A black bra hung from my bedside light,
lacy and racy- a 34C.
Nice size for a breast man, alright,
just wish I remembered who ravaged me.

Fuzzy notions of drunken contortion,
after hours of laughing and scotch.
A shapely figure of perfect proportion,
blood leaving my head for my crotch.

A sultry silhouette, in satin panties and heat,
pinned me and teased me to the brink.
Her hot whiskey breath on my neck smelled so sweet,
she rode me before I could think.

My muscles tightened and started to ripple,
she tossed her fine hair and moaned.
I raised my head and found a hard nipple,
she quivered and quaked and groaned.

We climaxed, collapsed, then quickly fell adrift,
that's the last thing I can recall.
Until waking up alone with testosterone's gift,
an erection standing proud and tall.

I raised the souvenir bra to my face,
and inhaled the scent of her skin.
Though faint and fine it hit me like mace,
I wanted her so badly again.

So, as any man would, I reached down,
taking matters into my own hand.
As I pleasured myself, I heard a sound,
was this more than a one-night stand?

She entered the room with a devilish grin,
wearing only my oversized shirt.
Am I dreaming, are we going to do this again-
what started as an innocent flirt?

She boldly asked if I was hard right now,
as she sauntered towards the bed.
She saw the bulging sheet and raised a brow,
We both laughed, nothing more to be said.

She lifted the covers up by my feet,
then eagerly crawled underneath.
And proceeded to deliver a sensual treat,
slow and slippery soft, as if without teeth.

As her pretty head bobbed my heart raced,
so sublime, I nearly shed a tear.
Then she paused and came up to me, face to face,
and said "Oh, by the way, my name's Leah."

Author Notes

A hazy, hungover man gets a welcome surprise from the lover he struggled to remember clearly from the night before.