Angela Celebrates the New Year 2022

Background: This is my third Angela story. My first two were Angela has a Shameful Night, or Two, followed by Angela Goes Home for Christmas. You do not need to read the other two before this one. I want to thank the readers who left constructive comments, including a long, thoughtful, and helpful comment by an Anonymous reader, on my second Angela story (Angela Goes Home for Christmas). Enjoy the holidays, and don't drive drunk, JB

**

How strange this past year has been! It began inauspiciously with the January 6 fiasco, and now it's ending with the OhMyGod variant of the Coronavirus, better known, perhaps, as Omicron, because that's the name of a Greek letter.

On the personal side, I divorced my cheating husband Shane, and then after a long period of unsought chastity, fell victim to a clever seducer of women in the bar of the New York City Sofitel, with the man bribing me for some sexual favors. Yes, I know, that made me a prostitute for a night. That continues to be one of my more arousing memories.

As if that weren't enough, I had an amazing couple of days, when I had sex with my brother, my father, and Old Mr. Alcott, the neighborhood voyeur, who had watched me grow up while spying on me throughout my adolescence, for example whenever I changed clothes. His house had a perfect view of my bedroom. I never lowered the blinds, either. All that was only four days ago, at Christmas.

Now I'm home, which is in Seymour, Indiana, and Sam Engelbert has invited me to a New Year's Eve party. The party is down the road a piece, in Cincinnati, and Sam has secured a luxury hotel room for us to spend the night. I'm not a rocket scientist, far from it, but nevertheless I have a good idea of what Sam expects in that hotel room, once we stagger back to it after the party.

It's an open secret that Sam has had a crush on me since we were both twelve. It's kind of flattering, I suppose, but boys should grow out of unrequited schoolyard crushes on girls by the time they become men, if not before. Sam just didn't appeal to me. He was good-looking, nice, kind, and generous, don't get me wrong; but sexual appeal is not always rational. Indeed, most of my early adolescence no boy appealed to me, none at all, until Shane stole my heart. I ended up marrying Shane, but Shane did not forsake all others. Now we're divorced.

I had called my ex, Shane, to ask what he was up to for New Year's Eve? I really wanted a date for the occasion, and we had reconciled on the drive back from my Dad's after Christmas, or at least I had thought we had. Well, Shane told me he was busy; he had plans. Probing, he told me he was going to spend it with Marybeth.

Shane had always had an eye out for Marybeth when we were hot and heavy in high school, and I wondered, from time to time, if he had cheated on me with her. She was pretty and had bigger boobs than I did, which always made me insecure. Now Marybeth was also divorced. A lot of that was going around Southern Indiana. I wished him a Happy New Year, and in a fit of pique, I clicked off while he was in mid-sentence. Very mature, right?

After the dramatic phone call with Shane, I had talked with my BFF Joanie to see what she was up to, and she had a hot and heavy date with her boss, Mr. Silvers, for New Year's Eve. She told me, however, that Sam had just asked her out, and while she explained that Silvers had already claimed her for that evening, she had also mentioned that I was divorced now, and probably horny, so maybe Sam would like to invite me? As Joanie had said, the important thing was to have a date to bring in the New Year; much less important was who it was with.

I asked for the 411 on Sam. What was he like now? After all, it was fourteen years since high school. Was he married? Divorced? What was the word on him? Was he a great lover, or an asshole misogynist? Was he loving, or was he bitter? Did he like puppies and cat videos, or did he have an impressive gun collection? Who was he, now?

Joanie knew nothing. That, in and of itself, was significant. Joanie is an inveterate gossip, and she knows everything about everyone; but Sam drew a blank? This made me curious.

Sam is a nice guy, but unless he'd evolved since high school, he'd never be first choice to be my partner, not that I knew exactly what my first choice is. It used to be Shane, of course, but I just wasn't enough for him, I guess, since he had fun spreading the legs of some of my now former friends. Shane turned out to be a philanderer and that was not what I wanted in a husband!

Sam and I grew up together, and I knew he had a crush on me all through middle school and high school, but I always managed to stay out of reach of his wandering hands. He just didn't interest me that way, and besides, I had Shane.

To be honest, I didn't know Sam that well anymore. He'd matured into a handsome man, and his personality seemed too to have evolved. Sam may still not interest me that way, I just don't know, but I'm older now, 32 and a divorcée, and having sex is less dramatic.

Moreover, it's important to me not to become a sad little duckling, all alone on New Year's, getting drunk and watching the ball drop in Times Square on my small TV screen, with nobody to share it with. At least, it's a flat screen. I can't believe for how long I kept my old, very old, cathode ray tube. It just refused to break!

When Sam called, I had been forewarned by Joanie, so I was not caught off guard. When he asked me out to celebrate bring in the New Year, at a private party in Cincinnati, I surprised him when I told him I'd love to go with him. I gushed with enthusiasm, and that even surprised me! So, there it is: Sam Engelbert is finally taking me out. Good for him. Let's hope it's also good for me! Fingers crossed.

**

I imagine I'll know nobody at the party, it being a Cincinnati crowd, but it's in a luxurious home in Mt. Adams, with a glorious view of Cincinnati's downtown, and the Ohio River, and across it to Kentucky. I've seen pictures of the house. I can always just drink some wine and enjoy the view.

I called back my BFF Joanie to discuss what to wear. "I'm thinking of wearing my blue dress, you know, the one by Margiela?"

"The one that hugs your body like you're poured into it?" Joanie quipped.

"Come on, it's not that bad," I said.

"You going to wear a bra with it?" Joanie asked.

"Yes, of course. No bra would be too suggestive," I said.

"It looks better without a bra. The big advantage of your B cup boobs is that you can go without a bra, from time to time," Joanie said.

"This is not one of those times," I rejoined. "Besides, my nipples will get hard from the fabric of the dress rubbing them. I'll look obscene."

"No, you'll look sexy, and every guy will want to dance with you so that he can proposition you," Joanie said.

"And that's supposed to be a good thing?" I asked.

"Well, at least you'll get some action from someone you're not related to," she said. Ouch! Below the belt.

"Touché," I said.

"What panties will you wear?" Joanie asked.

"Joanie! That's an inappropriate question," I complained.

"Yeah, well, it's New Year's Eve, and you'll get drunk. You know it, and I know it. You know that dress is so short that if you're not constantly vigilant you'll be showing off your panties. So ... choose accordingly, is all I'm saying. You want to show off your gorgeous legs, I know, and that dress does it, in spades, but it also puts your modesty at risk," she said.

I knew she was right. Joanie's always right. It's annoying. "I'll wear the black ones, from La Perla."

"Good choice. They're the black lace ones, right? Transparent, right?"

"They're lined over my pussy, so modesty is preserved," I said.

"You're such a fucking exhibitionist. It wasn't enough to tease Old Man Alcott growing up, all those years?" Joanie said.

"Hey, you did it, too. Remember?" I asked.

"I'll never forget. You drove me to two orgasms that night, you know," Joanie said.

"I thought it was three," I giggled.

"I'll bet Old Man Alcott thought it was four or five. I think he was drooling," Joanie said.

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know," I replied.

"Okay, so your blue Margiela dress, no bra, and La Perla black lace panties. What shoes?" Joanie asked.

"My blue pumps," I replied.

"No heels?"

"I'm hoping to dance a little," I said.

"So, wear high heels, 3 inches minimum, to make an entrance and to further show off your legs. Then kick them off when you dance," Joanie said.

"Sounds good. Okay," I said.

"And no pantyhose," Joanie added.

"I know; it will ruin the look when I flash my panties," I teased.

"Bingo," Joanie said.

"Be nice, Joanie. How about holdup stockings? I don't want to dance in bare feet," I said.

"Perfect. The ones with a band of lace at the top?"

"Of course," I said.

"Poor Sam," Joanie said.

"What?" I asked, rather inelegantly.

"He's going to have wood throughout the party with you dressed like that!" Joanie said.

I giggled.

"My work here is done," Joanie said. "Now for the important stuff. What should I wear?"

"To seduce your boss, Mr. Silvers?" I asked.

"Exactly,"

"A smile," I said. "Maybe that's too much. Just show up."

"Very funny," Joanie replied. "How about my little pink number? You remember it, right?"

"Yes, that'll be perfect. Don't forget to add a mattress strapped to your back, of course," I replied.

Joanie giggled. "Good idea."

**

The drive down to Cincinnati was a little over an hour long, and Sam and I talked the entire ride. A lot of it was reminiscing about high school days that we shared, long, long ago. It began with funny reminiscences of things like orchestra and French class.

"Do you remember when George taught the orchestra words to Handel's Water Music? They were a bit off color?" Sam offered, as we pulled onto the interstate.

"I'll say! Making fun of Mrs. Smith's boobs like that, in a song, and right in school?" Mrs. Smith was our French teacher.

"Did you know that one time, when George was a guest conductor and Mr. Duncan went away for some reason, he got all the girls in the brass section to bare their boobs when we rehearsed the Water Music?" Sam offered.

"Seriously? I was playing the violin and facing forward, so I didn't see it! That really happened?" I asked.

"Yeah, mostly the girls took off their blouses and were in bras. But Marybeth went full tilt and she played the trumpet topless during the entire Water Music. I'd never even imagined boobs could be that big, and still look so wonderful. At the third suite of the Water Music, Marsha and Carolyn also removed their bras. All the guys were sporting woodies."

Sam continued, "George was going to get the string section to do it next, and that would have included you, but word got back to Mr. Duncan and George got into some trouble, so he never tried it again," Sam said.

"I guess you got to see some boobs in the flesh, big time," I offered.

"Yeah, I did. Three pairs of them, and I treasure the memory of all of them, even to this day. It was thrilling for me. Of course, the one set of boobs I lusted for played the violin."

"Whose boobs were those?" I asked.

"Yours, Angela," Sam said, and I blushed.

"My boobs are nothing special," I said,

"Angela, Angela," Sam said, as if he were talking to a child. "Of course, they are. They're special because they're yours. I had a mega crush on you back then," Sam said, as I blushed.

"Well, that was long ago. I'm sure you've gone through some lovely women since then. It's been, after all, over 14 years, now," I said.

Sam stayed silent.

Stupidly pursuing the topic, I asked, "Have there been some special women in your life, Sam?" Sam was driving right at the speed limit on Route 50. It's an easy two hours to Cincinnati.

Sam once again stayed silent. I mean the man was 32, and he was no longer a beanpole but had a good body. I looked at him with new eyes: He was handsome, and actually quite charming. He dressed well, had a good education, and he even smelled nice, something I've found you can't take for granted with men. He even drove a Tesla Model S! He had to have had at least one major relationship by now, right? Maybe he was just a private person. Best not to pry. I changed the subject again.

"Tell me about this party. Who are the people who will be there? Will there be anyone there I know? How did we get invited, or I mean you invited, since I'm only welcome there because I'm with you? How should we dress? I'm planning to wear a dress, and heels. Will that be okay?" I said, speaking a hundred miles per hour.

"That's a lot of questions. A nice dress should be fine attire," Sam said.

"How do you know the host of the party?" I asked, mostly to make harmless conversation after my faux pas asking about the women in Sam's life.

We drove in silence for quite a while after I asked that question, and finally Sam spoke. "Angela, you know I've always had a thing for you. I'm not gay," he said.

"Okay," I replied, nervously. I think I spoke the word 'okay' with three syllables. Why was he declaiming that he was not gay?

There was more silence for at least another ten miles, so finally I broke the ice and the chilly feeling now that hung over the car, and I said, "I never even thought to think you might be gay, Sam. I know you've always liked me. I was just always with Shane," I said.

"And now you're not," Sam said, looking constantly straight ahead at the road, and not even glancing at me. He looked to me to be tense.

"Right. Now I'm not. I'm single again," I said, still not understanding what was going on. I wondered what I was getting myself into!

"There's something I need to tell you, Angela. Please don't interrupt. Hear me out until I finish," Sam said.

"Okay," I said, this time using only the normal two syllables.

"I never even kissed a girl in high school, but when I got to college I thought that would change. All the guys I knew were scoring right and left with girls, but I was alone. I'd try; I'd ask girls out, and I'd get shot down. I'd go to dances where boys meet girls, ask girls to dance, and they would say no. None of this, oh I'd love to, but...They just said no. It was humiliating," Sam said. I was beginning to feel really bad for Sam.

"It began quietly, when a nice guy, a friend, really, and I were talking. I was complaining about my total lack of success with girls. He looked at me funny. I said "What?" a little aggressively. He said, 'You haven't figured it out?' Well, to make a long story short, he suggested I try boys. More specifically, he suggested that I try it on with him. This was twelve years ago, and gay men were becoming accepted by Millennials like us."

Sam glanced over at me to see my reaction. He had my full attention.

"I ended up discovering sex with Mark. There was a whole semi-secret network of gay guys at my college. We weren't really secret, and we all knew each other, but we didn't flaunt it, or shove it in other people's faces, you know?"

I didn't want to interrupt, so I nodded, as he glanced over at me.

"So, no, I haven't gone through some lovely women since high school; but I've gone through some lovely men," Sam said. "However, I'm not gay."

"You're not gay," I repeated, but in a tone of voice which made it a question.

"Right. I'm not gay. I'm bisexual. I like men and women, both. It just seems that women are not attracted to me. I'm a very sexual person, so I get it where I can. Gay men, you know, are often great people. They're loving, and sweet; some of them are, at least. I guess they're just like everyone else, only gay," Sam said.

We drove on in silence for a while. I had not been expecting any of this. Indeed, I was in a state of shock. For the first time in my adult life, I was speechless, and I had no smart little quip to say to lighten the mood. Finally, Sam spoke again.

"You asked how I got invited to the party; if I knew the host. Yes, Angela, I know the host. He and I were lovers for a little over a year. That was, however, some years ago. We're still friends," Sam asked.

I had a strange look on my face. Sam understood right away.

"It's not a party for gay men. Steve is bi, like me. Men and women will be there, and most everyone will be heterosexual. Currently, Steve has a girlfriend. She's lovely, and you'll like her. You'll feel right at home, Angela. Steve throws a great party, too. He comes from a lot of money. William Howard Taft, the former president, is one of his ancestors. His family owns tons of mining concerns, all over the world. You would not find the likes of a man like Steve in a town like Seymour," Sam said.

I figured I could speak now, since Sam seemed to be done. "Still, you can find a lot of good men in Seymour, like Shane, and like you, Sam," I said, giving him my best smile, as he glanced at me, while keeping his eye on Route 50. It's not an Interstate, so it's prudent to pay full attention when driving Route 50.

"We're close to Cincinnati, now. Let's stop talking, I need to concentrate. Thanks, though, for listening to me. I hope you don't think less of me," Sam said.

"Oh, Sam. I think more of you now! It took tremendous courage to confess that to me. I admire you," I said.

"You know, Angela, I'm 32, and I've still never kissed a girl," Sam said.

"Pull over at the next gas station, and meet me in the bathroom, and maybe we can fix that," I said. I was warming up to Sam.

"Oh wow. I'll not just be kissing a girl; I'll be kissing my dream girl!" Sam said, and I blushed, followed by nervous giggles. I'm 32, divorced, and a week ago I fucked my brother, my father, Old Mr. Alcott, and my ex, Shane. Kissing Sam seemed like small potatoes in comparison, and apparently it would be thrilling to him, to kiss me. I like that in a man: That he's thrilled just to kiss me. I'd make it a good kiss.

The bathroom, which was run down, dirty, and smelled, was not the most romantic place in Southeast Indiana to kiss a guy, but it was private, since the door locked. I had planned to give Sam a great kiss, but Sam surprised me by giving me the most loving, tender, and yet passionate kiss I could ever remember receiving! The kiss lasted several minutes, and at the end, Sam was obviously hard, and I was less obviously, but without question, damp, down in the panties area.

**

"I'd like to ask you a favor, please, Angela," Sam said, as we were riding the elevator up to our hotel room, before the party.

"Go right ahead," I said. I had a small carry-on with me, which had the blue dress in it, as well as all of my creams and make up and medications, extra panties, my diaphragm (you never know!), and some jewelry.

"Can you pretend to be my girlfriend tonight? I want to impress Steve, and a few other people," Sam said.

"Impress them that you have a girlfriend, or impress them that I'm your girlfriend? I'm not that impressive as a girlfriend, Sam," I replied.

"Just impress them, let's leave it at that. Maybe you could dress a little sexy, too?" Sam added.

"I can do both. I'll be your girlfriend for tonight, and dress sexy, too. Can I flirt a little with other men, too? I haven't really flirted since my divorce," I said. Sure, I've fucked my brother, my father, Old Mr. Alcott, and my ex in the snow by the road at a rest stop, but flirt? Nope. I could use some innocent flirting. It's good for a girl. "How about we tell them that we're friends with benefits?"

"I'm going to change into my party clothes, Sam. I'll use the bathroom for a while, so if you need to go, you'd best go now," I said.

Once in the bathroom I tried on my blue dress with a bra, and then again without one. I took selfies of myself each way, and sent them to Joanie.