I’ve always thought people can be easily separated into two groups; those who favour Christmas and those who favour New Year’s. Personally I’ve always been a Christmas girl. People are more spirited, friendly and benevolent with their sexual favours (treating them like presents to give out to a stranger) in that party atmosphere where Santa and his elves peep in from the outskirts. It’s almost as if you have to be naughty to be nice in December. It’s a time of sharing and giving – so with beer goggles firmly attached people are more likely to hook up out of a general feeling of goodwill. It’s a fabulous feeling.

New Year’s though … people are out for themselves. It’s no longer about sharing and giving; it’s about cutting off old ties, burning bridges and creating a new and better life for one’s self. It’s about new starts and hopes and they spring from each individual’s wants and desires. Whereas Christmas is about being with other people and loving what we’ve got, New Year’s is about moving on from what we have in the hope of finding something better.

It’s always been fucking shambolic for me and absolutely dire in the sex stakes. I blame this solely on the fact that people become self absorbed, self obsessed and overly critical and analytical of themselves on New Year’s and thus are unable to focus on the people around them. They look at potential shag’s on New Year’s Eve as if they are potential life partner’s … and clearly I never quite made the grade. Christmas people are just looking for a good time in a warm setting where everyone leaves happy but knowing it’s all been easy Christmas fun. No pressure, no strings. New Year’s is all about the pressure to start anew so everyone becomes tunnel vision.

Hence I’ve always avoided New Year’s. It’s nothing but a constant disappointment for me.

I give you a few examples. When I lost my virginity in 1999 I pretty much became a cock hungry whore. I remember the evening before the work Christmas party my friend and I decided to go clubbing in the West End. I preferred to steer clear of the West End of account of my rather voluptuous figure and general lack of experience in more expensive (or classy) environment. This night though there was decorations and mistletoe. At a time when boy bands were at their height I found myself being approached by a little cutie that could easily have jumped off the cover of smash hits magazine with his black curtains haircut, chiselled features and perfectly packaged body. He’d come from work in trousers and a smart shirt but it wasn’t long before he had smiled and whispered to me he was going to the toilet.

I wasn’t sure how to read that but felt there was an invitation in his declaration of requiring use of the club’s facilities. I made my way down the stairs and he was waiting at the bottom. As soon as I appeared he grabbed my hand and dragged me into the women’s toilets, locking us into a cubicle. Without further ado hands were down pants, tights and control knickers were being clumsily taken off. I went to sit him on the toilet so I could ride him but he took one look at the state of the toilet and shook his head. For some reason it was okay to have sex in the toilet but not on the toilet.

Because he was short and I was in 4 inch heels the sex was quickly becoming a logistical nightmare. Soon enough I was slipping out of my shoes to lower my height. My hands pinned to the toilet wall and legs spread to allow him access. He just had an inch or two but the cubicle was so small my thunderous thighs couldn’t spread as wide as required. The next attempt I had my hands on the side of the cubicle. One leg on the floor, the other leg raised and rested onto the toilet bowl. This gave him the spread to enter me clumsily. Both young and somewhat inexperienced and overly horny and desperate to do the deed to go and brag to our respective friends. A few thrusts and I found my hands slipping. He was frustrated he couldn’t go deeper…and so was I. Again we tried a re-position. He stood, semi squat, over the toilet bowl and tried to life me up. I have to say he was a brave sex soldier trying given my bulk! He lifted me up and onto his cock but as muscular and wiry as his build was he would be no means have the stamina to continue supporting my weight while fucking me like a rabbit. I then attempted my own acrobatic feat by clutching the walls of the cubicle and supporting my weight while trying to ride on his cock. Being unfit and having no upper arm strength this only lasted a few more thrusts.

By this time it was painfully obvious what was going on. Did people make complaints, bang angrily on the door, call security??? NO! It was Christmas and people were happy. In fact I remember one girl finding my shoe, kicked down a few stalls and slipping it under my door wishing me well with my activity and reminding me not to forget my shoes.

He was desperate to cum; I was desperate to be more fully fucked. I decided to give my first Christmas gift. I braved the toilet bowl. I bent over and rested my hands on the toilet bowl. This gave me the stability and height for him to enter and fuck me like the Duracell Christmas bunny he was. Fortunately his cock was young enough, strong enough and determined enough to have me biting back cries of ecstasy rather than being deterred by the state of the toilet and what germs were there. Soon enough I could feel his cock swelling inside me, my vaginal muscles clamping tighter around him inside. I stood up preventing him from any potential explosion. Looked at the toilet seat…thought of what Jesus would want (a safe but heavenly experience I guesses…and sat on the toilet seat.

I began licking his cock up and down. It was to be my first proper blow job. I pulled the foreskin down and traced my tongue around the head of his cock. I sucked the top – he moaned. I didn’t know if I sucked it too hard but he groaned loudly. I continued licking up and down and all around and soon enough I decided it was time to take the beast in my mouth. I opened up and wrapped my lips around the head of his cock. I was careful not to let my teeth graze his prick – I’d read in some woman’s magazine that could cause pain. Slowly I began to ease him further and further into my mouth. I only got it so far before I started to gag. I got a shock and released straight away.

Aware of my inexperience he gently took my head and began to slowly insert himself into my head. Each time I gagged he pulled out. Eventually I began to relax and the more relaxed I became the more of him I found I could fit in my mouth. Feeling a little more in control I began to build up a rhythm. He released his gentle hold on my head and let me manage the job in hand – sorry mouth. Soon enough I could feel him swelling again and I stressed and panicked as the gag reflexes kicked in, but I’d done enough. Just as I was frightened I couldn’t breathe I felt my mouth fill up with a sweet salty liquid. I heard him moaning and could see his hands had gripped the sides of the toilet cubicle. He lent down and kissed my head. While he was zipping up I spat the substance from my mouth into the toilet bowl and began to dress up. We had a kiss, exchanged numbers, ensured our respective friends mingled for the remainder of the evening and went home. Me with a cum stained face and wearing tinsel like a scarf.

The following night at the works Christmas party we found ourselves sharing our venue with another company. Being a virgin – thrice removed – and still buzzing from the night before at 22 I found a lovely young trainee accountant throwing some haphazard drunken shapes to the sounds of Lou Bega and Ricky Martin. Before long we were shimmying on the dance floor closer and closer to each other. As our bodies got closer and closer so to did our lips. But we were both young and being lip locked wasn’t enough. Pretty soon we were almost dry humping on the dance floor. I was the cock hungry, uninhibited Australian within minutes my hands were down his trousers and working their way inside his boxers. Soon enough to allow me more freedom to wank his cock he was unzipping and I was literally performing a hand job in the corner of the dance floor in full view of the partner’s, managing and financial director. Fortunately for me the head of the secretary pool had taken the role of surrogate mother of me in my time in London and within minutes was pushing the boy off saying he ought to know better, seizing my arm and marching me off the dance floor then scolding me like a child at a private table.

But like all naughty Christmas elves once the Christmas party venue closed we somehow gravitated back together at the cloakroom and soon enough found ourselves fornicating at the fire exit of some office building in London’s West End. We literally got lost in the dark doorway, my hands found his cock, he got my dress up and my knickers down far enough for him to thrust into me quickly, desperately and without a sound. It was anonymous Christmas sex, a brief and cheeky pounding for me and something warm and wet for him to remember this particular party in years to come. Unsatisfying because due to time restraints and venue neither of us climaxed but a secret Santa fuck was definitely the order of the night – so once we’d scratched the sexual itch we departed to our separate after parties.

At our recovery party the night after the works Christmas do, L and I made our way to our favourite club in Norbury. The big, black bouncer I had always had a soft spot for allowed me to flirt incorrigibly with him and I made all sorts of promises about him taking me home and revealed all the private sexual thoughts I had carried with him throughout the past 12 months. After a few stolen kisses, by the time the end of the night came the thought of his big black cock became a frightening reality so I began to retract the vows I’d made earlier in the evening. Did he take offense? Refuse entry on our next visit? Start insisting I pay for entry? NO! Because he knew it was Christmas and there was no malice in my last minute rejection, everything was taken in good spirit and a light hearted manner.

That was just three nights over one Christmas. The Christmas of 1999. Do I have any similar tales of New Year’s Eve antics?

Let me think.

Okay so the raunchiest New Year’s experience I had in 32 years – and this is without a word of a lie. In 2003 we decided to do something very last minute for New Year’s. So last minute we didn’t leave home until 11.30pm.By the time we made our way through the throng of the humming West End the countdown had begun. I was wearing combat trousers and a bra covered by only a net top. I was looking pretty cute I think – sex in a girl next door kinda way. There was the smell of a million different aftershaves and perfumes mingling with the abundance of pheromones, the mist of the smoke machine and alcoholic cocktail haze the room was immersed. As the crowd roared the last count down 3 -2 -1 everyone whooped for joy. At the same moment a man got his watch caught on my net top. Whilst everyone was saying happy new year he was tugging his hand. He kissed me quickly on the mouth and shouted ‘Happy New Year.’ I smiled up at him, expecting a longer, lingering more sensual kiss. ‘Can you undo yourself from me there’s a girl over there I need to get to before someone else does.’ Stupefied in shock, my momentary pause took too long because he ripped his watch from my top, tearing the netting and didn’t bother apologising or looking back. As I looked round the room everyone seemed to be looking for the next best thing and no one was looking at me.

That was the closest I’ve come to sex at New Year’s so you’ll understand my reluctance to blog on this particular time of the year. It’s hardly scintillating stuff a story that can ever be considered ‘Gone Wild’….although his manners had clearly gone somewhere as they weren’t present around me. Fuck New Year and roll on next Christmas.