A New Year’s Resolution

December 31st, 1999.

The end of the millennium meant nothing. It had almost been a week since my wife Julia walked out the door and the loneliness was consuming me. I got changed and tried to focus on having a good time that night. Female company always puts a smile on a man’s face. Club Highlife in Downsville was the best bet. Going there meant I could take a lady in my arms and enjoy doing so in a part of town where no one knew me. If my wife really wasn’t coming back, she wouldn’t care, but she’d make sure they heard about it at work and I’d never hear the end of it. Some things are best done on the sly.

Highlife was full, so I stumbled into a seedier joint in a back lane. Club Angels. The kind of place where you wipe your feet on the doormat when you leave. At the bar, a mix of sly eyed businessmen and coked up Barbie dolls shared warm smiles and suspicious looks. I’d barely taken a sip of my champagne before she appeared, right before my eyes, sitting on a stool. I’ll be damned if the woman wasn’t the spitting image of my Julia.

The escort had black, pencil drawn eyebrows and a ton of pancake covered her skin. We shared a glance, I followed her up the stairs. When I got a proper look at her, she wasn’t as old as I thought, indeed, the woman could have been a fading, silent movie star. More likely around forty years of age. I didn’t need anything physical. Simply wanted someone to hold me in their arms.

I’d have to say that her room was exactly as you’d expect. The plush, strawberry red carpets were full of stains, home to semen spots and a billion bugs. After taking my shirt off, I mentally processed what my options were. It was difficult, acting as if I had a sexual interest in her. Especially considering her age behind the pancake. I never much liked older women. Maybe I will in the future, but at the moment I’m only twenty-six so that can wait. She uttered her replies in a crackling, nicotine stained voice, giving her name as Margot. Then an awful moment arrived, so horrible I could barely contain my shock. She removed her top. In that moment, I saw before me, the remains of a once shapely hourglass figure, now overlaid with sulking flab. Her breasts were hanging there before me, like two empty, porcine hot water bottles.

I couldn’t perform and she scoffed at the floppy hose in her hand. In a resigned tone she told me, ‘Okay soft cock, it’s your cash. I give up. Keep on staring at me if it makes you happy. Do you mind if I smoke?’ Her raised eyebrow expression told me she was going to smoke, whether I liked it or not.

I know I’ve been pretty rough in the way I’ve described her, but she did have a mumsi quality. I stood up and told her, ‘I’m sorry old gal. I thought you were someone I know.’

‘Why the hell did you ask me for a date? Is it a mother thing? With all those scars and tattoos you need mothering. And you’ve got a face only a mother could love.’

I froze and stared at her. ‘It’s you Julia, isn’t it?’ Not staring. Glaring.

‘Julia?’ she replied. ‘Who’s Julia?’

Maybe it was the champagne and cocaine, or just the culmination of a difficult month. Either way I woke up to find myself on top of her, crushing her face in my hand. I picked her up and threw her down again, holding onto her jawline with my right hand. Oddly enough, whilst I did this I could feel myself slipping into a kind of trance. It was a most peculiar sensation, as time seemed to stand still.

‘Get off me,’ she demanded as we careered around on the bed. ‘Get off.’

I could feel the wetness of the spittle running down my chin as I bore down on her body with my entire weight, immobilizing and choking her. Within seconds, a raucous commotion broke out downstairs and hearing it through the floor snapped me right out of my hypnotized state. My survival instinct told me I just had to regain my self-control and so I released her and rolled off the bed. ‘Jesus Christ, where am I?’

She never heard me – too busy coughing and spluttering. Eventually she pulled the silk sheets up and lay there crying.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It wasn’t spit on my chin, it was more like foam. ‘Don’t know what came over me.’

Heavy footsteps were approaching in the hallway. Maybe she triggered some sort of alarm, I don’t know. Somewhere, there must have been eyes on us. The door burst open and two sizeable bald doormen waded into the room like they were approaching the center of a boxing ring for the start of round one.

‘I knew you’d be trouble,’ said the first and fattest. His whisky red nose stood out -a blushing, sweaty tomato. I darted out of the window and clambered up to the roof. At one point, my footing gave way but I’m quite agile as it goes and managed to cling on. When a couple of angry gorillas are chasing you, climbing tall buildings becomes so much easier. Seconds later, I was across the rooftop and flattened out on top of the shops next door. It was an old Fish and Chip joint, the type that wrap their goods in newspaper.

Without warning, a huge explosion rocked the night sky as a fireworks display erupted across the horizon. The entire city of London burst into celebration. I scanned the bedroom windows in the brothel. Four separate rooms, Julia in every one of them being ravished by four disgusting customers.

I darted across the rooftops, climbed through a landing window, raced down the stairs and bolted out onto the street. Somewhere in that big city, Julia was fornicating with another man.

Both of them were already dead.

*

 

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