Happy New Year

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It was New Year’s Eve, and despite my reservations, I had ended up at a party to see the New Year in. Ever since my wife of thirty years marriage had died, I hated New Year’s Eve. We had always been the ones to host the celebration of saying goodbye to the old year and welcoming in the new. So this night in particular brought back memories in a way that I had thought I had long since got over. I had really, and had moved on in my life, even having had a number of dates in the last couple of years, and on a few occasions, had the delights of making love once more. I’m not over-sentimental, and of course each time it happened it was different, but I had expected it to be, so no issues there. I usually refused to go to parties now on this inauspicious day, but my best friend and his wife were so insistent that it would have been very churlish to have refused. So I set off, a bunch of flowers in my hand for my hostess, and a bottle of fifteen year old scotch in the other for my host. Fortunately the house of my friends was within walking distance, and I arrived a little after 8:00 pm, the weather being pleasantly benign for this time of year. I knocked on the door and Jenny answered it, a quick hug and kiss as I entered, and the required “ooh” and another kiss when I gave her the flowers. Geoff, her husband, came out of the kitchen also to greet me and his eyes lit up when he saw the bottle that I had brought. I told him to keep it for later, it was better than champagne, so would be a good midnight toast. Then it was into the mass of people already there. Some I knew as they also lived nearby, and some I didn’t. Most were couples, a few unattached men and a few women also, and we made the usual small talk that escort goes on at such parties. Jenny had somehow pressed her 15 yr old daughter into waitress service, so the drink and snacks kept flowing. I stuck to beer at this stage of the evening, and I was glad to be able to request adequate supplies of Speckled Hen, my favourite draught bitter, though these were bottled and a little different, but still good. About 11:00, Geoff cleared some of the small tables away, creating a space in the centre of their large lunge, and pushed the sofas back against the walls, so that people could dance. This was the last straw in my book, and though I hadn’t really had enough to drink to bring on the real miseries, this reminded me so much of the parties of old that I wandered into the kitchen and found the bottle of scotch that I had brought, still unopened on the counter. I grabbed a cut glass tumbler and poured myself a hefty measure, and was just about to take a first sip when a voice asked me to pour another one. I turned round to find myself being addressed by a somewhat glamorous lady. My first impression was of someone blonde, blue eyed, with a good figure and a smile that lit her up. It was the smile really that registered, and I found myself telling her that it was good to find someone who appreciated a good scotch. I poured her a smaller measure than that which I had given myself, and asked if she wanted any water. She shuddered and told me that she referred it straight, and that good scotch does not need diluting. There was something in her eye when she said that which resonated with me, but the moment passed. I hadn’t seen her before that evening and must have missed escort bayan her earlier in the evening. I told her this, and she replied that she had only just arrived, but as most of the rest of the party seemed occupied on the dance floor, she thought she’d get a drink to start with. She told me that she wasn’t really going to come, but as the evening wore on, she had got so bored with her own company that she thought anything had to be better. She is frank, I thought, and we started talking. She was called Georgie, which was funny as my name is George, and we giggled about that, and whether our hosts had made a mistake in asking two Georges. It turned out that she was three years from a very nasty divorce, and though I didn’t ask for details, I got them. She told me that her ex-husband had been a very successful banker, and their life had been wonderful, apart from finding that he was not exactly impotent, in fact far from it, but he “fired blanks as she put it. They had travelled extensively, ate at the best restaurants, and had a lovely house in the better part of Surrey. After finding that they couldn’t have children, she had continued working, and was now a partner in a major valuation and auction house in London. Their work had often got in the way of finding enough time to be together, and they had drifted, not exactly apart, but just not gone forward. It was when she had found out by accident that he had a mistress in London, and had had her for many years, set up in a luxury apartment in the Barbican. They had been together in that way for years, many years before the discovery of their inability to have children. It was this that brought the matter to a bayan escort head, if it had been as a result of their disappointment, she might have understood better, but as it was, he was a simple double-timer. Well, actually, she said, as the divorce proceedings unfolded, it wasn’t double, or even treble, for the previous twenty years he had set up four mistresses in various major financial centres. Now it was my turn, and I described my life, my job initially as a teacher of biology, and then my change of careers to be in medicine proper, and my rise to be a senior consultant in Oncology. I then told her about the twist of fate that happened when my wife, a teacher of history, was diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer, which I was unable to stop. I had felt so useless, unable to cure the woman I loved and had grown together with, and had children with. She asked me how long it had been, and nodded when I replied that it was nearly five years. There was a silence. Neither of us wanted to break it, it was just appropriate as if we were honouring our past in some way. I broke it saying that we couldn’t stay in the kitchen al evening, so maybe she would like to dance. We did so, not badly, though I am not a good dancer, but something in me wanted to show Georgie that I still could cut it. She must have been a great dancer, as she enhanced my poor skills and I think we looked pretty good together. She certainly felt good in my arms, her slim body pressing all the right bits against me, and by the time we had got to our third dance, a slow one, it was as though we had known each other for years. We just fitted, and I think she felt this as well, as she rested her head on my shoulder in the slow waltz. Then the music got louder and more frenetic, so we left the gyrating throng, and I asked her if she wanted more Scotch. She looked at me, and told me that no, she just wanted me. I looked at her, my voice just not working for a moment as I absorbed what she was saying.

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