Say hell yes to the dress

Winter comes early in Yorkshire; it comes early and stays late. Cold air comes blasting down from the Arctic, over the North Sea picking up moisture and hits the eastern foothills of the Pennines where it dumps the moisture as rain and sleet. This November most of it seemed to end up landing on Lupton Terrace, where it would have made the lives of lesser women miserable. Fortunately, Di and I were serious party animals, and early twenty first century Leeds was well stocked with bars, clubs, and music venues so we soon discovered the truth of the phrase "There's no such thing as bad weather just inappropriate clothes."

Being two young women with a shared interest in, well lots of thing really. Dancing, young men, drinking and partying amongst them but the ones I was aiming for were textiles and clothes, that being what we were studying for our degrees, meant we spent a lot of our free time and money in the boutiques of Leeds Markets and the smaller shops in the back streets.

We were of similar sizes, both a UK 10 but her boobs were a bit bigger than mine. Still are, and while she had almost jet-black hair and mine was blonde we could comfortably share clothes; trousers were ok depending on footwear and tops and dresses were just a bit tighter or looser with a different accessory depending on which of us was wearing it.

One such expedition took us to a charity shop not far from Elland Road, one that specialised in high end gear, these days it would be called something like 'Vintage Village' back then it was just a second-hand clothes shop. We'd found a few favourite clubbing outfits in there but this one was an absolute winner.

It was a bit more fetish-wear than we'd normally go for, but it was stunning, seemingly comprising almost entirely of soft leather straps, buckles and lace. I spotted it first and dived into the changing room, squeezing myself in and adjusting the straps to ensure maximum exposure and minimal cover.

Looking in the mirror I was going to need smaller pants, possibly a thong. I peeled my sensible briefs off and checked my reflection again. Oh my, it would need some time with a razor and some wax as well. I was fairly well trimmed normally but this was going to need almost an entire deforestation of the party area. I loved the way it highlighted the underside of my boobs, lifting them to make it look like they were sitting up as if in a supporting bra but on proud display.

I replaced my knickers and stepped out.

"Hey Di, what d'you think?"

A clunk came from across the shop as Di dropped the shoes she was looking at, or it may have been her jaw hitting the floor.

"Geez Wend, I mean, er, fuck. Wow."

She struggled for coherency, finally settling on "You'll need different pants."

I laughed and twirled.

"Isn't it great? I love it. Sooooo Sexy. It'll look great at Steel Express. They won't know what's hit them!" Steel Express was our club of choice, lots of chrome, mirrors, and inevitably, stainless steel. It specialised in an eclectic mix of music, one moment you'd be dancing to 'Lonely Girl' by NutLoaf, next it could be a seventies cheese fest, then a techno-electro set. The drinks were cheap and girls got in for free before 10pm so it was popular with students.

Diane looked me up and down, giving a whistle of appreciation. "I mean, I've seen you wearing less in public but it was when we got pissed and streaked across the cricket pitch in freshers week." Then after a pause she grinned manically. "Can I try it?"

We bundled into the changing room together, both stripping off, me to get my jeans and top back on, Diane to get into the leathery strappy nothingness.

The cow looked even better in it than I did, what with her having bigger tits than me. She filled it to perfection, the side swell and under sides of her boobs were in great definition, loading the front invitingly. Whichever one of us was wearing it we were going to get attention.

Two days later we were in a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies dancing under the strobe lights and fake smoke of Steel Express, we'd pre-loaded with a bottle of cheap prosecco before we went out. I'd needed it to give myself the courage to wear the straps in public, but having got myself in a place where my hesitance was overcome by my enthusiasm I was having a great time.

As I'd guessed in the shop I was getting a lot of attention, from both sexes. The girls reaction ranged from giving me the dead eye stare with a big thought bubble over their heads saying "Tart" (or worse) to incredulity and envy. The guys just stared, initially slack jawed and immobile, then with increasingly desperate lines.

For the elimination of all doubt, I do not intend to remember your name as the chances of me screaming it later are beyond microscopic. Flicking water on me just pisses me off, it does not encourage me to get out of my wet clothes and I am not like your toe, you cannot imagine banging me on your kitchen table.

Diane and I were dancing together, well next to each other. She was in a tiny lycra microskirt and a glittery boob tube, just barely keeping her boobs under control, getting almost as much attention as I was. After a particularly intense track she looked up with a puff and shouted in my ear "It's half ten. Going for a drink, coming?"

I nodded and followed her off the floor, her current man, Derek, was due to meet us at the bar by a statue of the robot from 'Metropolis', one of many steel figures around the club. With him was a tall dark-haired guy of around twenty-two in jeans, a Velvet Underground T Shirt and a leather jacket, a fashion one, not a heavy biker one, that I didn't recognise. He did the slack jawed staring thing as Diane and I were introduced.

In his defence he came out with a more enticing opener, "Wow. Er, drink anyone?"

I was about to say "Yes thanks Vodka Cranberry please" when Derek announced it was OK, he'd get them and pointed at everyone. "Pint? VC & a VC?" we all nodded agreement; Diane followed him to the bar to help carry the drinks back.

The new guy managed to stop dribbling long enough to introduce himself, "Gary, Gaz. I know Dezzer from football" he announced in a pronounced scouse accent.

"Wendy, I'm Diane's flatmate."

We carried on with inane first meeting chat, he played in goal on Tuesday and Thursday evenings for a five a side team and on Sunday mornings for a pub side in Loxley. He was on an engineering course of some type, don't ask me what, but was 'really, really, interested' in getting into conservation or working with refugees. I nodded along in agreement, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he meant it and it wasn't just a line to make him look deep and thoughtful and so provide easier access to the contents of my small and glittery thong.

Diane and Dezzer as he was destined to be known for the rest of the evening returned with armfuls of booze. Mine got consumed in short order.

Gaz leaned in "Thirsty? That didn't touch the sides" he nodded to the bar. "Fancy another?"

I shook my head, "No, I just always finish my drinks quickly. If it's empty no one can slip anything in it."

He looked shocked at the realities of being a girl in a nightclub sank in. "What, you mean..."

"Yeah, some fucker slips a roofie or some ketamine in your drink next thing you know you're waking up in the back of a transit with a dozen fat blokes doing up their zips outside."

He had a look of horror on his face. The alcohol and my newfound enthusiasm kicked in, I slapped his arm, "C'mon I'm dancing. If you're lucky my tits might pop out."

The look of horror changed to one of stunned surprise as I gave him what I hoped was a seductive look and was about to head off to the dance floor when Diane leaned close to me and asked quietly if we could swap outfits as she wanted to give Derek a treat.

We'd done it before; we'll scoot into the ladies and grab adjacent stalls then pass clothes through the gap under the side walls. And she did look a bit better in the dress than I did. Cow.

I wriggled out of the straps and passed it under the wall, standing there in just my thong and heels as I waited. Eventually a small scrap of green lycra appeared in a hand, I grabbed it and squeezed into the miniskirt and waited for the boob tube. And waited and waited.

And waited.

It sounded like Diane's door opened, but that would mean...

No.

"Di, you fucking slapper, where's the top?"

A giggling voice came back through the door,

"Oh, sorry. Look, I'll give it to Gaz, he'll be happy to help you out."

"Di, I'm not fucking joking, I'm not staying in here all night. Di? Di? Have you gone. I will so get you for this. I will get you back you, you...ggnnaaahhh

If I'm honest it was being pranked so comprehensively that was annoying, we'd been getting each other into and out of trouble for over ten years. This was a good one and would need some planning to achieve my revenge, but my first problem was getting my, well Di's, top back. Steel Express was a fairly relaxed and wild club but even they would probably get a bit antsy if I spent the evening topless. Although the thought ran through my mind for a moment or two, giving me a familiar warm feeling between my legs.

I gave a theatrical shake of my head and decided to make the best of my stitched-up position. There were a couple of girls reapplying eyeliner and lippy in the mirror as I stepped out of the stall, I got a double take as I strode out with one arm across my boobs but I was gone before anyone made an issue about it.

Pushing through the crowd was an interesting experience, interesting in the "got more unwanted attention than was really welcome" meaning of the term.

I was leaving a trail of dribbling catatonic blokes and catty comments from girls as I made my way back to our group. Diane was nowhere to be seen, Gary and Derek gave a collective gasp and found the words to say; "Fuck me, I mean....." and "I didn't believe her, you've actually gone and done it. You're mad you are."

Angrily I responded with, "What do you mean? Done what?"

Gary shut up and looked at the floor, Derek stumbled a bit, "Er, Di said you'd gone topless for a laugh and we had err a .... "

I gave them a stare. I would have smacked their heads about but my hands were otherwise occupied, stopping me getting kicked out for public indecency. Then I thought 'Bollocks to it' and gave them both a cuff round the side of their heads, and a flash of boob heaven. In the interests of absolute honesty, I quite enjoyed the looks of delight on their faces.

I covered up again, then pointed with an elbow at Gaz, "Can I borrow your jacket for a bit?"

He did the mental gymnastics and worked out me putting the jacket on meant my tits coming out to say hello again and agreed enthusiastically. He got his reward as I slid into it, zipping it halfway. I was a bit lost in there, but it was probably better than flashing the entire club.

I found Diane on the dance floor who, under dire threats of revenge laughed and handed me the spangly boob tube. I went back to Gaz and let him hold the jacket up behind me to create my own little changing room as I shimmied into the top, then I grabbed his arm and told him to follow me onto the dance floor, adding "If you're lucky my boobs might pop out again."

They didn't of course, much to his (and probably my) disappointment.

The sands of time did their slippy thing through the hourglass of night fever and while the club was still open at two a.m. I was starting to flag slightly and didn't really see the point in hanging round for an extra hour, DI agreed as did the guys, being putty in our goddess-like fingers.

Outside it was cold. Proper cold. Yorkshire in early November cold. Cold with a side order of horizontal sleet. Fortunately, I had my big pink coat of warmth and delight to wrap myself in, Di had a duffle coat she'd been wearing for seven or more years, inelegant but warm. Gaz had his leather jacket and Derek was rocking a seventies denim look, neither of which were particularly good insulators.

Luckily for the boys it was only around a twenty-minute walk back to our flat, although as we'd only met Gaz for the first time five or so hours earlier I gave him ten out of ten for presumption in tagging along. I suppose the boob related exposure probably gave an implied invitation or something.

We arrived to an icebox. That no heating, sleety bad weather, three in the morning vibe was really kicking in. Derek came over all management trainee and started issuing tasks.

"Gaz, out the back. Kindling, coal, and newspaper. Di, kettle. Wend, er.."

"Wendy's going to get her PJs on" I informed him as I shut my bedroom door. My breath wasn't quite misting before my eyes but it was bloody cold in there. I stripped off the lycra and spangles, throwing them into the corner ready for returning to Di, and delved in the draw for a presentable set of pyjamas. Normally if it was just me and DI in the flat I wore a tatty T shirt in summer and thick flannelette pyjamas for the other eleven months of the Sheffield year. With company I wanted something that didn't make me look like an old granny.

At the bottom I found my satin (well, satin look) two piece set that I'd made in our first year. It clung to my boobs in a fairly graphic manner but was a lot less revealing than my time in the club had been. I wrapped myself back up, this time in my pink fluffy dressing gown. There's a bit of a pink theme in my wardrobe.

Back in the living room Dezzer (no, I don't like it either but I was making it work) was on his knees blowing into the grate where a small red glow was doing its best to build up some warmth. I turned round and returned to my bedroom coming back a moment later.

"Hey, Dezzer. Have a go with this." I handed over my hair dryer, which he plugged in and aimed at the fireplace. Moments later the red glow had turned into flames as the kindling burst to life and five minutes after that the coal was glowing with a comforting heat.

By the time Diane, who'd also changed into a pair of shiny button-up pyjamas, came in with a tray of steaming tea it was almost tropical in the living room.

Dize and Dez as only I was calling them curled up on the two-seat sofa, snuggling up and basking in the warmth from the fire. I settled into the big armchair, leaving Gaz on a footstool.

It may have been the booze or the exhibitionism or just the late hour but I took pity and invited him into my armchair, which was almost big enough for two. I had my legs over his as I sat sideways across his lap. The warmth, low light, alcohol, and my arousal worked it's combined magic and I pushed my lips onto his.

A noise behind me made me turn my head, Di was a lot further along with things than I was. Her top was completely undone and Derek had a hand on one boob and his lips on the other.

"Fuck sake Di, can't you take it to your room?"

She threw her head back theatrically, "No. It's bloody freezing in there. If you don't want to watch look the other way." With that she grabbed the back of Derek's head and pushed him against her chest.

In the intermission of my discussion with Di someone had moved on a bit and I found a couple of hands holding and gently massaging my own boobs. It felt very nice so I made a token complaint before I allowed him to maintain the motion and locked my lips back onto his. As I did so I could feel a hard lump starting to dig into my thigh, I sent my own hands down to check it out and they duly reported back, "Cock, growing quite nicely. Reasonable length, decent girth. Feels quite hot. Over."

I let my hands carry on investigating their new toy and slipped into a feeling of delight as his hands did nice things to my nipples. I got the hands to break off for a moment when efforts were being made to lift my top off, I wasn't entirely comfortable with going any further on first meeting and Di and Derek's activities across the room were making me a little uncomfortable if truth be known.

My concerns were rendered pointless a moment or two later as Gaz gave a shudder and a moaning grunt, loudly enough that Diane interrupted her activities with Derek, lifting her head from his lap to call over "Keep it off the furniture will you, jizz is a nightmare to clean up."

"A friend told me," She added with a giggle.

Gary looked embarrassed at having shot in his pants, but I dug a hand into the pocket on my pink fluffy dressing gown where I found a handful of tissues that I held in one hand as I unzipped Gary's jeans and drove the tissues in to make a rudimentary effort at cleaning him up.

I carried on rubbing as he shook a couple more times then, with a gentle kiss on his mouth I pushed his now shrinking marshmallow back into his boxers then carefully rolled the tissue into a ball and threw it into the fire where it gave a small hiss and burned with a bright yellow flame, spitting twice.

I settled back into Gary's lap and allowed his hand under my top as we whispered to each other,

"Sorry, I er, didn't think that would happen so quick."

"S'ok, it's kind of a compliment,"

"So, you doin' anything tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I need to get some prep work in for Monday."

"How about in the week?"

"Maybe."

"I'll call you tomorrow?"

"You're keen"

"I want to make things up to you, cos y'know erm.."

I climbed out of the chair, pulling him towards me.

"Do they often do that with you in the room?"

He pointed with a nod of the head. Di's legs were up in the air and Derek was driving into her, amazingly they were being fairly silent. I watched for a moment, they were oblivious to anything else and suddenly it moved from being sexy to being creepy. I heaved a bit more and pulled Gary out of the chair, "C'mon. I'm going to bed. Alone, you can go home."

I kissed him goodnight at the front door and told him to call me in the afternoon, making sure he had the house number, then squealed as I climbed into my cold bed where I lay for five minutes wondering about getting revenge on Di for the boob tube prank before dozing off.

I woke after ten the next morning, still stuck for an idea but with a determination to get her back.

Early in the afternoon Gaz called, eager to get together, and to prove he was anxious to meet me and spend time together not just as a step towards getting into my knickers he suggested tea the next day in the Victoria Arcade. "We can talk and there's loads of shops and that to look around."

I was easily persuaded and agreed to meet him at half past five for a nose around and he could buy me tea afterwards.

My cunning plan for revenge burst into life while we were on our way back from the restaurant, having a conversation along the lines of why had I only had a cake and a pot of Lady Grey tea and he was expecting a full meal, and how in the South it's Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and in the North it's Breakfast, Dinner, Tea, and how next time he should warn me it was a proper meal not an afternoon snack, oh so there's going to be a next time then? Yeah, probably, if you play your cards right, how many dates will that be then? If you're counting then it's never going to be enough. That conversation.

It was while we were having that conversation, I had comfortably slipped my arm through his and was happily wandering along thinking his cards were looking pretty good from where I was sitting when I spotted an antique furniture restoration showroom. I stopped at the window to see what they were using in the way of fabrics when I spotted a box on display.

"Perish Water Soluble Thread, 500yds. £11.95".

Underneath that it said:" a cost-effective and easy-to-use approach to making temporary stitches. It quickly dissolves in water. This thread is ideal for hand basting, trapunto quilting, and other applications where an erasable temporary stitch is needed."