The 2010s were a chapter of unrestrained decadence and debauchery in my life. After a relationship that ended in spectacular fashion, I was single in New York City—a place that offers everything and asks only that you have the nerve to take what you want. I was decent-looking, well-mannered, gainfully employed, and just pervy enough to charm women way out of my league. For most of my 30s, I was lucky enough to sleep with more than my fair share of beautiful women who walked the streets of this city.

This is a story about Amanda, a one-night stand after a work-related thing, the kind of story that feels like it only happens in the movies.

That night in question was a beautiful fall evening, the best time of year in the city. The tourists were mostly gone, and the heavy coats hadn’t made their appearance yet. In my opinion, everyone looks their best in the fall.

That night, I found myself in a gilded cage—The Friar’s Club, an old New York institution steeped in stale tradition and old money that hadn’t worked a day in its life. The air was thick with cheap champagne and even cheaper hors d’oeuvres, the kind passed off to underlings invited solely to inflate attendance and egos. The event was one of those half-hearted business charades where everyone shook hands while keeping one eye on the room for someone more important to impress and the other on the bar. I played along, smiling at strangers and engaging in small talk that meant absolutely nothing.

Eventually, I wandered into the main room, where the guest of honor—my boss’s boss’s boss—was being roasted by a collection of industry titans, men well past their prime who had long since traded their talents for cushy titles and diminishing relevance. In case you’re wondering, no, they weren’t funny.

I sat down with a few old classmates, the kind you only see at events like this. We traded half-hearted pleasantries while I nursed my drink and my disdain. Then I saw her, a blonde, sitting alone, her cocktail dress hugging her in all the right ways, a necklace that caught the light a little too well. Our eyes met, and something sparked between us. But she was too far away, and the forced laughter of the room drowned out any of my impulse to act.

When it was finally over, the crowd scattered like startled pigeons. That fourth drink (or was it the fifth?) had taken its toll, and I dashed to the restroom. On my way out, my acquaintances were gone, leaving me free to do as I wished. That’s when I saw her—phone in hand, tears slipping down her cheeks near the ladies’ room. Her boss, who had sent her here from some flyover state, had just ripped her a new one for not “networking” hard enough (whatever the fuck that means). She looked like the world had folded her in half and left her there. I don’t remember what I said, but I wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb and asked her to grab a drink with me.

We ended up at some nearby bar. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the drinks were cold. She had this raspy voice that just drew you in. We talked about our jobs, why she came to NYC, how she got invited to the event, the kind of banter that fills the air and keeps things from tipping too deep. One drink turned into another, and another turned into a suggestion—her hotel bar, her treat, for being a kind stranger. I played along, but only on the condition that I got the next round.

The hotel was one of those places trying far too hard to be hip, more nightclub than a restful sanctuary. The bar was closing soon, so we ordered quickly. We continued to flirt, her raspy voice carrying on its relentless and alluring assault on my senses. The night was going well, and my thoughts were already racing ahead to the moment I’d peel that cocktail dress off her and explore every inch of her body.

But that’s when things got a little weird. After I paid, the mood shifted. I asked about her room, and she froze. “I’m not sure about this,” she muttered before bolting like a startled deer.

Instinct, or perhaps the countless drinks I’d already had that night, told me to follow. I hurried after her, catching her at the elevator just as the doors were about to close. We didn’t say a word to each other. Something shifted during that ride up. We didn’t say a word to each other, but her doubt seemed to have faded, replaced by the same reckless energy that had brought her this far. We got out on her floor and I just followed her to her room, admiring the ass as she led the way.

Her room was dim, the kind of place built for brief escapes. The moment the door shut, all pretense of control went out the window. We fell into each other, with urgency and want. We started making out like teenagers at the end of prom night, reckless and unthinking. The kiss was passionate and intense. My hands found its way to the small of her back, pulling her closer, erasing the space between us entirely. I could feel the slight tremble in her fingers, whether from nerves or anticipation, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care. I finally got to taste her—whiskey and something faintly sweet—and feel the softness of her skin under my palms.

I unzipped her from behind, and her dress fell from her shoulders effortlessly onto the floor in a silent surrender. My shirt didn’t last much longer and quickly joined hers. I had been waiting all night to experience her body. It was a contradiction in all the best ways, tight and toned but soft where it mattered. She had small breasts and a flat stomach; she probably taught yoga on weekends or something like that. I kissed her everywhere, starting at her lips, trailing down her neck to her collarbone, then to her perky breasts, and finally took her nipples between my lips while my hands roamed freely over her body.

Her panties were off next. I slipped my hands onto her firm ass, pulling the waistband away from her hips and letting them slide down to her ankles. That’s when she took control. She kicked her panties off and disappeared into the dimly lit room, dropping to her knees with a confidence that left me breathless. She pulled my boxers down, freeing my cock, which sprang out after being trapped and teased all evening.

She looked up at me, her eyes smoldering in the faint light, and without a word, took me into her mouth. I stood there, momentarily catching a glimpse of us in the bathroom mirror. Her head bobbed back and forth, my cock disappearing into the warm, wet heat of her mouth.

“Umm… I love your cock,” she said in that raspy voice that drove me wild. I placed my hand behind her head, gently grabbing a fistful of her hair as she continued to suck me, her movements deliberate and intoxicating, each moment edging me closer to losing all control.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled her lips off me, lifting her effortlessly and tossing her onto the bed with a hunger I could no longer contain. I climbed over her, kissing her deeply again, tasting her and a hint of myself on her lips. My hand instinctively found its way between her legs, discovering her wetness. That’s when I noticed it. She had a full bush.

But it wasn’t the unruly, wild kind. Her pubic hair was delicate, fine, and long, like a golden veil of soft blonde strands. It was unlike anything I had ever touched before or have ever encountered since. There was something intoxicatingly feminine about it, a texture that felt both unexpected and natural. I couldn’t stop myself from exploring, alternating between rubbing her clit, sliding my fingers into her wetness, and running them gently through the silky strands of her hair. Every movement felt like discovering something raw, intimate, and uniquely her.

When the time came, I asked if she had any condoms. “No, just don’t cum inside me,” she said, in her raspy voice. That was all the permission I needed. I obliged, pushing myself all the way inside her while pulling her body closer to mine. She was tight, warm, and inviting, all at once. She had been waiting for this moment as much as I had and her body showed it. It took no effort at all to bury myself fully inside her. Her legs spread wide, welcoming me as I thrust in and out of her. Our eyes stayed shut, as if closing them would heighten the sensations, her tongue in my mouth, my cock deep inside the wet heat of her bare pussy.

We continued like this before it was time to change position. In one swift motion, I flipped her over, and she climbed on top without hesitation. She rode me with an urgency, her movements desperate, like she was chasing something just out of reach. My cock slid in and out of her, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, brushing against my bare chest with every rise and fall. My hands gripped her waist tightly, guiding her as she rocked against me, her rhythm growing faster, more frantic.

Finally, she gasped, her breath hitching as her body tensed. She screamed softly into my chest, the sound muffled but intense. I felt her shiver as she came, her warmth flooding over my still-hard cock buried deep inside her. Her breath was hot against my skin, her body trembling as her climax subsided. I held her tightly, waiting for my own release, still lost in the intensity of the moment.

I laid her gently on her back and slid into her again with ease. I held her close, my chest against hers, as I fuck her deeply, each thrust drawing me closer to the edge. The tension in my body built quickly, and within a few more strokes, I was there… on the brink of release.

Summoning what little self-control I had left, I pulled out just in time. When I came, it was as though I’d let go of a rope I’d been clinging to for too long, leaving me breathless. My cum spilled onto her belly, and shot as far up as her small, perky breasts. But most of it, deliberately, I aimed for her fine golden pubes, watching as it tangled there, glistening and mixing it in.

Spent, I collapsed beside her, catching my breath as the moment lingered between us in the dimly lit room as we both fell asleep after a long night.

Morning found us tangled in sheets that smelled of sweat and carried the sobering thought of, “Did that really happen?” Still, we fucked again, slower this time, as though we had something to prove. We kissed, and then I climbed on top of her, entering her again, finding her just as wet as she was last night. The urgency of the night before was gone, replaced by deliberate movements that felt like savoring the last bite of something forbidden. I came outside her pussy again before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

It was 5:30am, and the weight of reality crept back in. I needed to get home, shower, and go to work. Hastily, I got dressed and mumbled a goodbye. She stayed naked, sitting up and looking at her already-open laptop, the pale blue haze of the screen lighting up her tits as she watched me silently, waiting for me to get the fuck out.

As I reached for the door, I caught one last glimpse of her naked body, lit by the cold glow of her MacBook Air. Her figure was half-buried in the rumpled sheets, but her tits were fully exposed, bathed in that pale, clinical light. It was a fleeting moment, yet one that would remain forever imprinted in my memory.

I walked out into the city, feeling like I’d lived someone else’s life for a night, took it for a spin in a room that wasn’t mine.