Once in a Blue Moon

The first time that Pamela and Marcus met was on a Saturday night in a bar called The Blue Moon.

Marcus had accepted an invitation to a dinner party at the home of a couple he'd known from university days. Edward and Susie probably thought of Marcus as a friend. He, on the other hand, thought of Edward and Susie as no more than 'a couple he knew'. If Marcus hadn't been quite so preoccupied when Edward had phoned with the invitation, he probably could have thought of a plausible reason to 'decline with regret'. But he had been preoccupied. And, before he had realised it, he had said yes.

And so there he was, en route to the dinner party, stopping off at The Blue Moon for a glass of Dutch courage, aka Côtes du Rhône Villages.

It was only just after seven, but the bar was already busy. While Marcus sat at a table off to one side, nursing his glass of wine, he noticed Pamela carrying a glass of white wine and apparently looking for somewhere to sit. 'This seat is free,' he said, nodding towards the empty chair on the other side of the small table. 'If, umm, if that's what you're looking for.'

'Oh. Yes. Thank you. Are you sure?'

Marcus stood up and moved the table slightly to make it easier for Pamela to slide into the vacant chair.

'Thank you. I haven't been in here before. I didn't expect it to be this busy,' she said. 'A bit surprising - you know, considering how early it is.'

Marcus nodded. 'I expect that most of these people are on their way to the Albert Hall. Give it another three-quarters of an hour ... the place will probably be empty.'

'Oh, yes. Yes, I expect you're right. Is that where you're going? The Albert Hall?'

Marcus shook his head. 'On my way to a dinner party. Just girding my loins.' He nodded towards his wine.

Pamela smiled. 'Yes. Me too. I suppose. One of the women with whom I work ... she's set me up with a blind date. She says that it's not a blind date, but there are going to be three couples, and me, and a chap who I've never met before. That sounds like a blind date, don't you think?'

Marcus laughed gently. 'It does,' he said. 'But you never know, this chap, who you've never met before, could turn out to be a Prince Charming.'

Pamela nodded. 'I suppose so.' But she didn't seem convinced. 'Oh well ... I can but hope. Cheers,' she said.

For the next 20 minutes or so Marcus and Pamela sipped their wine and chatted away, agreeably, about nothing in particular. And then Marcus announced that he had probably better get going. Pamela glanced at her watch. 'Oh ... yes. I don't think that I can put it off any longer either.'

'Well ... nice to meet you,' Marcus said. 'And thank you for your company.'

'Nice to meet you, too. I hope that you enjoy your dinner.'

'Thank you. And good luck with Prince Charming.'

They both started walking - in the same direction, as it happened. And then, when they came to the next corner, Pamela paused and laughed. 'Well ... now I guess it really is goodnight. I'm just down here.'

'Ha! Not number 11 by any chance?'

Pamela frowned. 'Umm ... yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?'

'Well, I suppose we had better go and ring the bell. Oh, and I'm Marcus by the way.'

'Marcus?' Pamela frowned again. 'The Marcus?'

'Well, certainly a Marcus. Marcus Browning. And I guess that makes you Pamela.'

And then they both laughed. And they were still laughing when Edward answered the door. 'Oh! Gosh! Both of you? Together. At the same time. Gosh.'

'It would seem so,' Marcus said.

Now it was Edward's turn to frown. 'So ... you two ... umm ... you know each other? We didn't ... you know ... realise. Neither of you said.'

'Well, we didn't - know each other, that is. But now we do,' Marcus said.

'Right.' Edward continued to frown but nodded slightly.

Edward and Susie's dinner parties were famous for the way in which they progressed, with a sort of inevitability, from slightly old-fashioned formality to not-so-slightly drunken chaos.

For the first hour or so, Edward and Susie behaved like a couple of the upstairs characters from Downton Abbey. But then, as the wine flowed, Edward, at one end of the table, took on the persona of a happy hooligan - a happy and very opinionated hooligan. And Susie, at the other end, became more and more disapproving of everyone and everything. By the time the port decanter had circulated a couple of times, Susie had usually fallen asleep, something which Edward generally took as a sign that he should open another bottle of champagne. On the night that Pamela and Marcus met, that was exactly what happened.

By 11:30, everyone had probably had more to drink than was strictly wise. And Edward and Susie had had far too much to drink.

Piers and Monique were the first to leave. 'Babysitter,' Piers explained. And shortly after that Dana and Graeme also announced their departure.

'I really should be going too,' Pamela said, noting that the witching hour was fast approaching.

Edward, who was standing in front of the fireplace with a champagne flute in one hand and a bottle in the other, frowned and tried to look at his watch without spilling any wine. He failed. 'Huh! Can't see the time, but I'm sure that the night is still young. I'm sure there's many a sip still to be supped,' he slurred.

'I think Susie may be ready for bed,' Pamela suggested.

'Just resting her eyes,' Edward assured her. 'Probably just needs a glass of fizz. Liven her up a bit.'

'Well ... whatever.'

Edward frowned again and swayed slightly. 'I could phone for a minicab. But they're not very ... ah ... reliable at this hour. Bloody foreigners, you see. You're probably better off walking to the end of the street and flagging down a black cab. Up to you, really.'

Pamela said that she'd walk to the end of the street and look for a black cab.

'I'll come with you,' Marcus said. And less than ten minutes later Pamela and Marcus were climbing into the back of a cab.

'Where to, Guv?' the cabbie asked.

'Good question.' He turned to Pamela: 'Where would you like to go?'

'I'm Paddington,' she said.

'Oh, good. Then let's start there, shall we?'

Pamela's flat was on the first floor, above an art supplies shop.

'This is nice,' Marcus said.

'It's handy. You know ... Central Line, Circle Line, shops. Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee? A glass of wine?'

Marcus shook his head. 'I think I've probably had enough wine to last me for a week or two.'

'There was no shortage, was there?'

'There never is with those two. I enjoy a glass or two - sometimes more than two - but how Edward stays standing ... that's probably worthy of some serious research and a PhD dissertation.'

And then they were on their way to the bedroom. 'I don't normally do this,' Pamela said, frowning slightly. 'In fact ... never.'

'No. Of course not.'

'No, seriously. Not on a first date. I must have had too much wine.'

'Was it a date?'

'Hmm ... hard to say. Sort of. I think. I don't know.'

Marcus smiled and nodded.

Pamela kicked off her shoes and, steadying herself with one hand on an antique chest of drawers, removed her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She half leant forward to pick it up, but then, apparently, she changed her mind. Next she unbuttoned the cuffs of her silk shirt. And then, for a moment or two, she seemed to forget what she was doing. 'That Susie can be a real cow,' she said.

Eventually, she unbuttoned the front of her shirt and let the shirt fall from her shoulders. 'A real cow.' Next she sat on the edge of the bed and rolled down her stockings. 'No wonder Edward drinks so much.'

Her bra was next to go. 'Aren't you going to get ... you know ... undressed?' she asked.

Marcus sat on the end of the bed and began untying his shoelaces. 'I wonder if he ever gets a hangover. It wouldn't be natural to drink that much and suffer no ill effects whatsoever, would it? Or maybe he's built up some kind of immunity.'

By the time that Marcus had removed his shirt and trousers, Pamela had slipped on an over-sized T-shirt. Marcus noticed that she had also kept her knickers on, and so he followed suit.

'I don't normally do this,' Pamela said, snuggling up against him.

'No. You said.'

'Did I?'

Marcus nodded. But Pamela was already asleep. For ten minutes or so, Marcus lay there, looking at the diffused light patterns on the ceiling, while Pamela's head rested on his chest. And then he too fell asleep.

When Marcus woke up again the digital bedside clock was showing 4:32, and he needed to pee. Trying not to disturb Pamela, he slipped out from under the duvet and padded off in search of the bathroom.

'Sorry. I think I must have fallen asleep,' Pamela said when he returned to the bedroom.

Marcus laughed quietly. 'Don't apologise. I think we both did.'

'You know ... I don't usually do this,' Pamela said for the third time.

'Well ... so far, we haven't really done anything, have we? Not really.'

'I think I need to pee too,' Pamela said. 'And I think I'll get some water. Would you like some?'

'That'd be nice. Thank you.'

A few minutes later, Pamela returned with a chilled glass of slightly-sparkling mineral water. 'I think that rather over-elaborate dish that Susie claimed was straight from Escoffier - '

'Although with the butter replaced by healthy coconut oil, and soy flour in place of whatever it was in place of ...'

'That one, yes. There was far too much salt in it. No wonder we have a thirst.'

'You don't think it might have something to do with the amount of alcohol we consumed?'

'Hmm. Maybe,' she said. 'But Susie's still not a very good cook. In fact, she's crap.'

Their thirsts quenched - for the moment at least - they resumed their positions: Marcus lying on his back; Pamela snuggled up against his left side with her head resting on his chest. For a few minutes neither said anything. In fact, Marcus wondered if perhaps Pamela had drifted off to sleep again. But no. Well, not unless the hand that was beginning to caress his cock through his cotton boxer shorts was operating independently of Pamela's consciousness. And that, to Marcus anyway, seemed rather unlikely.

'If you were to move slightly,' he said, 'I could return the favour.'

'Umm ... yes. Thank you.' And she moved slightly. Not a lot. Just enough to enable Marcus to trace a pattern with the middle finger of his right hand on the slightly-damp gusset of her knickers. His touch was light. Deliberately so. He wanted to know the moment that something - anything - happened on the other side of the smooth warm fabric.

And he was not disappointed. Within a minute or so, a gentle valley began to develop along the centre of the soft mound, and as he traced his fingertip along the valley, it gradually became more pronounced. He felt that he could also detect a rise in the temperature of the mound.

Pamela half sighed, half moaned, and squirmed slightly, pressing her hot crotch against Marcus's hand. Time to press on, he thought. He slipped a finger under the soft elastic that edged the gusset. Her secret valley was already slick with juices. In fact, it was so slick that, for a moment or two, Marcus wondered if Pamela had, at some stage during her trip to fetch the mineral water, applied a dab or two of proprietary lubricant.

While Marcus's index finger explored Pamela's vulva, gently brushing her clitoris, and toying with the entrance to her vagina, Pamela released Marcus's erect cock from its cotton confinement. 'Are you ready?' she said. Ready? But before Marcus had a chance to enquire 'Ready for what?' Pamela had somehow produced a condom, rolled it down over his cock, and positioned herself astride his recumbent body. And then, pushing her gusset to one side, she lowered her slick entrance onto his hard cock.

At first, she lowered herself just enough to engulf the head of his cock, and then, little by little, perhaps half an inch at a time, she took more and more until, eventually, she had his entire hard cock inside her hot and hungry cunt.

'Oh, yes,' Pamela growled. 'Oh, fucking yes.' Marcus could not disagree. Diffused light was seeping in through the curtains. From a streetlight perhaps. Or was it moonlight? The light was falling, softly, on one side of Pamela's face. Marcus could see that she was smiling.

For ten, maybe 15, minutes, Pamela rode Marcus with all the aplomb of a champion dressage queen - her back straight, her head held high as she rhythmically rose and fell on Marcus's now-slicked piston. Up and down. Up and down. In and out. In and out. And then, just when Marcus was beginning to feel that he could last no longer, Pamela suddenly upped the pace and then let out a half laugh, half squeal. 'Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, god, yes!' And then she fell forward onto Marcus's chest and just lay there while Marcus filled the protective sheath with his hot cum.

'Oh, yes,' Pamela said for the umpteenth time.

When they awoke for the second time that morning, the light seeping in through the curtain was neither streetlight nor moonlight; it was sunshine. Pamela propped herself up on one elbow and peered at the bedside clock. It was showing 8:32. 'God, is that the time? I'm supposed to be meeting someone for breakfast at 9:30. Oh, well, he's just going to have to wait for a moment or two.'

He? Of course it was none of Marcus's business, but just for a split second he felt a slight twinge of ... well ... jealousy. 'I'll get out of your hair,' he said.

Pamela shook her head. 'No. It's OK, he can wait. He's kept me waiting often enough. I take it that you'd like a shower?'

'Well, it would be nice. But if you have to ... you know.'

Pamela smiled. 'I've only got to go to the other side of Bayswater. I'd normally walk; but maybe I'll take a cab. Come on, we can shower together. That should speed things up.' And then she grinned and said: 'Or will that just slow things down?'

'I promise to keep my eyes closed. And my hands in my pockets.'

'You have pockets? In your birthday suit?' Pamela said.

Perhaps they had both half intended that the shower should be brief; but it didn't quite work out that way. Gentle soaping turned into an erotic embrace and several passionate kisses. And then their hands wandered, and Marcus found himself giving Pamela a finger fuck while she returned the favour with a soapy hand job. By the time they had both come, dried themselves, and dressed, it was well past nine.

As they left the flat, Marcus handed Pamela a card with his phone number on it. 'If you feel like a drink later, you could always phone me.'

'Aren't you the bloke that said he's probably had enough alcohol to last him for a week or two?'

Marcus smiled. 'I think that I might have said something like that. But I'm sure that, in the right circumstance, I could manage a swift half.'

Pamela laughed softly and shook her head slightly. 'I'll see how things go,' she said.

'Yes ... see how things go.'

Twenty years earlier, when Marcus was just embarking on a post-graduate degree in statistics, his tutor, a precocious, pop sock-wearing poppet from Portishead, confessed that she did some of her best thinking when she was slightly hung over. 'Not sure why,' she said. 'Suppose the non-essential systems go off for a much-needed snooze, leaving a corner of the brain to get on with the stuff that matters.'

At the time, Marcus wasn't so sure. But, as the years went by, he came to think that maybe Petunia from Portishead may have been onto something.

The slight impairment resulting from the evening at Edward and Susie's certainly didn't seem to hamper his productivity when he sat down at his computer on Sunday afternoon and drafted the executive summary of the findings of a major study his consultancy had undertaken for one of the City's most high-profile financial institutions. 'Marcus, you're a fucking genius,' he said. Although he was the only person present when he said it.

Five o'clock came and went, and there was no word from Pamela. But Marcus had a thirst. Besides which, he felt that he deserved a reward for his afternoon's work. He headed for The Volunteer. It wasn't Marcus's favourite pub. Far from it. Too many tourists. But it was handy.

Marcus ordered a bottle of Peroni and found himself a table in the corner. But, even before he had had a chance to take a sip of the pale amber nectar, his phone rang. He didn't recognise the number. 'Hello?'

'Hi. It's me. Are you still on for that swift half?'

'Oh. Pamela. Hi. Yes. Umm ... yes. What do you want to do?

'Up to you really.'

Marcus's brain - the same brain that had conjured up such a good executive summary - suddenly turned to mush. 'Me? Oh, OK. Umm ... yes ... let me think. Where are you?'

Pamela said that she was just about to go into the Shepherd's Bush tube station, heading back towards Paddington.

'Right. Umm.' Marcus tried, desperately, to get his brain back into gear. Any gear. 'The Swan?' The moment he had suggested it, Marcus realised that he didn't much like The Swan either. Again, too many tourists. Still. 'Is that OK?' he said.

'Fine. About 20 minutes?' Pamela said.

Twenty minutes? Yes, Marcus thought that he should be able to walk from The Volunteer to The Swan in 20 minutes. He also thought about taking a quick sip of his lager, but then decided not to. 'Here you go, mate,' he said, passing the bottle to the chap sitting reading a newspaper at the next table. 'It's OK; I haven't put poison in it or anything. I just got a phone call - from a lady - and I have to run.'

The man frowned; but then smiled. 'Well, if you're sure,' he said. 'Thank you. And, umm, you know ... good luck.'

'Thanks.'

Marcus zigzagged his way down Baker Street, across Edgware Road, along Sussex Gardens, and then down towards Lancaster Gate and along to The Swan. Pamela was standing outside.

'Sorry,' Marcus said, looking at his watch.

'Don't be. I only just arrived. It took less time than I expected.'

'Right. Umm ...'

Pamela leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. 'Relax. OK?'

'Relax? Right. Yes. Relax. Your wish is my command.'

'Good. In that case, I command you to take this twenty pound note and exchange it for a glass of dry white wine and whatever will satisfactorily wet your whistle.'

Marcus waved his hand. 'Oh, no. It's OK. I'll get them.'

'What?' Pamela narrowed her eyes. 'I thought that my wish was your command. I'll just go and claim that table in the corner for us.'

'OK. I'll get the next round then.'

Pamela raised her eyebrows. 'What? You're planning a second swift half even before you've ordered your first? You have bounced back, young man.' And she gave him another peck on the cheek.

'So ... how was your day?' Marcus asked when he returned with the drinks.

'The jury's still out. Some good bits; some not-so-good bits. But it could have been worse. How was yours?'

'Surprisingly productive.' Marcus smiled and nodded. 'I think.'

'Productive?'

'Yes. I did some work.'

'Susie said that you're some sort of hot-shot consultant.'

'Well, I'm not sure about the hot-shot part, but, yes, I work for a small consultancy that specialises in finding answers to difficult questions.'

'What sort of questions?'

'In theory ... anything. But, in practice, they're usually questions about new products or processes, often ones that have yet to be produced. Who might buy them? And what might those people be prepared to pay for them? That sort of thing.'

Pamela nodded and took a sip of her wine.

'And so what caused the not-so-good bits in your day?' Marcus asked. 'Or shouldn't I ask?'

For a moment or two, Pamela frowned slightly but said nothing. It was as if she hadn't understood the question. But then said: 'My husband.'

'Oh.' Marcus was clearly surprised. 'I, umm, didn't realise that you were married. I thought that Edward said that you were single.'