New Year's Eve Past

This was one of those Red Letter Days in Life. The ones you remember not necessarily for the events themselves but more for the taboos you broke and the decisions you made.

I had been invited to a party by friends. Normally we stayed at home or went out to somewhere that invited us as a family. There were no other plans for this year and I was determined that this time I would not stay at home if I had the option to do something else. My Husband does not much care for New Year’s Eve and often goes to bed early. And he had no interest in socialising with my acquaintances.

The theme for the party was Black Tie and Glamorous. So all the ladies were dressed in their most glamorous outfits with the guys in suits and some in dickie bows. They all looked wonderfully smart. I knew my sparkly black dress clung to every curve and, although I was still a bit on the thin side facially, my body looked very defined, especially my legs in their high heels.

The partygoers were mostly people I trained with who were more used to seeing me in a dogi and bare feet, with no makeup and scruffed up hair. I think they were a bit surprised.

It was most bizarre when one of the teenage girls came up to me and started licking my ear as I chatted to one of the younger guys, who was her ex. He was 18 years old, very cute and he had a bit of a crush on me.

Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Cake, you think everyone fancies you and you’re old enough to be this guy’s mother. Well, actually I knew his mother but I don’t believe I was completely off the mark about this young man. He spent a lot of time chatting to me in class and had been sending me emails telling me about the martial arts cartoons he liked. He even rang up and left a message on my ansafone telling me what time it was on. Maybe I misread things, but I’ll let you be the judge. Certainly he sought my company very frequently, both at training and at parties.

He and this particular young lady had not parted on good terms because she had dumped him for one of the other young bucks but she clearly had designs upon his person for this evening from the way she moved from licking my ear to exploring his tonsils. It became apparent that she had had rather too much alcohol and would return to lick my ear again on several occasions, even when I explained very politely that she might want to desist.

A few hours and several brandies later, I was a whole lot more relaxed. I was 43 years old, in a loveless marriage and feeling very bored. There was a nice guy that I was mildly interested in, but he was several hundred miles away. We had been chatting by email for some months and, with the demise of The Catalyst, I had finally acceded to his request for my mobile number so we could text and chat. His flirtatious communication was very soothing to my wounded psyche.

I was sitting on the stairs replying to one of his texts, my glass of brandy sat next to me when the Trollop found me again. She had brought my Young Admirer with her. She licked my ear once more and I warned her that, if she persisted, she might get more than she bargained for. She was always up for a challenge. I laughingly told the Young Admirer to get his camera ready – he had been given the task of officially photographing the gathering. His face as I put my arms around her and pushed my tongue into her mouth was, as they say, a picture.

I had never kissed a girl before. Her mouth was soft and tasted minty. It was very pleasant but there was no stirring in my loins. I think I confirmed to myself that I was not really even bi-curious… or maybe I just didn’t fancy the Trollop – even though she was very pretty and very popular with the gentlemen. There was a click from behind me. The Young Admirer was standing there with scarlet cheeks and his mouth wide open, completely unable to work his camera. It was like every young man’s fantasy come true. His current squeeze snogging with his Mrs Robinson figure right in front of him for his delectation. But someone else had taken a photograph. It was Bear. And he was laughing as he walked swiftly away, clutching the digital evidence.

Later, I was sitting in one of the bedrooms talking to Mr Nice on my phone. People kept popping their heads around the door and stopping to have a chat. It took a while, in my rather inebriated condition, to realise that I was sitting on the floor leaning against a wardrobe with my knees up in front of me. My short dress had ridden up to reveal lacy topped holdups and a black lacy thong which was doing nothing to cover the scenery… but, for once, I didn’t really care. And it wasn’t just the effects of the alcohol. I had been starved of attention for so long that I just thought, let them look. Let them admire. I might as well have an appreciative audience, even if nothing is ever going to come of it.

Suddenly one of the instructors came in and flung himself down on the bed. He could see that I was on the phone but he just lay there, spreadeagled. I had always had something of a soft spot for him. He had the first tongue piercing that I had ever seen and in a martial arts cliche kinda way, I had always wondered what it would be like to have wild passionate sex with my teacher, especially what it would feel like to have him lick my most delicate parts with the metal stud.

Sometimes I would dream of being the only student in the class – his was always full of 20-30 people – and, whilst we were sparring, for him to be suddenly overcome with passion and force me up against a wall so he could kiss me. I, of course, would be very shocked and fight him off at first, my little fists punching ineffectually at his sturdy chest. Before he picked me up like a feather and carried me off to the mats to remove my dogi and make mad passionate love to me.

But there was always a question mark in my mind about him. Something that wasn’t quite right. He always seemed very flirtatious but in a very weird way. He gave off really mixed signals. Complementing me on my appearance. Coming on to me but in a very confused way. I wasn’t surprised when gossip started to intimate that he was gay and that his succession of short-lived girlfriends were actually beards for him to take to social functions.

And here he was, stretched out in front of me. Not asleep. Aware of my presence and just lying there. Not saying anything. I made my excuses to my phone friend. I looked at the man again. In my new-found mood of ‘Let’s try everything once’ and in the spirit of ‘Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Let’s find out just how gay he is…’, I jumped onto the bed and straddled him. Looking down at him, I was about to go in for the kiss when I realised that there was a look of complete panic in his eyes. It looked like abject terror. Maybe he just didn’t fancy me? Heaven forfend, but I suppose it is possible :) I giggled out loud and said ‘I don’t know what’s got into me’ and climbed off.

When midnight came, I stood in the corner with my glass of champagne and I made myself some promises as I sipped.

This would be the year when I would come out of my shell.

This would be the year when I would find someone who could appreciate what I had to offer.

Above all, this would be the year when I would get me a toyboy…

… and as the twelfth bong bonged, the future opened up in front of me.