My Catwoman

Costume parties were one of my least favourite kinds of parties. I hated having to put together a costume, I hated being outdone by those people who were much more creative or funny, and I hated feeling uncomfortable all night in something I would never wear normally. In short, I hated them. But one of my best friend's girlfriends, Vivian, absolutely adored them and threw one for her birthday every year in November, and you couldn't go without a costume.

Vivian's boyfriend was one of my best friends from school, Mickey. There were originally four of us in the lad's gang: me (Jack), Mickey, Sam and Ed. Unfortunately, Ed had somehow got himself a girlfriend who totally controlled his life and never let him go out in case he strayed. I have no idea why she needed to be so strict, but nonetheless, it meant we saw Ed about once a year and he was always designated driver so we never had a drink. But me, Mickey and Sam still palled around, and so, since Mickey needed moral support, me and Sam always put in an appearance at these parties.

One thing that I found strange was why Vivian and Mickey ever got together in the first place. Mickey was tall, skinny and very much one of the lads. His main three passions were drinking, betting on the football and betting on the horses, preferably all at the same time. Vivian, on the other hand, was petite and flat-chested, with bright dyed-blonde hair, and she was vegan, feminist, you name it. Mickey thought nothing of tucking into a bacon double cheeseburger and some of the comments he came out with after a few pints were very much not feminist, but somehow the two of them made it work. He confided in me once when he was drunk (as usual) that it had a lot to do with having sex practically every day.

Sam, like me, was currently unattached, mostly because he spent all of his free time at a Taekwondo club in town. I still have no real idea why he got into it, but apparently he was really good and won the occasional contest. He was also tall and the martial arts had built his muscles, but I imagined that these Taekwondo clubs weren't exactly crawling with girls and he never mentioned seeing anyone.

The reason I mention this is to make myself feel better about being single. I had to say, I preferred it to being tied down by a controlling girlfriend, or a militant vegan, or preferring Taekwondo to girls. I'd had my share of girlfriends, of course, but as a brickie, I didn't meet a whole lot of girls at work, or even at the pub. Nights out in town were hit or miss because we lived in a shit town in South Yorkshire and it wasn't exactly a magnet for stunning blondes. Most of the time, I settled for people's parties as a chance to meet new people when they hadn't sunk six vodka and cokes before going out.

So, every year I found myself trawling around the internet looking for a costume idea, then deciding either between a cheesy joke costume or something easy and overdone. This year, my selection was a football player: shirt with a number on it, shorts, knee socks with shin pads and black trainers which could pass for football boots. Easy and overdone it was. Maybe it was just my vanity speaking, but by the time I'd stretched my shirt over my chest and done my hair, I reckoned I looked pretty good. At least, I paused before going out to flex my biceps in the hall mirror.

"When are you getting back?" my mum shouted at me. Yes, I lived with my parents. Bricklaying wasn't exactly paying me the money I needed to move out.

"Dunno, late probably," I told her.

"How are you getting back?" she went on.

"Stop nagging. I'll get an Uber," I told her, rolling my eyes.

"Don't make a racket when you get in, your dad's up early in the morning."

Sam swung by to pick me up in his Corsa (he was, shock, dressed as a Taekwondo fighter, like he had been every other year) and we stopped at the Co-Op to get booze before going onwards. My experience of these costume parties was that people got very drunk very quickly to get past the embarrassment of wearing a costume, and so I stuck to buying spirits. One heavy carrier bag later, we were on our way to Mickey's place.

Mickey and Vivian had bought a flat in a cheap part of town and Sam parked up a street away, where it was better lit and you wouldn't have a flat full of drunk people throwing up over it later. It was chilly as we walked, Sam swinging the carrier bag.

"I'm freezing my balls off in these shorts," I complained.

"It's not so bad for me," Sam grinned. "I've got trousers on."

"Ha ha," I said, buzzing the front door of the block of flats to be let in. Mickey was on the third floor, although we could have managed by just following the sound of the thumping music.

"Lads!" Mickey shouted, clearly relieved to see us. He abandoned Vivian in a second and came over, putting cans into our hands before we'd even got through the door properly. He was dressed as a fighter pilot or something, with a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses which must have made the room very dark.

"Vivian's invited some right nutters," he said, keeping his voice low. "New people she's met at work. You'll see what I mean."

I stopped to say hello to Vivian as Sam deposited our contribution to the alcohol on the kitchen table. The flat had two bedrooms, although one of them was supposedly a home office which functioned mainly as a gaming room for Mickey and a junk room for Vivian. The living-dining space, with an open plan kitchen, was nice, but when it was full of people at a party it quickly got hot and even on a cold night like this the windows were wide open.

In the spirit of the evening, the three of us downed cans and then cracked open a second round, catching up about the weekend's football as people filed past us to fill their plastic cups with generous measures of, well let's be honest, mainly either rum or vodka. I noticed the mixers weren't getting a great deal of use.

"Won fifty quid on the Arsenal game," Mickey said, nudging me. "Got a tip from a guy at work."

"You told me about that one," I replied. "I just didn't have time to get down to the bookies."

"Apps, they're the future," Mickey said, pulling out his phone and wiggling it. "Free bets, too."

I shrugged. "I reckon the odds are better in the shops."

Mickey started explaining to Sam about how he could place opposing bets on two different apps and make some kind of money out of it, but my attention drifted. I picked out a fair number of people I recognised from previous parties as Vivian's friends, including a dark-haired lass who'd moved to London a few years ago after I'd spent two months trying to get into her knickers, without success. She noticed me and gave me a look which could have cracked a boulder.

I identified the nutters that Mickey was talking about. They were a pair of girls, both with dreadlocks, and a guy with long hair. All three of them were wearing the kind of clothes you'd normally associate with homeless people, and I wasn't sure if they were even in a costume. Vivian was, somehow, deep in conversation with them, and I made a mental note to keep well away from them.

However, as I continued to scan the room and Sam started to explain why Mickey's grand plan actually meant he was guaranteed to lose money, someone did catch my eye. She was sitting in the corner of the room, loosely attached to the nutters, apparently listening to their conversation but with a bored expression on her face. She had long, light brown hair which was styled in a kind of puffy wavy way which really suited her. The best thing was that she was dressed as Catwoman. Before you accuse me of knowing that too easily, she was wearing a face mask which covered the top half of her face and had cat ears attached. The rest of her costume was made up of a tight-fitting leather catsuit with high-heeled boots, and she was sitting with one thigh folded over the other, dangling her cup from her hand. She caught me looking over at her, and to avoid being seen as creepy, I swiped a half-finished bottle of vodka off the table and went over, leaving Sam and Mickey to their debate.

"I don't think I've seen you at one of Vivian's parties before," I said to break the ice, jiggling the bottle. "Top up?"

"Please," she said, in a kind of husky voice which sounded dead sexy. I sloshed vodka into her cup and then stood there awkwardly for a second, partly because she hadn't answered my question, and partly because she was sitting down and I was standing up, and I had nowhere to sit.

She looked at me again, then after a pause, stood up to talk to me. She was taller than I'd thought, and with the high heels she was only a few inches smaller than me, but this only meant she had long legs which looked very good in the suit and boots.

"I only met Vivian at work six months ago," she said, her voice only getting sexier. "Are you Mickey's friend?"

"From school, yeah," I told her. "We go way back, we were friends in Primary School."

She nodded, as if this was interesting.

"So, Catwoman. I have to admit, I've never seen any of those superhero films," I said, trying to get the conversation going.

"You should, they're good," she replied.

"Maybe you can show me one sometime," I tried, but the look she gave me showed that she knew this was a well-worn tactic.

"They're on Netflix, so you can watch them whenever," she told me. Up close, I noticed she had blue eyes and long eyelashes, and even without that gorgeous voice I knew she was my type.

"What's your name?" I asked, just abandoning everything and trying the direct approach.

"I'm Chrissie," she said.

"Nice to meet you Chrissie, I'm Jack," I told her, holding out my can so she could bump her cup against it. "Listen, I'm going to go back to Mickey but come over and say hi anytime, okay?"

She just nodded, sipping her vodka, and I strolled back over to Mickey and Sam, who'd noticed where I'd been.

"Well, you've made a decent choice there," Mickey said, after a furtive glance to check Vivian couldn't hear him. "Although there's not much in the way of tits on her."

Sam scoffed. "You're one to talk," he said, and I laughed.

"Doesn't matter when she's got an arse like that," I said, glancing over at Chrissie. She was still standing and still looking bored, but you could see her hips from this angle and I liked what I saw.

After a few more drinks, and when the music turned from currently-popular to whatever indie garbage Vivian's friends demanded she played, the general circulation of the party meant that I was talking to Sam and noticed Chrissie coming over to get another drink. I moved across to intercept.

"Back for more?" I asked, grinning, and she glanced at me, pouring more vodka into her cup.

"I guess," she said, and the tone made me wonder if I was annoying her. However, instead of returning to her friends, she leant against the wall next to me, sipping from her cup, which I took as an invitation to keep chatting her up.

"What kind of music are you into?" I asked, knowing this wasn't my strongest line, but I was going in cold.

"Heavy metal," she replied, deadpan.

"Oh, okay," I said, not necessarily surprised. I knew nothing about metal music so the conversation ground to a halt again until she looked at me and smiled.

"I'm only joking," she said, and I made a point of laughing to show I wasn't hurt. "I like a lot of stuff, just whatever I like the sound of."

"What do you like lately?" I asked, pleased that she was talking more.

"You know that new song by K-8?" she asked, looking at me and blinking which really showed off her eyelashes. I wished she'd take off the mask so I could see her face in full, but she had a good-looking smile.

"Oh, yeah, I heard it on the radio," I said. "I actually went to see them at a gig last year."

She seemed genuinely impressed by this, so I decided against telling her that this was a total lie. I had met a girl who'd been to their gig, but we've all told some harmless lies to impress people.

With music exhausted, the conversation lapsed again. I knew from experience that making small talk about our jobs killed any interest there might be, so I grabbed at a straw.

"Are you friends with the people Vivian's talking to?" I asked, risking another look over at the strange people who seemed to have monopolised Vivian's attention.

Chrissie looked down into her cup. "They're more like work friends. Greta, the taller girl, drove us here."

I was a little relieved to hear that. "They look... interesting?" I said, and Chrissie laughed when she caught my tone.

"You could say that," she said, turning to face me a little more. I picked up on her body language and stood slightly closer to her. "I wasn't really sure about coming but Vivian insisted."

"I'm glad you came," I replied quickly, and she smiled at me again. She was really cute.

"Mind if I have some?" I asked, pointing to her cup.

"Go ahead," she said, and I took a sip of the vodka, catching her eye when I gave it back. I was getting good vibes from her, which I'm sure the alcohol helped, and when a decent song came on for the first time in ages, I saw an excited look flash across her face.

"Want to dance?" I asked, but to be honest there wasn't much of a dance floor. I just started moving, and after she'd had another gulp of her drink, she joined in. She was really good at dancing and made it look easy, while I reverted to my usual enthusiasm to hide my lack of talent. It made her laugh, if nothing else.

It wasn't long until we'd shifted into a darker corner and I had my arm around her waist. She didn't move it away, and after another minute, I leant in to kiss her. She seemed slightly surprised at first, but then got into it, and I pushed her gently against the wall as we snogged, her hand on my chest while I held her waist.

The flat really wasn't big enough for this so, after a couple of wolf whistles, we broke apart and I gave Mickey the finger. Chrissie blushed and seemed shy about it, which was a surprise as I was more used to girls being brazen about it. So I got a bit protective and, once people had got over themselves, I walked with her towards the door of the flat.

Mickey stopped me part way.

"You can use the spare room if you want," he grinned, swaying slightly on his feet. I gave him a big slap on the shoulder but I could tell from Chrissie's whole demeanour that random hookups in spare bedrooms weren't her thing.

"We're good," I said, squeezing past him to rejoin Chrissie. Away from the noise of the party, standing by the draughty front door, she smiled at me again.

"Thanks," she said, and I realised I was probably slightly more drunk than I thought. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"You want to come back to mine?" I asked as she took hold of my arm.

"I need to get my lift with Greta," she replied, biting her lip nervously.

"I'll get an Uber, don't worry," I reassured her.

She looked at me. "Okay," she said softly, searching through a pile of coats to get her handbag.

Score one for me. I gave Sam and Mickey a sarcastic wave as I took this sexy girl out of the front door to take her back to my room, attracting a couple of jealous looks and some rude hand gestures.

It was cold waiting outside for the Uber, but at least it meant Chrissie removed her Catwoman mask. The elastic had left tiny marks on her skin, but she looked even more sexy now I could see her whole face.

"I would give you my jacket if I had one," I told her as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

"That's okay," she told me. "This costume is a lot less warm than I thought."

The Uber didn't take too long, and after sitting awkwardly for a minute or so, I rested my hand on her thigh and she leant over to kiss me. Her breath was straight vodka but I imagined mine wasn't much better, and I managed to slide my hand over her waist and down to her arse, squeezing her through the tight leather. She giggled a little and moved closer, kissing me harder.

When we got back to my house, I warned her about going quietly so as not to wake my parents. She took this in her stride and waited behind me as I slowly opened the front door, creeping through the quiet, dark house. My bedroom was on the opposite side of the house, as far from my parents' bedroom as possible, which had the useful side effect of meaning that once we got up there, things were fairly soundproof.

I absolutely couldn't wait to get her out of her sexy costume. Mickey wasn't wrong, she was fairly flat-chested, but her bum was gorgeous and seriously threatened to burst through the fabric when she bent forward to put her handbag down by the bedroom door just before I shut it behind us.

Now we were alone, animal instincts took over, and I pushed her up against the wall, taking my chance as we kissed to slide my hands over her chest. She responded by putting her arms around my neck, which was surprisingly comfortable with how tall she was. When I pressed up against her and grinded into her, she stumbled slightly in her heels and I pulled back, grinning.

"Need a hand getting those off?" I asked, and she sat on the bed and unlaced them while I pulled them off. It wasn't very elegant but when they were gone, she grabbed at the bottom of my shirt and pushed it up, so I pulled it off and went back to kissing her, lying her on the bed.

"Hi," she said, in that gorgeous voice.

"Hi," I replied, my fingers straying across her back and pulling gently on the zip on the back of her costume. I was desperate to get her naked, now.

She looked slightly nervous and pulled back from me.

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" she asked, and I sat up.

"Yeah, of course, just go out of the room and it's the first door on the right," I told her, watching her bum as she grabbed her handbag and slipped out of the door.

Sitting back, I couldn't believe my luck at actually getting her back to my room and getting a chance to fuck a girl as hot as her. As the minutes passed, though, I began to suspect that she'd used the bathroom as an excuse to sneak out and leave. I was on the point of getting up to go and investigate when I realised she'd left her boots behind and wouldn't get far without them. But then I thought maybe she had flat shoes in her handbag and my worrying started again, but the door opened again and she reappeared.

"Sorry about that," she said, closing the door behind her, and in seconds we were back on the bed, kissing, and this time when I reached out for her zip she didn't pull away.

I got the catsuit undone to about the small of her back before it wouldn't go any further. I slid my hand over her back, feeling her press closer to me, but after another minute of kissing it became clear that we couldn't go any further without actually removing the suit, which was too difficult to do from a lying down position.

Chrissie seemed to know this too, so she rolled into a sitting position and stood, facing away from me, glancing over her shoulder to see if I was watching as she pulled the suit down over her shoulders and got her arms free.

I had to say, I was focusing on that incredible arse of hers, and by the time I looked back up at her, her top half was bare. She smiled and turned, her hands over her tits.

"Ready?" She teased, giggling a little when I nodded quickly. When she lifted her hands away, I could see that although her boobs were small, her nipples were also small and puffy and everything was in proportion. I could see why she didn't need a bra, too, since even hard, her nipples didn't stand out very much. She also had a tight, flat tummy which helped her boobs stand out.

"Wow," I said, mostly to flatter her, and she rewarded me by turning away again, hooking her fingers into the suit around her waist, and I watched, transfixed, as she stretched the fabric over her wide hips, revealing inch after inch of her sexy bum, split by a black thong. After a certain point, the suit started falling down on its own, and Chrissie switched to pulling it off her legs.