I was recently divorced, 39 years of age and living in an apartment in Sydney's inner eastern suburbs not far from the famous red light district of Kings Cross.
After two failed marriages, I was footloose and fiancé‚ free and as lusty as a rampant bull on speed. I chased after anything wearing a skirt as long as it was female. This is not say that I was homophobic. Far from it. I have many homosexual and lesbian friends whose company I enjoy but, like many heterosexual men, found the idea of same sex encounters as somehow distasteful ( no pun intended.) In other words, I didn't give a damn about what they did together as long as they didn't ask me to join in.
One night I took myself to Sydney's famous drag spectacular, Les Girls, to enjoy dinner and watch the performances of friends I knew in the show. I always enjoyed these evenings for the gorgeous costumes, outrageous humour and the great fun these talented people projected.
After the show, feeling a mite lonely and not wanting to go home, I repaired to the disco above the show lounge. Being a Saturday it was packed as usual with gays, lesbians and heteros and the floor was jammed.
I danced with a couple of girls, neither of whom responded to my approaches and settled on a stool at the bar content to watch the action. It was while I was downing my fourth ( or was it my fifth?) scotch that I saw her.
This beautiful young woman with auburn hair to the shoulders, a magnificent figure and perfect looking breasts that were not too large to be real and not too small to go unnoticed. She had blue eyes and a full and generous mouth. She wore a tight, sequined top that allowed her nipples to show tantalisingly and a short skirt that gave occasional glimpses of her thighs. My heart missed a beat as I stared at her, drinking in her appeal.
She must have been aware of my attraction because she glanced at me and gave a small but appreciative smile and the slightest of nods. Instinctively, I knew this was not the time to rush in like a love-strapped teenager so I stayed glued to my stool and waited.
I waited nearly an hour, nursing my drink, anxious not to appear out of control. Eventually she appeared beside me. "Is this stool taken?" she asked with a smile.
"It is now," I replied. "May I buy you a drink?"
" A gin and tonic would be welcome," she grinned. "Why don't we take our drinks to that banquette over there and have a chat?"
My heart leapt at this opportunity to be relatively alone with her and we settled into the banquette, facing the floor and started chatting.
As the night wore on we danced some more but his time closer. I could feel her breath on my neck as I held her that little bit closer and gently kissed her ear lobe. She responded by moving her hips into mine and kissing my cheek. We returned to the banquette and, as we talked, she placed her hand on my thigh in a gesture of intimacy and promise. I used a single finger to stroke the back of her hand as we talked.
I don't recall one word that we spoke and I doubt she could either as we drowned in the pools of desire in each others' eyes. I leant forward and lightly kissed her lovely, full lips and felt her tongue flick across the inside of mine.
"My place is just round the corner," she breathed.
