Journey By Moonlight

The door slammed shut and, kicking off my shoes, I sank down on the faux-leather sofa after a difficult day's work.

Thank goodness Jimmy is at his dad's.

When Carl and I split up five years ago he moved to the other side of town. Jimmy decided to live with me two weeks on and two weeks off. He went to school slap-bang equal distance from us both, so it worked well for all concerned. As amicable as it gets, I suppose. 

But I wasn't keen on my ex's new partner. At twenty-four she was only ten years older than our son, and out for all she could get. It was me who left, but was I perhaps a little jealous? I didn't think that was the case. Carl and I had known each other since we were kids and had some great times in the past, but things change. I got older, rounder and now he had a younger woman. We simply grew in different directions.

Honestly, I would bitch about the whole situation sometimes to my girl friends but I was not harboring any bad feeling. Just wished I could get some action myself every so often. You know, too much work and not enough sex makes Jude a dull girl, and all that.

I was a social worker, my dream career, but stress went hand in hand with the job. Usually, when I got home I wanted to switch off, have an early supper and sleep. Except every Tuesday evening, I'd nip around the corner to my local pool for the aqua-aerobics class. Attempting to keep fit. I snacked too much and drink far more than the recommended daily amount. At least I'd given up smoking earlier that year, well, unless I was out — social smoking.

I'd only been stretched out a moment when the phone rang.

“Swindon 325 triple 7,” tripped off the tip of my tongue.

“Caroline. How the devil are you?”

“Sorry, you have the wrong number.”

For once, they hadn't asked for the Chinese takeaway. That often happened.

“353777?” he persisted.

“No. Sorry. Why don't you try again. Bye.”

Why am I sorry? That word is so habit-forming. I'm forever apologising when I mean 'fuck off.’

I got up and poured myself a glass of Beaujolais Nouveaux. A popular wine at the time but I didn't understand what all the fuss was about. My friend Beth had bought a few bottles the previous weekend. Neither of us had been impressed. Too light with no punch. It had been a fad for about twelve years; I kept hoping that now we were into the naughty 90s, more heavy, deep reds would find their way back onto the shelves.

Damn, the phone again.

“Swindon 325 triple...” I didn't get to finish.

“Goodness, what an idiot I am.” The same voice. “Done it again. You don't happen to know my friend Caroline by any chance? She lives near Cirencester.” He laughed.

I wasn't falling for that one. I'd watched enough old detective Columbo re-runs. I politely told him I didn't know the town.

“I do apologise — it was an honest mistake. My spectacles broke today and I can't read the numbers clearly. I'll go and get my magnifying glass.”

”OK. Please don't worry.” 

I meant it. The guy had a slight BBC posh accent and as he spoke the throaty tone of his voice touched me, right where I needed a cock. 

It had been a while.

I hung up and sat back with my wine. Maybe the glaring light of the full moon flooding the room was stimulating my hormones. Whatever it was I hadn't felt this young for ages. I started reminiscing a little and browsed through some old videotapes. I settled on watching 9 1/2 Weeks, wondering if I would ever be blindfolded and treated to my favourite foods. Being dominated was not something I'd ever explored but it certainly appealed to me. I made enough tough decisions in my work life. To let someone take control, I imagined, would be almost a relief.

---

A couple of days later, Friday, I got home after a couple of drinks at the Malt Shovel with Beth. I don't know why but I began to think about that wrong number guy. Something about his voice had intrigued me, given me goosebumps and made me hot around the collar. But it was more than that. The second time he'd rung – was that really a mistake? Perhaps he'd been attracted to my vibe too. Whatever the facts, I wished he'd ring again. I was feeling confident, frisky even. I expect the few wines I'd had earlier had relaxed me, but I also realized that I needed to be more proactive where men were concerned if I was going to get what I wanted from them.

What was that new service British Telecom had advertised? Use the right set of digits and your phone would recite the last caller's number. Nobody ever rang me here except for Beth and I had just seen her. I wondered if perhaps he'd rung me while I was out. It couldn't hurt to check.

I punched out a series of different combinations. Finally, I got the right one. 1471 and “the number who last...”

It wasn't a number I knew, so I quickly wrote it down. The dialing code was vaguely familiar. From the other side of England, I thought. Grabbing the fresh Bacardi bottle I'd picked up on my way home from work, I poured myself a stiff one — Dutch courage — held my breath and tapped out the number.

“Hello. I am unable to take your call. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

It was his voice!

How annoying that he was out though. And with me being brave for once too.

Without saying a word, I put down the receiver and went to run myself a bath. Of course, just as I turned the taps off and was stepping into the steamy water I heard the phone. Grabbing a towel I ran into the lounge, almost tripping over the wire.

“Swindon 32-”

“-5 triple 7,” he said, along with me. “You missed me, I presume.”

His chuckle vibrated down the earpiece. I had to think fast. He'd realised I'd called him back. Why the hell would I be ringing a stranger late at night?

“Yeah sorry. I was just wondering, if, ah… if you found your friend the other day?”

He laughed again. 

“No, you were not. And stop saying the 'S' word.” He'd detected my bullshit. “Let’s not start off our friendship with lies,” he added.

Friendship? Promising.

“You're right. Sor– oh damn, I don't mean that. It's just I was lonely. My son's at his dad's and my best friend's busy, probably having sex.” My turn to giggle. They do say honesty is the best policy and sometimes it's far easier being candid with people you don't actually know.

“I quite understand,” he said. “Can I take it you've had something of a hard day?”

Feet up on the sofa I told him about the stress and strains of my job. But how I loved it all the same.

“I can imagine you wish someone would take care of you at times.” It's like he'd read my mind.

We spoke for almost an hour. When I finally put down the phone it was too late for a bath. I went straight to bed and fell into the kind of deep sleep I had been missing for a long while. Our conversation had purged my mind of all those niggly little issues that usually kept me awake, mithering. That night I had switched off as soon as my eyes closed.

The following morning I didn't have to rush out — it was my day off. Instead, I lay back and thought about our chat. Although we had talked for ages, I still didn't know too much about him. What, for example, was his name? Nevertheless, I sensed things. He had a sexy voice. He listened patiently to my rants. More than once he'd replied in a thoughtful, intelligent manner. All the while I'd been imagining what he might look like. A kind face, cool smile and dark hair graying at the temples. I liked the vision that was forming and my cunt throbbed in agreement.

I slapped the top of my plump mound then stroked the trimmed pubic hair. Pushing against the swell, my finger steered its way along the groove to meet my throbbing bud. I was already ripe with thoughts of my telephone companion. Sinking my head into the pillow, I conjured up an image of him overpowering me, holding me down as he sunk his turgid cock into my pussy. I opened my legs and hole, only a few flicks over the soft flesh were needed for my body to shake into submission.

I managed to get through most of the day without looking at the phone but when it was time to organise a meal for one, I began to lapse. I wanted to kick the coy machine into the corner of the room for its confounded silence. There it was, square and yellow, as afraid as me that this guy wouldn't ring again. Nothing along those lines had been discussed, but I knew we had made a connection. However, it was not my turn to call. Last night I'd put myself out there. Now it was 'do or die'; I'd been top in my drama class at school.

Macaroni cheese plus three glasses of New Zealand sauvignon blanc had me slipping into oblivion, when the phone rang, shattering my doze. Sitting up, a little confused as to what time it was, I rubbed my eyes and snatched the receiver.

“Hi?” Anticipating, hoping it was him.

“Hey, Jude. How ya doing?” It was Beth.

“Beth.” I sighed. “Hi. Tired, as usual.”

“Fancy popping into town and trying the new wine bar tomorrow night? What's it called again?”

“Pegasus, I think. Why not, it looked really nice.”

“Great. Eight o'clock?”

“Cool, see you then.”

I dropped the phone and seeing how late it was I reluctantly went to bed.

---

The following evening Beth and I actually had a bit of a laugh at the new place. Though it should have been nicknamed the wined-down bar. When we left both of us were relaxed as limp lettuce.

Back at the apartment, I threw together my standard drunken cheese and pickled onion sandwich. You know the one. When the telephone did its thing, I honestly thought it was Beth. She'd left her makeup in my handbag and I'd already given up on him. Yeah, I know it had only been two days but I'm a 'want it now' kind of girl.

“Swindon-”

“Yes, I know. I just dialed you.” My heart jumped at the sound of his voice; my cunt ached.

“Of course you did. Sorry. How are you?”

“Like I said before, you really got to do something about that 'sorry' habit, unless there is a cause to apologise. It's not attractive, although I am certain that you are.”

I felt slightly flummoxed by this comment, but when he continued the conversation by checking out how I'd been, I decided to ignore it. Instead, I just hit the floor and we picked up right where we'd left off.

I learned he was nearly fifty, eight years older than me. Separated from his wife, and their kids were adults. 'Caroline' was just an old friend of his family.

“So, one important thing. I don't actually know your name.”

“That's correct.” He turned the question onto me. “What's yours?”

“Jude — and don't avoid my question,” I tittered.

“Em, let me see. What would you like my name to be? Come on — it can be lady's choice. After all, what's in a name?”

“Why? Are you called something weird? You can tell me. I promise not to laugh.”

“No. I'm serious. This is about you and me.” My skin tingled at these words. “I can be anyone you want.”

Mysterious and hot, the notion was a lot to absorb. But I quickly saw the underlying benefits and got straight into the swing of it. This was early days and it wasn't as if I was thinking of tomorrow or, heaven forbid, falling for him.

“Alright then. If that's the way you want it. Let me think. Em, a nice name... OK... Hi, Ian.”

I thought of the image I'd masturbated over the previous night.

“And I expect you are dark-haired, dark-skinned with a sexy grin.”

“That's me. Dark brown eyes to match that hair too.”

And so it began. My new friend Ian soon became a rock. Someone I depended on. On the nights we didn't get a chance to speak I would sulk, missing the buzz I always got from our banter. We seemed to hit it off from the beginning so when one day he asked me what colour my panties were, it didn't even seem strange. 

I giggled, lifted up my skirt to make sure I'd get it right and told him. From then on we got slightly involved in the phone sex scene, usually when we were both a little tipsy. He'd always initiate things and do most of the talking. By the end of the call, he'd assure me his cock was throbbing for my cunt, or something similar. We'd both go to our separate beds and I suspect, like me, he elaborated on our dirty scenarios while masturbating.

But what I really got off on was laying back in the dark of the night, imagining how one day we'd be together in this very room. His cock in my hand, our bodies entwined. Neither of us had yet mentioned meeting but it was something I'd been picturing from very early on. 

With that thought in the forefront of my mind, I climaxed and fell asleep wishing I was in Ian's arms.