It was a mid-January night complete with a brutal cold snap straight from the Arctic hovering over the country for what seemed like an eternity. Back in October, Autumn went from “late Summer” to “Winter Wonderland” almost overnight and relentlessly stayed that way. Adding insult to injury, we were at end of a round of snow that was nearly gone, but expectations of the next storm were quickly on its heels.

Where nearly all of my friends either occupied with their own relationships, marriages or flings, and others staying in from the miserably chilly conditions, I was marching out of a parking garage toward a town center. I wasn’t enthusiastic about it since the email replies I received from her via the dating site were barely a few words each. She said in her profile that she was a Russian expat and it seemed as though her grasp of English was tenuous at best. Living in the DC area, you expect and get accustomed to people from all over the world, and often clear communication can be a frustrating obstacle. I had date with women from outside of the U.S. whose language skills made things problematic (or in their defense, my not knowing enough of their language…fair’s fair…).

She looked exactly as her pictures – thin, blonde, a certain semi-exotic, enigmatic European air about her. Altogether, she was attractive and polite, but her English was nearly non-existent, and the exchanges between us were short, clumsy or accompanied by far too many awkward silences. From what we managed to talk about, she was a divorced mother of one and a bit on the picky side about who she spent time with (i.e., and my “spidey-sense” told me that I wasn’t making the cut). As the date wound down, we agreed that between having very little in common and the chemistry not happening, it was time to call it a night, and we parted ways amicably.

The night was still young, and not wanting to go home just yet, I wandered around the town center looking for something else to do. The movie theater wasn’t showing anything particularly interesting or fun, and the stores were shutting down for the evening. Resigned to a quiet night of catching up on whatever was saved on my DVR (i.e., “Netflix and chill” – emphasis on the “Netflix”), I bundled up and walked back into the parking garage.

Just a few yards down from my car, a gold Jaguar pulled into a space. The music inside was blaring loud enough that I could hear it even with the windows rolled up. Something from the 80s by the sound of it – Van Halen? The door opened and a slim, brown-haired woman in an expensive blue dress and overcoat, and maybe five years older stumbled out, cell phone in hand. Her stiletto heels made her an inch or two taller than I.

“Hey – oh gosh!” she exclaimed nearly falling down while getting out of the car – I’m not sure she knew how to wear stiletto heels. “Do you know if they charge for parking here?”

“No, they don’t, it’s free. You’re fine.” I replied back, hitting the button on the fob to unlock my SUV.

“Nice car!” She nearly yelled as she walked toward me (come on, it wasn’t THAT nice). “Hey, why are you headed home so soon?”

I could tell from the gentle slur in her voice and slightly off-kilter walk that she was at the very least buzzed. As she walked closer, I could smell the wine on her breath and see around her open car door the trademark red Solo cup that probably still had wine in it.

My instincts said to go home. On the other hand…curiosity has killed its share of cats in my life.

A few minutes of conversation covered my evening’s events, as well as finding out that her name was “Stacey” (not her real name) and she was stood up on a date (I wasn’t entirely buying that story). Common sense said to leave, but her infectious laugh, expensive perfume and exuberant personality were hard to resist. And fuck it, drive-thru and TV were far less appealing.

The town center had its share of restaurants and bars to choose from, and we picked one at random. The bitter cold kept a lot of people in, so there was no shortage of open bar tables to snag. As we settled at one, Stacey pulled off her coat, revealing the rest of her low-cut dress. Since she was slim, her breasts weren’t very big, but between her push-up bra and low neckline it all worked. As we downed a few drinks, she gushed about her own life, giving me little-to-no chance to respond or be more involved in the conversation. I was nursing a Jack Daniels on the rocks, she slurped down multiple glasses of white wine.

Not feeling much energy at this bar, we bounced to another one with a bit more activity. At this point, I managed to get my hands on some water and made her drink some – I was a little concerned that she was past drunk and heading into alcohol poisoning. The place had a DJ and small dance floor, and apparently Stacey enjoyed bopping around to the beat. She coaxed me onto the dance floor once or twice, but I’m not much a dancer, so she was twisting and turning next to my “white man’s arms at his sides jump.” Another round or two in, some more dancing, and Stacey was all smiles and taking selfies. By this time, it was getting late and I settled the check after agreeing to one more jaunt onto the dance floor. We were about to leave when a slow song played and she wanted to dance “with someone’s arms around me.” Swaying back and forth in and out of time to the music, she laid her head on my chest and closed her eyes.

Braving the cold night air once more, we walked back the parking garage. Stacey was pretty much sloppy drunk at this point, and her behind the wheel was an incredibly bad idea. I asked and she confirmed that she lived nearby. The town center boasted a hotel and conference center, and I convinced Stacey to walk off the drinks a bit, leading her to the hotel. Out front, a line of taxis waited and I convinced her to take one home. After a few minutes of drunken insistence that she was fine (clearly wasn’t), she acquiesced. Standing by a cab, I gave her my cell number and a twenty-dollar bill with instructions to text me when she was home. We hugged and she managed to get a surprise kiss in before jumping into the car with her playful laugh.

Stacey texted me well after I was home, confirming that she was home safe. That was also the only and last text I received from her.

The frigid Winter turned into bright Spring, and Spring into a ridiculously hot Summer. Post-Fourth of July “half price/everything must go” fireworks sales and woefully overwhelmed public pools were now the norm. A heavy workload was a necessary, but not-so-pleasant distraction from being single, though I still caught myself surfing the online dating sites and Craigslist personal ads for anyone interesting. As luck would have it, I responded to an innocuous “Woman Seeking Man” CL post and soon was engaged in a nicely distracting exchange with someone. As we chit chatted via emails and then instant messaging (her email address and chat ID didn’t say much of who she really was), little details about her life, work and anecdotes were beginning to sound vaguely familiar.

I asked a few strategically-probing questions and realized that she was Stacey.

Surprisingly, Stacey didn’t seem fazed by the awkwardness of us “bumping” into one another again. She admitted that our chance meeting months ago was during a fairly low point (obviously) and that she remembered bits and pieces about me. Having resolved that there was not much to hope for with someone as emotionally distraught as her, I kept the conversation polite but uncommitted. Truth be told, I expected any possible interest from her to drop and she to move on. A few days later, she emailed me asking if I was up for a date. A bit surprised and a little cautious, I agreed. It had been a while since my last date with anyone (by choice) and my only expectation with her was a few laughs and conversation.

I tossed out a few suggestions for places to meet/things to do, but she insisted on making up for her drunken night out with something a bit more subdued – dinner at her place. As a matter of habit, my sensibilities usually directed me to not invite someone to my place or for me to go to theirs until several dates into the would-be relationship, but common sense was yet again trumped by curiosity…again, so I accepted her offer.

That Friday evening was hot and muggy – the kind of oppressive Summer night that never got below eighty degrees and left any clothing feeling like it was pasted on. I knocked on her condo door right on time, chilled and clammy bottle of wine in hand. She opened the door with a smile on her face and the smell of something delicious cooking. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I tried to dress somewhere between casual/comfortable and “not trying too hard” – a pair of my nicer jeans and dressier t-shirt. Stacey was bare foot in a baseball jersey and tight, leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination running shorts that defined her perfectly shaped, pert ass and betrayed the slightest hint of the string thong underneath. Her hair was dyed blonde with the roots beginning to show, and just enough make up on to look composed but not for a night out on the town. Her jersey was unbuttoned just enough to offer the opportunistic peek at her black lace bra from time to time.

Her condo was strangely laid out, with an upstairs den looking over the common area (kitchen/dinning/living room). The place was decked out with furniture, tchotchkes and pictures of friends, family and her daughter that warmed up the place, but a few odd pieces of clothing strewn about and a somewhat discernable layer of dust implied a bit of neglect. Peeking into the kitchen gave away a growing pile of dishes, cups and pans in the sink, and a garbage can that was one or two fast food containers away from not fully closing anymore. A haphazard collection of spent wine and assorted liquor bottles surrounded the can like an ancient castles battlements.

We polished off the bottle of wine I brought while dinner finished cooking, and then went through another while eating. We recollected about the night we met and the past few months since. Stacey’s divorce was a bitter one with a ex-husband who made A LOT more money and seemed a bit domineering/controlling. The custody battle over their daughter had taken a lot out of her, hence her depression when we met (and I suspect was lingering around a bit). She admitted that the custody battle wasn’t quite over (bingo), but things had improved enough that they were sharing their daughter more freely than before. I tried not reading too much into this, but I had the impression that her emotional issues were a contributing factor to her predicament.

After dinner involved sitting on the couch, me on one end and her curled up at the other, and going through a third bottle of sweeter dessert wine, which took a while to go through given our being two bottles in already. Her jersey was slightly too big for her, so between it and her legs underneath, it looked as if that’s all she had on. Between the alcohol and dim lighting, she was very cute. The TV was on but muted, occasionally distracting us with whatever happened to be on at the time…sometimes reruns of a sitcom or episodes of a low-budget dating reality show.

Despite her obvious emotional insecurities, Stacey seemed more grounded than when I first met her, and a bit more direct with her flirting. She made a few somewhat-suggestive comments and jokes while on the couch, and playfully traced the edge of her jersey with her fingers, sometimes showing off a bit more of her perfectly framed collarbones and sternum. As the conversation went on, we were both making more innuendo-laden comments, and the sometime flash of her bra line had already begun to cause a rise in my pants. Trying to test what was going on between us, I began excusing myself saying it was getting late and not wanting to overstay my welcome, but Stacey insisted she was enjoying herself and slid – almost aggressively – next to me. Sitting closer, I could see into her blue/grey eyes with just a hint of green, and a dance of faint freckles across her nose and cheeks. The same freckles laced her bustline and remembered them from the dress she wore back in January.

The TV channel was showing an old episode of Star Trek, which Stacey admitted she was a closet fan of. A bit surprised since she didn’t strike me as such, we compared favorite episodes while sometimes eyeing the TV.

I turned back to her as she grabbed my neck and shoved her tongue into my mouth, pressing hard against me. Her kissing style wasn’t very sophisticated – mainly sticking her tongue in and me working around it. I was impressed by her somehow unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, even barely aware of it until I felt her hand rub my now engorged cock. By contrast, I took the liberty of cupping my hand over one of her breasts over her jersey. She aggressively traced my ear and stuck her tongue in it and I took turns kissing down her neck. After one or two passes, I was emboldened enough to go below her neck and plant light kisses along her now exposed chest (at this point, she had unbuttoned her jersey).

Stacey leaned back on the couch with me on top. She pulled my jeans down enough to expose my briefs and grab my ass as I kissed her chest, her jersey now fully open and draping around her. Her sheer bra showed off her breasts, small and perfectly shaped mounds with erect nipples begging for attention. I kissed down to her cleavage, rubbing myself against her crotch. I nudged her bra down a bit with my chin and slid my hand inside one cup. Stacey gave out the slightest of moans while I felt her breast in my hand, though it felt oddly strange – her breast didn’t feel like other ones (firm?) or than I imagined, and I swore I felt something underneath the skin (a seam?). Intrigued more than turned off, I kissed, licked and sucked on her opposite breast and nipple as her moans encouraged me on.

We continued making out and grinding against one another for some time. I opted a few times for trying to make my way past her breasts, but she gently coaxed me into staying where I was. During a break from kissing, laying side-to-side, her hand gently laying over my cock (still in my briefs), she eventually rolled over and stood up. She took my hand, drawing me up and led me down the hallway to her bedroom.

Standing behind her next to the four-poster bed, I wrapped my arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. Stacey backed her firm ass against my crotch, my cock perfectly embedded in the middle, rubbing back and forth and getting me even more turned on. I slid my hands up to her chest, brazenly pushing her bra up so I could feel them. Both felt the same – and I lingered there, feeling them. A few minutes of this and she must’ve noticed my fascination.

“I have a confession,” she purred, “Do you mind implants?”

“I never met someone with them.”

“I got them a year ago,” she added, letting her jersey fall off and onto the floor, then pulling her bra off.

Stacey hopped onto her bed while I kicked off my jeans and yanked my t-shirt over my head and shoulders. I laid down next to her, where we resumed making out, but with more direct access to each other’s naked bodies. Again, I opted to make my way down past her bust, but she continued to keep me to everything above her waist. We laid there on a break, her hand comfortably holding my manhood, when she suddenly partially got up and then laid her arm across my stomach with her back to my face.

She turned her head back to me, “Sorry…I’m one of those rare ones that prefers to give rather than receive.”

With that, I felt her pull off my briefs and she leaned down. I closed my eyes as I felt her take me into her mouth. Her style wasn’t so much adept as it was gentle and had a way of lulling me into a more relaxed state. Her head shifted back and forth in a rhythmic pattern, with a strong and direct pull on my cock. I felt her tongue stroking me inside her mouth, her hand playfully holding and massaging my balls. I felt her breasts brushing and heaving against my hip and slid a hand down her panties to feel her very wet clit from behind. As Stacey increased her attention to my cock, I was sliding my fingers in and out of her, matching her own rhythm.

After what felt like a lifetime of her sucking on me, she got up and pulled her panties off. She pulled out a condom and handed it to me. The wrapper looked odd.

“It’s a Japanese brand,” she said. “They make the best condoms. They make the best everything for sex.”

She snatched the wrapper and tore it open. Wasting no time, she rolled it onto my cock and pulled me on top of her. I shoved my cock into her and immediately started back and forth in earnest, drawing out a gasp of both surprise and arousal from her. She wrapped her legs around me, her feet crisscrossed behind my waist as I moved in and out. We kissed and nuzzled as I fucked her, then switched to my getting up, hanging above her. I looked down at her breasts that barely moved from the implants and her sleek, toned stomach. I finally noticed that she had the barest of neatly trimmed runways above her pussy and loved seeking my cock sliding in and out of her. Eventually Stacey turned over for doggie style as I leaned over her, grabbing her breasts from behind. As we got hotter and heavier, I pulled her upright still holding her breasts, she rode in my lap as we fucked harder and faster.

Stacey must’ve noticed that I was about ready to cum. She pulled off of me and laid down on her back, rubbing and fingering her pussy. “Cum on me” she asked.

I pulled off the condom and stroked myself over her, feeling the orgasm close. Soon enough I stroked fiercely as I came hard, shooting my cum all over her beautifully flat stomach, where she arched her own back as she brought on her own orgasm while rubbing her clit and fingering her pussy. I stood on my knees over her, feeling the last few jolts of orgasm as I finished, then rubbed my cock in my cum on her stomach. We laid next to each other recovering for a while, listening to each other’s breathing slow down. She turned to me and suggested getting something from the bathroom to clean each other up. I returned with a warm and wet towel and loving wiped her stomach and my cock to clean us up. Then we cuddled until falling asleep.

I woke up early, with twilight barely illuminating the room. Stacey laid next to me on her back, her chest and stomach gently lifting and rising as she still slept. I slid my hand down her stomach, passing my fingers through her small patch of hair. As I traced a fingertip across her clit, her breathing skipped a moment and became shorter as I felt the lips of her pussy before sliding them in part way. Slowly and carefully, I drew the sheet off of her and spread her legs apart. I kissed down her stomach and to her crotch, then slid my tongue onto her warm pussy. She moaned slightly as I began licking around just inside of her, letting the tip of my tongue lead me around her lovely pussy. Soon enough I was deep into eating her out, knowing she was awake and enjoying herself as one hand brushed and lightly held my head. I looked up to see her eyes still closed as she slid in and sucked on two of her fingers into her mouth. Her moans became gasps and louder exclamations as began to climax. I furiously licked and probed her with my tongue as she gyrated with me. She yelled out loud as she came, and I pulled my head away just in time as she squirted all over my chest and her bed.

She finally recovered and seemed to almost hide under the sheet from me. I laid there next to her, still wet from her orgasm.

“That’s why I prefer to go down instead of the guy,” she said sheepishly. “Most guys I’ve been with are turned off by that.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, “But I’ll need to borrow your shower.”

After taking time to relax more and air dry a bit, we got up and partially dressed (i.e., t-shirts and undies), then she brewed some coffee. We chit chatted and playfully touched one another over coffee in the living room. Soon enough it was late morning and I felt it was time to make my exit. Stacey insisted on my using her shower, so I disrobed and hopped in. I had barely begun rinsing off when I saw the shower curtain pull back and Stacey joined me. Without a word, she dropped down to he knees and took my cock, still a little engorged into her mouth and sucked on me that rivaled last night’s performance. The warm water covering us felt wonderful as she quickly drew me to orgasm, this time stroking me off as I came on her chest and stomach.

After cleaning up, drying off and dressing, we said our goodbyes and both headed out. Me home and her to go pick up her daughter.

We stayed in touch the rest of that Summer and into the Fall. Sometimes meeting for drinks or visiting each other at home for a sort of “friends with benefits” arrangement. Stacey’s custody battle picked up again as her ex made some harsh demands, and she cut things off between us to focus on that priority. I still receive the occasional text or email from her, but she relocated closer to her family in the south, so I haven’t seen her since those months of fun.