Sudden sweet memories

As I grow older I tend to forget details of things I have done and been through in my life, but now and then, suddenly, certain pleasurable episodes return with absolute clarity, and every word and gesture, every innuendo and double-entendre is relived.
Just now I was watching a movie made in 1990 that played in the early fifties, in which I had the role of a conservative politician. The lady who played my wife was in real life the Dutch spouse of a well-known local professional. A svelte, chique, willowy blonde with a dazzling smile and a wicked sense of humor. We developed an instant liking for each other which for me made the otherwise tedious hours of waiting between scenes episodes to look forward to. 
But being the man I was at the time, I could not help starting to entertain ideas that were not so much related to the filming itself as more to that fictitious though convenient marital relationship between the two of us. So much that, after a few days of quasi-innocent flirting, during one of our off-stage banterings I suggested in a awkward attempt to be bold, that she think about doing something about her wifely duties to me, her temporary husband, instead of treating me as just another co-star and buddy to trade jokes with.
“Are you trying to chat me up?”, she replied with that bewitching smile. “No”, I came back with a line that was not in the script. “I am only informing you that as your husband I would be amiss if I did not offer my comforting embrace at any time you would feel the need for it, the same need which I have been feeling for a while now, as you no doubt must have noticed.” 
“Oh, my! I must not let you suffer, dear husband”, she countered, surprising me. “What do you suggest would be the remedy required to cure your ailment?” “You”, I replied emboldened. “That glorious body and those eyes to look into when you are at the pinnacle of passion”. She was quiet for a moment. “Damn!” she then said, suddenly serious. “This flirting has turned into some serious sex talk. You really want me to sleep with you, right?  Well, at least you don’t beat around the bush”.
I was quiet, convinced that I had crossed the line, and waiting for her rebuke. Then she said: “And damn again if I’m not immune to it. I would guess you already have an idea what we should we do about it, am I right?”
And something about it we did.
The next afternoon we met at a parking where she left her car and, in a somewhat awkward silence, went with me to an apartment borrowed from a friend, where despite the speeding heartbeat and the initial uneasiness which was slowly washed away with a few glasses of my friend’s wine that helped us recover our former familiarity, we tried cautious kisses which developed into a long, great, inventive and passionate love-making interspersed with silly giggles and bouts of laughter between rounds of frenzied erotic combat. We knew it would be now and never again, that she would go back to her husband and I to my family, and that neither one of us would be able to mention it afterwards, which made the love-making even more uninhibited.
Two days later we met again to film our last scene together. No word was said about what had occurred, but the vibration was felt, the mental images were clear. We played our parts, maybe a tad more convincing than before, and said our farewells.
I met her later quite a few times at public functions at the side of her husband whom I later became friends with, and always caught the spark in her eyes as she often perversely joking referred to me as her “Film husband”. Some years later they got divorced, ironically because of the husband’s philandering, and she went back to Europe. Never to be thought of again, until now that I saw her again on that screen, as she was all those years ago.
Lucky me, to have these memories.

Philip ‘Fifi’ Rademaker