PLEASE NOTE: These extracts include adult content and language that may offend which will also not be suitable for children.
Love. Life by Georgina Woolmore
This is not how I expected to spend New Year.
I’m standing on a sticky carpet surrounded by WAGS and wankers.
Here we go, glasses charged, be upstanding...
Happy New Year!
Half a glass of warm cava does little to wash away the bitter taste of the past year.
I should be celebrating with friends but instead I’m here, stuck making polite chit-chat with blonde, leather clad Gucci clones. It’s a new breed of Stepford wife – they don’t bake, they Botox.
I don’t fit in, but dating Gerry sort of gives me no choice. He loves this place. He used to be the manager before he became a copper.
This is ‘Fred’s Bar’ and this is Fred’s party. I hate Fred. He’s a failed music producer who fled Hong Kong and opened a bar in Essex with an ex-model ten years his junior. Her name’s Keeley but everyone calls her ‘Gold-Digger’. She fits in.
Tom loves Fred. He even drives around in his old car. A white Peugeot 206 cabriolet complete with plastic body kit and oversized wheels. It suits him. It helps him fit in, sort of. And it went well with the page three model he used to date. She was called Anna and it ended badly but it raised his status with this lot. The only double D’s I’ve got are my A-levels.
“Fireworks in the garden!” Someone shouts. Somehow I don’t think these are going to be up to the standard of the Thames display but I need the fresh air and follow a gaggle of girls through the French windows and onto the small, damp lawn.
There are a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as people shiver in the cold and watch one limp rocket after another dribble into the air before falling back to earth. Several of the bigger ones fail to go off and for a moment I can’t think what it reminds me of. Then I remember. It’s my sex life. A lump forms in my throat and I want to cry but I swallow hard and force the smile back on to my face.
I head back into the warmth of the bar and hunt down a fresh bottle of cava. I feel like I need it. Tom is holding court with a harem of plastic fantastics. Judging from the giggles and squeals of excitement he’s entertaining them with one of his many tales from the beat. As I approach, I hear one of them ask,
“Will you wear the uniform for us?
“I love a man in uniform!” Gushes another.
As it happens Tom’s uniform is a right turn off. One night I woke at three in the morning to find him hovering over my bed.
“Aren’t you on nightshift?”
“Where are your trousers?”
“I had to take them off.”
“What the f***?”
“Nothing, go back to sleep?”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for some trousers!”
“Cause I had to move a dead person’s car after a RTA and I sat in a load of piss!”
Not quite the excitement one expects from a man in uniform. Another time I had planned a lovely romantic evening.
“Is that meat I can smell?” Tom demanded as he walked through the front door.
“Yep –it’s your favourite lasagne.”
“I can’t eat it! I’ve just been to a suspicious death and the body had been burnt to a crisp. That smell makes me feel sick!”
That’s why a man in uniform no longer has quite the same appeal it once did. When I look at Tom in his uniform these days all I see is the irritable, tired, isolated person he has become. A grey, joyless man whose constant refrain is an angry and exasperated, “You just wouldn’t understand!”
When did it all go wrong? When did the life go out of this relationship? I want to cry again. Then I look at him surrounded by these admiring girls and I begin to see what they see. The man I fell in love with. The tall, strong , muscular man with the deep blue eyes. In a moment my feelings shift and I want him as much as I ever did.
I lean towards him and whisper in his ear,
“Take me home and make love to me.”
He smiles and laughs. I remember how lovely his smile can be. “Why leave?” he says, grabbing me by the hand and whisking me upstairs. It makes me feel all girly and I let him take control. We burst through the first door we find and fall into a cold, sparsely furnished bedroom. Goose-bumps cover my flesh beneath his hot, urgent hands.
As he kisses me I feel myself giving up to him completely. He flings me on the bed and unbuckles the belt of his jeans. He tears off my dress, pulls down my knickers and rips off my bra. I can feel myself moisten in anticipation. He holds me down by my wrists and pushes himself into me. The speed and excitement of the moment makes my body arch beneath him. It feels so good, so right and I just want him to push into me further and further. His mouth sucks hard on my nipples and I writhe with pleasure. Our passion is frantic. With the fireworks going off outside no one can hear as I scream “f*** me Tom!” and pull him deeper into me. He ejaculates as I climax and we collapse in a sweaty mess on the bed.
In that moment I love him as much as I ever did but I also know I have to leave him. I don’t want another year like the one just gone.