I Think I Kissed a Ladyboy One Christmas

I Think I Kissed a Ladyboy One Christmas (Part One)

It was Christmas 1975 and we had just returned to work after having had our Christmas lunch at the pub.
Although in truth calling it Christmas lunch was perhaps a bit of a stretch and “Christmas Lunch” makes it sound grander that it actually was.
In the 1970s pub grub was very unsophisticated fare and invariably consisted of Chicken in a Basket or a Ploughman’s.
The more up market establishments might well offer Scampi in a Basket and a selection of Ploughman’s including a variety of cheeses as alternatives to the norm.
The Pig and Whistle however was not an up market establishment in any way shape or form and offered Chicken in a Basket or cheddar cheese Ploughman’s.
However in addition to that as it was Christmas you got a Mince Pie as well.
So after our “Christmas Lunch” we all arrived back at work with some of our number much the worse for drink.
I myself had perhaps over indulged to a small degree with an unspecified number of Light and Bitters so as a consequence I was wearing beer goggles and even scabby Carole was looking passable.
So was Wonky Wendy, so called because she had a wonky eye.
Wendy had one eye that looked at you while the other one was looking for you.
Ok I admit “Wonky” wasn't a very imaginative nickname but there you have it, it was the 70s and we were simple folk.
Well anyway through beer goggles even she looked quite appetising.
Another of the girls I wouldn’t normally have looked at twice was Pat Warner.
Although she had nice eyes and a pretty smile, other than that she was a plain looking girl about a year younger than me.
Over the previous year Pat had made no secret of the fact that she fancied me.
I on the other hand did not fancy her and not because she was plain or because she was stick thin and featureless or because she was ginger the truth was she just didn’t do it for me.
But that was without the benefit of alcohol fuelled lust.

On returning to the factory we continued the party in the canteen,
My tipple of choice from what was available was Light Ale while for Pat it was Port and Lemon and that day we both necked a few.
And with every bottle of beer I drank Pat was getting prettier and prettier.
It reached a point that when she went off to the loo I followed a few minutes later and intercepted her as she returned and took her in the rubber room.
No not that kind of rubber, it was the room where the rubber bands were sorted and counted.
It was a small room about 20’ square with glass on two sides but with the lights off it was dark enough in the shadows for what I had in mind.
As soon as the door closed behind us though she was all over me like a rash and her tongue was in my mouth like an Excocet, and her hand went straight to my fly.
"Blimey you're keen" I thought to myself
I thought I had better join in quick and yanked her blouse from the waist band of her skirt and partly unbuttoned it before going in search of her tits.
When I found them, such as they were, I made a startling discovery.

I Think I Kissed a Ladyboy One Christmas (Part Two)

When I got my hand on her breast I made a startling discovery and no, it wasn’t anything to do with Scaramanga.
What I found was something altogether different.
Now I was just a callow youth and I wasn’t hugely experienced in the ways of the world.
But I had had sufficient experience of breasts to know that nipples shouldn’t be hairy.
“This needs further investigation” I thought and proceeded to complete the unbuttoning of the blouse.
Then I steered her gently around so the light fell across her exposed breast.
I broke away from her mouth and let her tongue my ear instead while I looked down at her tiny breast surmounted with a perfectly formed swollen nipple surrounded by two inch long curly ginger hairs.
“That can’t be right” I thought
But a moment later Pat wrestled my old chap from my jeans and began tugging on it.
This distracted me from the hairy nipple as with my penis in her had she got my full attention so my hand abandoned her hairy tit and headed south.
I got my hand up her skirt easy enough and was attempting to get it into her knickers when she said
“No” and pushed my hand away
I kissed her again and after a few moments I tried once more,
I even managed to get my fingertips beneath the elastic of her knicker leg that time before she stopped me again.
“I said no” she reaffirmed
“Why not?” I asked
“Because you have a girlfriend” she replied
Well I don’t mind telling you I thought it was a bit indelicate of her to mention that I had a girlfriend as she was in a darkened room with me and she had my old chap in her hand.
I was about to point out the hypocrisy of her position when the door flew open.
“Aye, aye” Shaft said
Shaft was the foreman, his real name was Ted but his nickname was Shaft not because he was black but because he was shafting Beryl from picking.
I did the gentlemanly thing and positioned myself between Ted and Pat so she could redress herself.
It also enabled me to force my stubborn erection back into my jeans which it seemed reluctant to do, he had come out to party and didn’t want to go home early before he had.
“I’ve just come for my coat” Ted said with a chuckle
He took his coat off the peg
“Carry on” he said and closed the door.
I would have liked to carry on but Pat wasn’t going to let me carry on as far as I wanted to so we went back to the party and that was that.

I never had another close encounter with Pat and in the light of the hairy nipples I had no desire to as in the sober light of day I didn’t fancy her.
Also I never ever encountered any other hairy breasted women over the years.

It was many years after the Christmas grope in the Rubber Room that doubts entered my mind that it was anything other than what it appeared.
Which first surfaced after I watched a documentary about Ladyboy’s.
You have to remember we were very naïve back then in the 70s and we had never heard of Ladyboy’s.
We weren’t complete yokels though we had heard of homosexuals though no one I knew had ever met one.
I always assumed that Pat was short for Patricia but after the documentary I wasn’t so sure.
We tended to take things at face value back then but if I had managed to gain entry into Pat’s knickers I would have known for sure if she was fish or fowl.

The First Works Christmas Party

I left school when I was fifteen which was in the early seventies.
I was living in Stevenage, with my parents in a warden run block of sheltered accommodation for the elderly, my mother was the warden.
I attended the School nearby which I left in the May and I started my first three days later.
However In the November of that same year the family moved from one side of town to the other, the significance of this will become clear later in the story.
The house move didn’t affect my getting to and from work as the town had a good bus service, operating a flat fare service on circular routes.
So I still got the same bus as I did from the old address but from a different stop but the price was the same.
This also will prove significant later on.
As I said this was my first year at work and I had my first Christmas party to look forward to.
It was on the last day before we broke for the Christmas holiday and we had a little works party in the yard where a little Christmas cheer was imbibed and a drink or two were consumed.
Now I was only sixteen and I had only had very limited experience of alcohol and I got well and truly bladdered on whisky Mac, cider and something unpronounceable from Yugoslavia.
At the end of the afternoon one of my workmates gave me a lift into the town centre and from there I caught my usual bus.
In my drunken state I managed to climb the stairs to the top deck and the bus set off filled with Christmas shoppers and a drunken trainee grounds man.
I must have drifted off on the journey and I suddenly came to and looking out the window recognized a familiar site and I promptly got off the bus.
I headed off up the road in the direction of home wishing all and sundries a merry Christmas as I went.
I entered through the main doors to the flats and passed the Christmas tree in the foyer and headed straight for flat number one.
At the door I fumbled for my key and presented it to the lock, it wouldn’t fit.
I peered closely at it and it was definitely my door key so I tried to put it in the lock again, still it wouldn’t fit.
Suddenly the door opened and a stranger looked out at me
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Ah my name is Paul and I don’t live here anymore do I?”
The lady, who was the new warden, laughed and agreed with me that I no longer lived there.
So I wished her a happy Christmas and made my way back to the foyer were there was a public telephone with a large Perspex dome over it.
My intention was to phone for a taxi but rummaging in my pockets I discovered I had no money for the taxi or indeed a coin to make a phone call.
Then as I tried to duck under the Perspex hood I tripped over my own feet and fell into the Christmas tree which ended up on top of me.
The lady who now lived at no 1 heard the commotion and came to investigate and to my surprise thought it very amusing to find a drunken teenager wearing the Christmas tree.
“Oh dear” she said laughing.
Deeply apologetic I explained the circumstances of my predicament and the new warden phoned a taxi for me and even gave me the money for the fare.
That was real Christmas spirit and I have never forgotten her kindness and tolerance and try to keep that same spirit in my own heart at Christmas.