There are social occasions one looks forward to, others undertaken reluctantly. This wedding thinks Adam, looking around the room, without doubt, belongs firmly in the latter category. Vows exchanged, an excruciating best man's speech endured, the guests are now gathered in a hotel function room
Adam is sitting at a large rectangular table on the outer, possibly reflecting its occupants' low rank in the social pecking order. Everyone else appears well acquainted, chatting animatedly - house prices, school ratings, celebrity gossip. All unremittingly tedious, either completely self-absorbed or deliberately excluding him and the woman of colour sat opposite. Who looks up and favours Adam with a bright smile. She is, it belatedly dawns upon him, strikingly beautiful.
"My name's Cora. Do you know any of these people?"
"Adam, pleased to meet you. A surprise invitation from the groom, I haven't seen him since university Thought I'd attend and renew some old connections. Looking at this lot," he gestures at the throng, "I've changed my mind. How about you?"
"Similar story, I knew the bride vaguely at college. Christ, they've spent the GDP of a small African country on this bash and still managed to avoid any hint of good taste. So bored, I nearly lost the will to live during the speeches. What happens next?"
"At a guess, an unwise alcohol intake and some of the worst dancing you'll ever witness. If we're particularly unlucky the groom will sing Mustang Sally."
"Please God no," responds Cora fervently, "such a cliche. Want anything at the bar," she continues, "this wine is only fit for stripping paint. I'm getting a G&T."
"No, I'm fine," replies Adam, enjoying the sight of her delicious derriere sashaying sexily across the floor. Returning to the table, Cora solicitously refills his water glass, leaning over to reveal an enticing cleavage; almost as if it were a deliberate come on...
A conclusion unambiguously confirmed shortly afterwards when, kicking off a shoe, Cora slowly and sensuously slides a foot up his leg, painted toenails nestling against the straining bulge in his trousers. Tempting and teasing, the salacious look in her eyes is unambiguous. At which point the band takes to the stage, joined by the drunk and fearsomely off-key groom, unwisely attempting a rendition of - you guessed it - Mustang Sally.
"No, please, I can't endure this," whispers Cora urgently, "let's escape to my room." She slides across a napkin with the number scrawled on it in lipstick. "Give me a couple of minutes start and then follow." Instead, Adam waits a scant few seconds before heading towards the hotel lobby. Their erstwhile dining companions, shouting and singing along, don't even notice the pair depart.
Taking a lift to the sixth floor, resisting the urge to run down the corridor, he eagerly enters the room to discover Cora draped decorously across the bed, displaying a come-hither expression and a large amount of leg and bosom. The wicked minx tosses something in his direction and Adam instinctively ducks, bending to retrieve a crumpled pair of panties.
"Thought it'd save time," Cora declares boldly, rising to wind her lithe form sensuously around him. They kiss passionately, hands avidly exploring each other's bodies, mutual arousal unleashed.
"Christ, I want you," she declares urgently.
"All in good time," responds Adam, calmly.
"Playing hard to get?" Cora looks at him archly. "Perhaps you can't cope with a sexually assertive female?"
