AFTER DARK DIARIES | ROMANCE

Sue’s After Dark Diaries Ep 52

The Halloween Party From Hell

There are some evenings when you get dressed up, put on your best perfume and head out hoping for a little excitement.

Nothing too outrageous. A few drinks, a bit of dancing, perhaps a handsome stranger who knows what to do with his hands when the music slows down.

That was my plan for Halloween.

Sharon had other ideas.

Not that she told me what they were, but I’ve known that woman long enough to recognise trouble when it turns up wearing red lipstick and a pair of heels that ought to require planning permission.

And believe me, those heels were only the beginning.

A Witch, a Devil and a Pair of Dangerous Boots

After last week’s Halloween costume shopping catastrophe, I was determined to look fabulous.

I’d finally found a gorgeous black witch’s dress that fitted beautifully, showed off my boobs without threatening to launch them across the room and actually made me feel rather sexy.

A miracle, considering what happened in that changing room.

My long brown hair had behaved itself, my make-up was perfect, and I’d even managed to put my false eyelashes on without sticking my eyes closed.

I stood in front of the mirror, admiring the result.

Not bad, Sue.

Not bad at all.

Benji was stretched out on the bedroom carpet with his beloved fluffy parrot between his paws, watching me with that familiar expression of complete disapproval.

“What?” I asked him. “Haven’t you ever seen a glamorous witch before?”

He sneezed.

“Charming. I’ll remember that next time you want a biscuit.”

Then the doorbell rang.

And there was Sharon.

Bloody hell.

My gorgeous blonde friend had transformed herself into the sort of devil who could tempt a saint into doing something he’d have to confess for the rest of his life.

A fitted red dress, a little cape, enormous horns, stockings, suspenders and a pair of knee-high red boots with heels so high I was surprised she wasn’t suffering from altitude sickness.

“Well?” she demanded, turning around. “What do you think?”

“Bloody hell, Sharon! You look fantastic!”

“I know!”

“Modest as ever.”

She grinned and struck a pose.

“Like the boots?”

“Love them. Have you worked out how you’re going to walk in them?”

“Of course I have!”

“Good. Because I’m not spending the evening carrying you around like a wounded flamingo.”

“Shut up, Sue!”

She gave me a playful shove, then looked me up and down.

“Ooh, look at you! Those boobs look fabulous!”

“Thank you. They’ve been remarkably cooperative today.”

“Lucky you. I’ve spent twenty minutes trying to get mine into this dress.”

“You obviously managed?”

“Eventually. Although I think one of them’s still sulking.”

I burst out laughing.

Then Benji appeared in the hallway.

He stopped, looked up at Sharon’s horns and backed away.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

“He’s probably wondering why you’ve arrived with two coat hooks on your head.”

“Oi! I love my horns!”

She laughed and bent down to fuss Benji, giving me a rather generous view of the tops of her stockings.

“Sharon! Watch your dress!”

“What?”

“Your backside’s practically introducing itself to the neighbours.”

She straightened up, grinning.

“Well, it’s Halloween. Might as well give them a treat.”

Honestly, the woman is impossible.

Ten minutes later, we were on our way to a Halloween fancy-dress party at a converted country house just outside town.

One glamorous witch.

One outrageously dressed devil.

And absolutely no idea what the evening had in store.

A Murdered Fruit Salad and a Very Handsome Devil

The venue looked fantastic.

Pumpkins lined the driveway, cobwebs hung from the ceilings and enormous plastic spiders dangled above the entrance.

One particularly horrible hairy thing brushed against Sharon’s horns as we walked through the door.

“AAARGH!”

She ducked, caught her cape on the door handle and nearly took the whole decoration down with her.

I was laughing before we’d even reached the bar.

“Sharon! It’s plastic!”

“I know!”

She glared at the spider.

“Stupid bloody thing.”

We grabbed our free drink from the entrance table and made our way inside.

Wow, the ballroom was packed.

There were witches, vampires, skeletons, zombies, a rather handsome pirate and somebody dressed as a giant banana.

A banana!

At Halloween!

Don’t ask me what a banana has to do with Halloween. Perhaps he’d come dressed as a murdered fruit salad.

I nudged Sharon.

“Look at that bloke.”

She followed my gaze.

“What the hell’s he supposed to be?”

“A banana.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Perhaps the rest of the fruit bowl’s been murdered.”

She started giggling, then suddenly stopped.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, Sue.”

“What?”

“Look over there.”

I turned towards the bar.

And bloody hell.

Now, I’ve seen some impressive men in my time, but this one certainly deserved a second look.

Tall, dark-haired, broad shoulders, muscular chest, enormous horns and red-and-black face paint that made him look as though he’d just escaped from Hell’s most exclusive gym.

He was gorgeous.

But it wasn’t his chest that caught my attention.

Oh, no.

It was what he was wearing below the waist.

Those Shorts Should Come With a Warning

A pair of bright red shorts.

Skimpy bright red shorts.

And bloody hell, they were tight!

I couldn’t help wondering how on earth he’d managed to get all his cargo in there. There certainly wasn’t much room left for anything else.

I mean, honestly, one wrong move and the whole lot could tumble out.

And judging by the size of things, that was quite a lot to be worrying about.

Sharon was staring.

Not discreetly, either.

She might as well have got out a tape measure.

“Bloody hell, Sue. Look at him!”

“I am looking.”

“Look at those shoulders!”

“Yes, Sharon.”

“And his chest!”

“Yes, Sharon.”

“And those shorts!”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed the shorts.”

She leaned towards me.

“Do you reckon he’s got anything on underneath?”

I nearly choked on my drink.

“Sharon!”

“What? I’m only asking!”

“Well, if he has, he’s probably struggled.”

She burst out laughing.

Then he looked over.

Caught us staring.

And smiled.

Oh, bugger.

Sharon smiled straight back, of course she did.

That’s Sharon, never been troubled by embarrassment.

He picked up his drink and walked towards us.

I watched those shorts with genuine concern. Every step looked like a battle between the stitching and whatever was trying to escape.

“Evening, ladies,” he said, smiling. “I’m Damien.”

Of course he was.

A bloke dressed like that was hardly going to be called Norman, was he?

“I’m Sharon,” she said, giving him her most devastating smile.

“Sue,” I added.

He looked us both up and down.

“Great costumes.”

“Thanks,” Sharon purred. “Yours isn’t bad either.”

I glanced at his shorts.

“Can I ask you something, Damien?”

He grinned.

“Go on.”

“How the bloody hell did you get into those?”

He burst out laughing.

“Believe it or not, my sister dared me to wear them.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. She said I was too boring if I dressed up as a normal devil.”

“Well, you’ve certainly proved her wrong. Although I wouldn’t recommend sneezing.”

Sharon elbowed me.

“Sue!”

“What? I’m thinking of the poor man’s safety!”

Damien laughed again.

Apparently, he restored antique furniture for a living, which surprised me. He looked more like the sort of bloke who could lift a wardrobe over his head than somebody who spent his days carefully repairing it.

He’d even spent that afternoon fixing an elderly neighbour’s garden gate.

I thought he sounded like a good guy.

Mind you, I couldn’t help imagining the poor woman answering her door and finding him standing there in those shorts.

She’d probably have forgotten all about the gate.

Sharon was clearly smitten.

And when the DJ put on a lively song, she wasted no time.

“Come on, Damien. Let’s dance.”

He looked down at his shorts.

“Not sure these are designed for dancing.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “If anything falls out, we’ll give you a shout.”

“SUE!”

“I’m only trying to help!”

Off they went.

And I settled down with my wine to enjoy the entertainment.

Dirty Dancing Has Nothing on Sharon

Now, I’ve seen Sharon dance before.

Usually after a couple of drinks, when she starts believing she’s twenty-five again, and every song is an invitation to demonstrate what she can do with her hips.

But tonight?

Bloody hell.

She was putting on quite a performance.

Damien had his hands on her waist while she swayed against him, her little red cape fluttering behind her and those enormous horns wobbling every time she tossed her hair.

Then she turned around, pressed her backside against him and started moving to the beat.

Damien joined in.

Bloody hell!

He definitely looked like he was enjoying himself, that was for sure.

His cargo was practically bopping along to the beat of the music.

Well, that put a whole new spin on Dirty Dancing.

I nearly choked on my wine.

At one point, Sharon bent her knees and started moving lower.

Damien followed.

I held my breath.

Not because the dancing was particularly exciting, although it certainly had its moments.

No, I was waiting for the inevitable sound of splitting fabric.

Thankfully, they both stood up again.

I raised my glass in silent congratulations.

Well done, shorts. Still hanging in there.

Then a man’s voice spoke beside me.

“Enjoying the entertainment?”

I turned.

And found myself looking at a handsome vampire.

A Vampire

Now, this was more like it.

Tall, dark hair, lovely eyes, a beautifully fitted black suit, burgundy waistcoat and a long velvet cape.

He even had proper vampire fangs.

Very handsome.

“I’m Nathan,” he said, smiling. “We met through Mark.”

I looked at him more closely.

“Oh! Nathan! Of course! Sorry, I didn’t recognise you with those teeth.”

He grinned, showing them off.

“Do they suit me?”

“Very much. Although you might struggle with a bacon sandwich.”

He laughed.

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Nathan was lovely company. Funny, easy-going and blessed with the sort of smile that makes a woman forget what she was about to say.

Not that I was planning to tell him that.

We talked about Mark, and Nathan mentioned he’d heard quite a bit about Benji.

“Oh, God. What’s Mark been saying?”

“Something about his underwear?”

I closed my eyes.

“Of course he has.”

Nathan laughed.

“Should I ask?”

“Only if you’ve got half an hour. Benji’s developed a terrible habit of treating Mark’s boxer shorts like his own personal collection.”

“Seriously?”

“Unfortunately. I’m beginning to think the little sod has a fetish.”

Nathan nearly spat out his drink.

Then he asked me to dance.

Well, I wasn’t going to turn down a handsome vampire, was I?

He was a good dancer, smelled gorgeous and had a rather nice way of pulling me closer whenever the music slowed.

I was beginning to think Sharon might actually have done me a favour by dragging me out.

Not that I intended to tell her.

She’d be unbearable.

Then I spotted her over Nathan’s shoulder.

She was laughing so hard she could barely stand while Damien tried to free one of her horns from a hanging cobweb.

“Everything all right?” Nathan asked.

“Yeah. Sharon’s just trying to take the decorations home.”

“Looks like they’re having fun.”

“Oh, they are. Although I’m not convinced his shorts are.”

Nathan followed my gaze.

Then looked again.

“Bloody hell!”

“Exactly.”

He started laughing.

“Are those actually shorts?”

“Apparently. Although I think they’re more of a suggestion.”

That set him off again.

We danced through another song, and I was just beginning to enjoy having his arms around me when the DJ picked up his microphone.

The Halloween costume competition was about to begin.

Oh, marvellous.

I’d almost forgotten.

Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight

We’d been given numbered wristbands on arrival.

Mine was twenty-seven.

Sharon’s was twenty-eight.

Because the competition included a midnight parade across the stage, I’d spent most of the evening hoping the judges would find someone else to embarrass.

The DJ started announcing the finalists.

A corpse bride.

A pirate.

A skeleton who looked as though he’d spent six months assembling his costume.

Then…

“NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN! OUR BEAUTIFUL BLACK WITCH!”

Oh, for God’s sake.

Nathan looked at my wristband.

“That’s you!”

“Yes, thank you. I can count.”

He laughed.

“Go on. You’ll be fine.”

Across the room, Sharon was waving at me, laughing her head off.

Then the DJ announced number twenty-eight.

Her face!

Oh, I wish I’d had my camera ready.

I waved back.

“YOU’RE COMING TOO!”

She made her way over, shaking her head.

“Bloody hell, Sue! Both of us!”

“Serves you right for laughing.”

Then Damien was called as another finalist.

Well, of course he was.

With a costume like that, he deserved an award for bravery alone.

The three of us gathered beside the stage with the other finalists.

Sharon had a glass of red wine in her hand.

I looked at it.

Then at her boots.

Then back at the wine.

“Sharon, do you really need to take that up there?”

“It’s fine, Sue.”

“Those heels are about six inches high.”

“Five and a half!”

“Oh, forgive me. Practically slippers, then.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Stop worrying!”

Famous last words.

The Night My Boobs Got a Wine Bath

The stage had a narrow set of wooden steps leading up to it.

I went first, carefully lifting the hem of my dress.

Behind me, Sharon was muttering about her boots.

Then I heard it.

“Oh, bollocks!”

I turned around.

She’d got one of her heels wedged between the wooden boards.

“Sharon! Give me your wine!”

“Hang on!”

“Just give me the bloody glass!”

She tugged her foot.

Nothing.

Tugged again.

Still stuck.

Then she gave one almighty pull.

Her heel came free.

Unfortunately, so did the rest of her.

She lurched forwards, grabbed at her dress and somehow caught the clip on one of her suspenders.

I heard something rip, then PING!

The bloody thing shot past my ear like a miniature missile.

I ducked.

And for a split second, that’s when I saw the wine.

Coming straight towards me.

Now, you’d think that faced with a flying glass of red wine, a woman would have the sense to move.

Apparently, I didn’t have time.

It felt like slow motion, me just standing there, mouth open, watching my evening go tits up.

SPLASH!

Straight in the face.

Down my neck.

Then trickling down and finding refuge between my boobs.

Honestly, my boobs had never been so thoroughly marinated.

And let’s not even talk about my beautiful black dress.

I stood there spluttering, trying to wipe wine out of my eyes, while Sharon landed on her backside with a thump that probably registered on the Richter scale.

Her cape was twisted around her waist, one horn had gone sideways, and her stocking was sliding down her leg.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

Then the audience erupted into applause.

Applause!

They thought we’d done it on purpose!

The DJ nearly fell over laughing.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!”

I mean, seriously.

I was dripping red wine from places that hadn’t seen a grape in years, and half the bloody county was cheering.

“Sue?”

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

I stared at Sharon.

“Do I look all right? You’ve just given my boobs a bloody wine tasting!”

Her mouth twitched.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

She pressed her lips together.

Her shoulders started shaking.

Then she made a horrible snorting noise.

And that was it.

She absolutely lost control.

“Oh, Sue!” she gasped. “Your face!”

“Yeah, well, your suspender just tried to take my eye out!”

That made her worse.

She was sitting there, stocking around her knee, laughing so hard she couldn’t get up.

And then Damien came to help.

Oh, dear God.

When the Devil Let Something Out of Hell

Damien hurried over, looking genuinely concerned.

“Sharon! Are you hurt?”

I said, “Sod bloody Sharon, what about me?”

She shook her head, still laughing.

“No! I can’t get up!”

“Here, give me your hand.”

He bent down.

And then…

RRRRRIP!

O. M. G.

It happened.

Those poor little red shorts had finally given up.

Something that had spent the entire evening desperately trying to escape had suddenly got its wish.

Only briefly, mind you.

But long enough.

Damien froze.

I froze.

Even Sharon stopped laughing.

For approximately half a second.

Damien grabbed the front of his shorts, trying to stuff his dignity back where it belonged.

I stared.

“SHARON!”

“What?”

“YOUR DEVIL’S JUST LET SOMETHING OUT OF HELL!”

She looked.

And screamed with laughter.

“Oh, my GOD!”

Damien went scarlet beneath his face paint.

“Sorry! Bloody hell, I’m sorry!”

Sharon was practically crying.

“Well, at least we know why he’s been walking funny all evening!”

I lost it.

Completely.

There was Sharon sprawled across the stage with her stocking hanging down, me standing beside her covered in red wine, and Damien desperately trying to contain his dignity.

The audience was going absolutely wild.

Somebody shouted, “ENCORE!”

Encore?

What did they want, a bloody Rocky Horror dance?

Damien tried to help Sharon up again.

She held out her hand.

“Come on, give us a pull!”

“I’m not bending over again!”

Well, that finished us.

I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

Sharon was wheezing.

Damien was trying to laugh without moving his legs.

And the DJ was practically crying into his microphone.

I’ve been embarrassed before, believe me.

But this?

This was a whole new level.

It made my Dan escapades feel quite tame or maybe not.

The Most Ridiculous Prize I’ve Ever Won

Eventually, we managed to get ourselves sorted out.

Sharon straightened her horns and pulled up her stocking.

Damien stood with his legs pressed firmly together, holding the front of his shorts like his life depended on it.

And I attempted to wipe the wine off my false eyelashes with a tissue somebody handed me.

Which then disintegrated into bits, so now I looked like I had cobwebs hanging from my lashes; it wasn’t a great look.

Then the DJ announced the winners.

I was too busy wondering whether red wine would come out of expensive dresses.

Suddenly, Sharon grabbed my arm.

“SUE! WE’VE WON!”

“What?”

“WE’VE WON A PRIZE!”

Apparently, the judges had decided our performance deserved a special award for the funniest Halloween moment of the night.

A special award.

For falling over, throwing wine and exposing a devil.

Wonderful.

An organiser presented us with a little gold trophy and a hamper.

“That was fantastic!” she said. “Did you rehearse it?”

I looked at Damien.

He was still clutching his shorts.

“Believe me, love, if we’d rehearsed it, he’d have brought a spare pair of trousers.”

She laughed.

Sharon lifted the trophy above her head.

“WE DID IT, SUE!”

“Yes, Sharon. We’ve officially won an award for making complete arses of ourselves.”

“Don’t be angry!”

“I’m not angry. I’m just wondering whether the hamper contains a dry-cleaning voucher.”

Damien started laughing again.

Then an organiser found him a long coat to cover his unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

Sharon looked him up and down.

“Ooh, very mysterious.”

I shook my head.

“Sharon, leave the poor bloke alone. He’s been through enough.”

She grinned.

“Has he, though?”

“SHARON!”

“Shut up, Sue!”

A Kiss From a Vampire

Nathan was waiting when I finally escaped the stage.

He took one look at me and started laughing.

Not a little chuckle.

A proper laugh.

I folded my arms.

“Go on. Get it over with.”

“Sorry,” he managed. “It’s just…”

“My face?”

He nodded.

“My eyelashes?”

Another nod.

“My boobs?”

That finished him.

“I’m glad somebody’s enjoying himself,” I said.

He took my hand.

“Come on. Let’s find somewhere you can clean up.”

I found a mirror.

Oh, bloody hell.

I looked like a witch who’d lost a fight with a bottle of Merlot.

“My hair was sticky, my lipstick had smudged; you’d think I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards, all whilst fighting with a bottle of red wine.”

Nathan handed me some napkins.

I dabbed at my chest.

Nothing.

Dabbed again.

Still nothing.

God, I’m sticky.

He laughed.

And gently wiped a little wine from my cheek.

“You know, you still look beautiful.”

I looked up.

“Even like this?”

“Especially like this.”

“Oh, you’re good.”

He grinned.

“Is it working?”

“Possibly.”

He moved a little closer.

Then he kissed me.

A proper, warm, lingering kiss that made me forget about my sticky wine fest.

His arm slipped around my waist, and I found myself smiling against his lips.

“Would you like to go for coffee sometime?”

I laughed.

“Coffee? You sure? After tonight, you might want to check whether I’m insured.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Well, in that case, yes. I’d love to.”

We exchanged numbers.

Then he kissed me again.

Not a bad kisser.

Then Sharon appeared.

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?”

I closed my eyes.

“Sharon!”

She stood in the doorway, grinning like an idiot.

“Oh, I see! While I’ve been making a spectacle of myself, you’ve been snogging Dracula!”

Nathan burst out laughing.

“His name’s Nathan!”

“Whatever! Has he bitten you yet?”

“Sharon!”

She looked at him.

“Don’t mind her. She’s always grumpy when she’s got wine in her bra.”

I could have strangled her.

The Photograph Nobody Needed

By the time we left, it was nearly two in the morning.

Damien had recovered his dignity, more or less, wearing his borrowed coat.

Sharon was still flirting as Sharon does.

I don’t think the woman had stopped smiling since she’d first spotted his shorts.

He walked her to the taxi, and they stood there kissing while I waited beside Nathan.

“Coffee soon?”

“Definitely.”

He kissed me goodnight.

And I must admit, I was feeling rather pleased with myself.

Then Sharon finally climbed into the taxi.

“Well?” I asked.

She grinned.

“Well, what?”

“Oh, don’t start! Damien!”

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Very. Although I hope he invests in some decent underwear before your first date.”

She started giggling.

“He’s asked me out, actually.”

“Has he? Oh, Sharon, that’s lovely!”

“I know!”

She looked happy.

And for all her outrageous behaviour, I was genuinely pleased for her.

Then her phone pinged.

She looked down.

And screamed.

“OH, MY GOD!”

I jumped.

“What now?”

“The photographs!”

“What photographs?”

“The party photographs! They’re online!”

My stomach dropped.

Oh, no.

Please, no.

She turned the screen towards me.

And there it was.

The most hideous photograph ever taken of me.

My eyes were screwed shut, my mouth was wide open and a whole glass of red wine was exploding across my face. Not a flattering look.

Behind me, Sharon was falling backwards with one leg in the air, her cape flying and her horns pointing in opposite directions.

I looked like I’d been attacked by a vineyard.

She looked like the Devil had been thrown out of his own nightclub.

And the photographer had caught every glorious second.

“LOOK AT YOUR FACE!” Sharon shrieked.

“I CAN SEE MY FACE!”

“Oh, Sue! It’s brilliant!”

“It’s bloody awful!”

She was laughing so hard she could barely hold the phone.

And apparently, half the people at the party agreed with her because the photograph was already collecting comments and laughing emojis.

Wonderful.

I’d gone out hoping to look glamorous and come home looking like a crime scene.

Then my own phone pinged.

Mark.

Oh, God.

Not Mark.

Mark Gets the Last Laugh

Looks like you had fun tonight, Sue. Or should I say chaos? 😂 And not a Dan in sight!

I stared at the message.

Cheeky sod.

Of course he’d seen the photograph.

I typed back.

Very funny, Mark. Just remember, I know where you live.

His reply came almost immediately.

So do I. And I’m keeping my boxer shorts well away from Benji.

I started laughing.

Then another message appeared.

If you need help getting out of that sticky dress, I’m available 🙂

Oh, really?

I’ll keep that in mind… lol.

The little typing dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then finally…

Goodnight, Sue x.

Ha!

Sharon was still giggling beside me, clutching our ridiculous little gold trophy as though we’d just won an Oscar.

“Where shall we put this?” she asked.

“In the bin.”

“SUE!”

“All right, on your mantelpiece. Right next to the bill for my dry-cleaning.”

She laughed.

“Oh, come on! Admit it. We had a brilliant night!”

I looked at her.

Her hair was a mess, one horn hung sideways, and one stocking had a ladder.

Then I looked down at myself.

My black witch’s dress was ruined, my hair smelled like a wine cellar and my boobs felt sticky as if glue was about to set.

And then there was photographic evidence that neither of us should ever be allowed near a Halloween costume competition again.

I started laughing.

“Yeah, Sharon. We did.”

She leaned back against the seat, looking extremely pleased with herself.

“Best Halloween ever!”

“Just one thing.”

“What?”

“Next year, we’re staying in.”

She grinned.

“Fancy dress at yours, then?”

Oh, for God’s sake.

Some women never learn.

And apparently, I’m one of them.

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