Read Online Boyfriend in a Dress by Louise Kean - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Kean
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‘Hell no!’ Charlie laughed too, and then caught me off guard with a kiss. Before I knew it, his tongue was in my mouth, and his arms were around me, and we were kissing each other softly, and fiercely, and he was kissing me exactly the way I wanted to kiss him, and for the first time that evening I regained some control. I realized that something in me had hooked him, the way I had been taken by his smile. I just wasn’t sure exactly what.
We didn’t make it to either of our rooms. We ended up somewhere behind the cactus conservatory, about two hundred feet from our halls. It was a quick, passionate, gorgeous start. Not seedy, despite the building we were leaning on. We went back to his, and stayed there for most of that first term.
But innocence fades, and sexy starts to a relationship are long forgotten six years later. We wouldn’t have sex against that laboratory now – I’d be worried about my heels getting stuck in the grass and mud on suede, and Charlie would have trouble after that much drink. Things aren’t as hard as they used to be.
Stripped Bare
January is always a depressing month, I never manage to save money over Christmas for the sales, which is the only thing that January has going for it. I blow it all on champagne parties through Advent, and a hugely extravagant New Year trip, so I can get back to work on the second day of a fresh year and tell everybody that I was somewhere other than London for 31 st of December. 00.01 on New Year’s Day isn’t even an anti-climax, as most people will say, it’s just a fucking relief. As soon as Big Ben has chimed, you feel a nation of people relax – they have their story, their setting for those fateful twelve gongs, and now they can go to bed, or carry on getting drunk. But whatever they do, they don’t have to worry about how much fun they are having for one particular minute for another year. It’s a night when you actually question yourself, your friends, your relationships, your ability to enjoy yourself. Staying in just doesn’t cut it, no matter how ‘chilled’ it supposedly is, it will always sound pathetic until New Year’s Eve itself is banned. You can opt out of Christmas Day without seeming pathetic – on religious grounds, on practical grounds, it can almost seem cool not to sit around and eat poultry and pull crackers with your parents.But New Year is just about ‘having fun’. There is no credible reason to opt out. Unless you simply don’t have any friends, or don’t know how to enjoy yourself, which makes you feel like a failure. There are parties all over the world that night, and you aren’t at any of them.
So last January, five months ago now, my friends and I did what we always do and put at least three nights in the diary that wouldn’t break the bank, but would enable us to look forward to the following weekend.
Which is how we ended up in Shivers, a lap-dancing club on the Edgware Road at one o’clock in the morning, whooping at the women on the stage, and trying to persuade Jake to have a lap-dance. He was having none of it. The room itself was strange – stages like catwalks with, sticking up from them, poles which looked kind of smudged and grubby and greasy in the pinkish neon lights that shone from above. Around the stages were tables and chairs, not exactly tatty, but not stylish either. The bar was very pink, very neon, with a vase at one end holding what looked like plastic lilies. It wasn’t seedy, it just looked cheap. But we were drunk, so what the hell did we care – I hadn’t expected it to be something out of Elle Deco. All that glass, however, looking slightly grubby, slightly smeared, reflected the core business of the place back at me a little too much. It was essentially a sex club, but I didn’t want to have it spelt out for me. I wanted to convince myself that it was really very innocent, and fun, and frivolous, and that no bodily juices were actually involved. Initially, we
‘Hell no!’ Charlie laughed too, and then caught me off guard with a kiss. Before I knew it, his tongue was in my mouth, and his arms were around me, and we were kissing each other softly, and fiercely, and he was kissing me exactly the way I wanted to kiss him, and for the first time that evening I regained some control. I realized that something in me had hooked him, the way I had been taken by his smile. I just wasn’t sure exactly what.
We didn’t make it to either of our rooms. We ended up somewhere behind the cactus conservatory, about two hundred feet from our halls. It was a quick, passionate, gorgeous start. Not seedy, despite the building we were leaning on. We went back to his, and stayed there for most of that first term.
But innocence fades, and sexy starts to a relationship are long forgotten six years later. We wouldn’t have sex against that laboratory now – I’d be worried about my heels getting stuck in the grass and mud on suede, and Charlie would have trouble after that much drink. Things aren’t as hard as they used to be.
Stripped Bare
January is always a depressing month, I never manage to save money over Christmas for the sales, which is the only thing that January has going for it. I blow it all on champagne parties through Advent, and a hugely extravagant New Year trip, so I can get back to work on the second day of a fresh year and tell everybody that I was somewhere other than London for 31 st of December. 00.01 on New Year’s Day isn’t even an anti-climax, as most people will say, it’s just a fucking relief. As soon as Big Ben has chimed, you feel a nation of people relax – they have their story, their setting for those fateful twelve gongs, and now they can go to bed, or carry on getting drunk. But whatever they do, they don’t have to worry about how much fun they are having for one particular minute for another year. It’s a night when you actually question yourself, your friends, your relationships, your ability to enjoy yourself. Staying in just doesn’t cut it, no matter how ‘chilled’ it supposedly is, it will always sound pathetic until New Year’s Eve itself is banned. You can opt out of Christmas Day without seeming pathetic – on religious grounds, on practical grounds, it can almost seem cool not to sit around and eat poultry and pull crackers with your parents.But New Year is just about ‘having fun’. There is no credible reason to opt out. Unless you simply don’t have any friends, or don’t know how to enjoy yourself, which makes you feel like a failure. There are parties all over the world that night, and you aren’t at any of them.
So last January, five months ago now, my friends and I did what we always do and put at least three nights in the diary that wouldn’t break the bank, but would enable us to look forward to the following weekend.
Which is how we ended up in Shivers, a lap-dancing club on the Edgware Road at one o’clock in the morning, whooping at the women on the stage, and trying to persuade Jake to have a lap-dance. He was having none of it. The room itself was strange – stages like catwalks with, sticking up from them, poles which looked kind of smudged and grubby and greasy in the pinkish neon lights that shone from above. Around the stages were tables and chairs, not exactly tatty, but not stylish either. The bar was very pink, very neon, with a vase at one end holding what looked like plastic lilies. It wasn’t seedy, it just looked cheap. But we were drunk, so what the hell did we care – I hadn’t expected it to be something out of Elle Deco. All that glass, however, looking slightly grubby, slightly smeared, reflected the core business of the place back at me a little too much. It was essentially a sex club, but I didn’t want to have it spelt out for me. I wanted to convince myself that it was really very innocent, and fun, and frivolous, and that no bodily juices were actually involved. Initially, we
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