my shoulders, licking her pussy. She tasted sweeter than my girlfriend back home; I assumed it was the champagne and wedding cake.  She had a fresh bikini wax. Her mons was as smooth as the silk of her dress. She grabbed my head and directed me. 

“Give me your fingers. Yeah.  A little harder. Yeah,” she whispered, before undulating against my mouth and tongue in ever quicker movements. 

“Ahhhh … yeahhhhh,” she groaned as her thighs tightened around my ears before she lay back laughing. She covered her face with her hands and stretched her legs. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Fuck. I’m in trouble.”  But, thankfully, she showed no signs of wanting to stop. 

After a few minutes for her recovery, and the return of my erection, we fell into one another’s vigorous embrace once more. We fucked roughly and loudly. We made use of all the limited furnishings of the motel room.  The king-sized bed of course, but also the vanity sink and mirror, the open closet bar, the ledge of the window, and the wobbly leatherette side chair.  After a couple of rounds and some more champagne, we finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, well after two in the morning.  At seven, I rose nervously.  I had a ferocious champagne headache but was functional enough to fully digest that I had just fucked the daylights out of a married woman. I forced Lisa awake. I made her the worst cup of coffee in the world. She lay leaning against the headboard pillows, with the sheet wound around one gorgeous leg, otherwise comfortably naked in front of me. 

“You said you were going to be in trouble,” I said. “What do we do about that?”

“Oh,” she answered, “You know what?  It’s just a hassle, is all. He’ll be a little grumpy for a few days.  I’m not sure you want to hear this, but … this isn’t my first time doing this.  I’ve been good lately, but I had such a crush on you from back in the day.  I just … had to.”  

“I think I like hearing that,” I said. “I feel less guilty about this, now, actually. When do you have to be back?” I asked with an innuendo-laced smile. 

“Um,” Lisa said, glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table, “I think we’ve got a little time.”

We returned to trying to break the furniture. After knocking over a lamp, we finished on the floor. I lay on top of the pile of discarded top sheet and bedspread, with Lisa riding me cowgirl, alternately kissing me sweetly and digging her manicured nails into my chest.  She finished herself with her hand, staring down at me with a look of conquest. 

I drove her home about nine, dropping her in the alley behind her lovely, large house. My last sight of her was her walking barefoot through the wisteria-covered arbor of her back gate.  She carried her sparkly sandals. One of her spaghetti straps dangled from her left shoulder.  A few inches of silk gown dragged along the pavers of her pathway.  I could see the muscles of her lower back flex as she walked. I whistled a joking catcall. She glanced back over her shoulder at me for a second as she ran a hand through her long hair, then turned away from me forever.

I never saw or heard from her again. I’ll remember the feeling of my hand on the small of her back as we danced for the rest of my life.