The Girl in Her Vest and Pants

Martin could tell Mr Patel looked a little nervous, though it wasn't immediately clear why. The girl in front of him at the little corner shop, the one wearing the running shorts and top, was buying coffee. Why should that make him nervous? He always bought his papers from Mr Patel at the corner shop: Mr Patel sold everything there, and Martin could stock up on milk and bread and things at the same time. The girl in front was counting out her money in small change and Mr Patel was checking it nervously. She was small, slim, brown hair, pretty face, brown eyes, perky bust, bare feet... Perky bust! Bare feet!

Martin could see why Mr Patel was so nervous. She wasn't wearing running things, she was dressed in vest and knickers; and from the sight of the perky things pointing through her vest she wasn't wearing anything else. And she was finding it rather chilly. Well she would. It was November after all.

Martin couldn't help staring after her as she walked gingerly in her bare feet towards the door. Well he would wouldn't he?

The girl turned back as she stepped out into the icy winter morning.

She said "What are you looking at?"

Martin felt obliged to say something.

He said "Nothing... I mean... Well... You'll catch your death dressed like that."

The girl uttered an expletive, stuck out her tongue and hobbled out into the road. Well she couldn't walk quickly on an icy road in bare feet could she?

Martin turned back to Mr Patel.

He said "The Daily Express please."

Mr Patel just nodded as if nothing had happened.

Martin thought 'Stupid girl'. Student he supposed. The place hadn't been the same round there since the houses were turned into flats and the students moved in. Flagrant, that's what they were, flaunting their knickers in the shops. Ought not to be allowed. That's what Martin thought.

***********

Veronica thought back to the previous night. What a night. The girls had come round and they had gone on the raz looking for boys like they did. Hadn't found any though. Leastways not as they'd wanted.

Veronica thought to herself, "Why in a Uni town like this is there no male talent worth dropping your knickers for."

Veronica had not yet managed to drop her knickers. When she had started at Uni, Shaz, her big sister, had said the boys would never like be out of her pants. And they wouldn't have except Veronica was not dropping them for them wonkers.

Still, she had downed half a dozen voddies and stuff, which was not good for her head come the next day. Which was why she had woken up in her vest and pants with a head like a balloon. Somebody had undressed her and put her to bed. God only knew who. She just hoped it wasn't that bloke what had got his willy out in that wine bar they had gone to.

Veronica looked her coffee. It was not the best brand but she was rapidly running out of her student loan. Why they wouldn't lend her more she didn't know. What was a girl supposed to live on? She put the kettle on to boil, pulled off her vest and pants and made her way to the shower.

Anthony, the rather studious youth who shared the bedsit with her, and would never in a million years get in her knickers, was away for the weekend.

Veronica strolled back to the kettle quite starkers except for a covering of soapy water and looked in the fridge for the milk. Anthony always had milk. Except that he didn't. There was only a bottle of vodka, a couple of Malibus and a six pack of lager. Bloody Anthony. How unreliable could you get. She'd been relying on Anthony's milk. Now she'd have to put her vest and knickers back on and go round to the corner shop and get stared at by that wonker again. Except that she hadn't actually got any money.

Then she remembered the old witch next door had two pints standing outside her door. The old Victorian house Veronica lived in had been converted into bedsits and the only other occupant of the ground floor was the woman who lived next door. Or the Old Witch. The old witch was rolling in it. She wouldn't miss a pint of milk.

Morag MacTavish had lived in Havelock Road since she was a child. Only straightened circumstances had led her to selling Daddy's crumbling mansion to the property firm and renting a small apartment for herself. She would not have minded, except that one pint of the two that she ordered on Saturdays continually went missing and the small income that remained after Daddy's unfortunate investment could ill afford it. It was those students she was sure. Today she would catch them at it.

Veronica peered round the door. The milk stood invitingly along the landing. She wouldn't even need to go to the bother of putting her vest and knickers on to get it. And it is such a chore putting your vest and knickers on isn't it girls? You can't really blame Veronica for sneaking out without a stitch on. Or can you?

Veronica sneaked out onto the landing and crept along to pick up what she already regarded as her pint of milk.

Morag MacTavish listened carefully to the creaking of the footsteps until she was sure that the milk had been apprehended. She flung open the door.

Veronica stood immobile like a Greek statue. The sort of Greek statue that depicts ladies with no clothes on. She was acutely aware of the fact that she had no clothes on.

Morag MacTavish said, "Stay there girl. I'm calling the police!"

Veronica had no wish to be apprehended by the police wearing nothing but soapy water and a pint of milk. The milk dropped to the floor with a crash and she fled out the front door and into the street.

************

Martin enjoyed his brisk walk to the paper shop on Saturdays. All day spent in that wretched office in the council highways department left him with a need to stretch his legs at weekends. And you saw such interesting things. Among the interesting things you normally saw was not a naked girl standing on the pavement.

Martin had led a sheltered life. A life in which naked girls had not featured largely. He had only once previously seen a naked girl. It had been on a school trip to Paris, and the circumstances were not such that he remembered the incident with pleasure.

Martin was therefore not sure of the etiquette when confronted by a naked girl in the street on a Saturday morning. Had he considered the matter however, he would not have considered it correct to alternate his gaze between those parts of the girl's anatomy that are not normally on view.

Veronica saw his eyes glance now up, now down, now back up again. The cold wind had firmed her breasts and hardened her nipples.

Veronica said, "Why don't you just get it out and have a good wonk while you're at it?"

Martin said, "Excuse me Miss, can I help you."

Veronica said, "Yes, you bloody well can. You can stop staring at my tits and get me somewhere warm."

Martin said, "Your tits?"

Veronica said, "Yes, these things." And she took them in her hands and bounced them up and down.

Martin could think of only one warm place to take them. Back to his house.

He said, "You had better come with me Miss." And Martin, followed by a naked girl walked back towards his little house in The Grove.

Veronica, if you had asked her at any time before the time when she was to be seen walking down the street in the altogether, would have said that she was comfortable with being naked. She loved to tease Anthony by prancing round the flat in her birthday suit, he averting his eyes and rushing out the room whenever she did so. But this, she found to her surprise was somewhat different. She was outside. And she had no clothes on. An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment at being nude in public washed over her. She had nothing on. And people could see her. She could feel her face getting redder and redder. She quickened her steps.

She said, "Can't you go any faster. I've got nothing on."

She was now in front of Martin. He was able to examine her retreating form without accusation. He noticed for the first time that she was somewhat on the plump side, that her bottom was decidedly chubby, and that it wobbled as she walked barefoot on the cold pavement.

He said, "Why don't you go back to your flat."

Veronica of course could not go back to her flat. The old witch would have called the police. Veronica, being a student, was of the opinion that the police would drag her back to the station and lock her up in a cell with a load of miscreants stark naked. Even walking through the streets in her birthday suit was better than that. Marginally.

Veronica was starting to lose her cool. She was not the sort to remain calm in an emergency. Why didn't the wonker go faster? Couldn't he see that she had nothing on? Any wonker coming along the street would see her in her birthday suit. The thought filled her with such excruciating embarrassment that she started to jog.

Martin's eyes opened even wider. Veronica's hips were swivelling as she ran and her bottom was wobbling like a pink blancmange. He started to jog after her. And jogging was certainly not a Martin thing

Veronica said, "Keep up you stupid wonker!"

Martin didn't say anything. He was rapidly getting out of breath.

Veronica ran faster.

Martin pursued the wobbling blancmange. He had to keep up with it.

Veronica ran faster.

Martin achieved speeds he hadn't managed since he had been on the school rugby team and Bobby Bullock, the school bully, had pursued him down the right touchline.

By the time they reached number six The Grove and turned into Martin's driveway Martin was pursuing Veronica at full speed.

Curtains twitched. The Grove was not a street in which noteworthy events passed unnoticed.

******************

Sergeant William "Bill" Constable sat at his desk in Letsby Avenue Police Station, sucking the end of a much chewed ball point pen and staring at the papers in front of him.

Things, he thought, were not like they used to be when he first joined the force. Look at all these papers to deal with, he thought, things didn't used to be like that in the old days. Nowadays it was papers, papers and more papers.

I mean, he thought, in the old days it was just the Daily Chronicle; now it was the Chronicle on Saturday, and there was The Weekend Section, and the Money Section, and Gardening and Travel and Business and Motoring and Sport - though the Sport wasn't too bad - and it had taken him ten minutes to find the crossword amongst all that rubbish.

He looked at one across

'Policeman on the beat (4)'

He chewed his pen and thought. He was still chewing it twenty minutes later when Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg rushed in. Sergeant William 'Bill' Constable didn't hold with Women Police Constables (as he still thought of them despite the long abandonment of such a sexist appellation) doing real police work. The role of WPC's in his mind was to make the tea. Police work was man's work. Not that Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg was easily distinguished from a man. Although diminutive in stature, her close cropped hair, alarmingly deep voice and overly aggressive manner made her typical of the denizens of Letsby Avenue Police Station.

Sergeant William 'Bill' Constable looked at her. He said, "Policeman on the beat?"

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg replied, "There's been a report of a naked woman being pursued down The Grove by a vicious assailant, Sarge."

Sergeant William 'Bill' Constable said, "Too many letters."

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "Could be a hostage situation, Sarge."

Sergeant William 'Bill' Constable said, "Better go and investigate then."

That got her out of the way then. Perhaps he had better try one down.

***************

Inside number six The Grove things hadn't got any easier.

Veronica thought 'If I could just get some clothes on I could go back and brazen it out with the old witch'.

Martin thought 'What the heck do I do now'.

Veronica said, "Aren't you going to go and get me some clothes then?"

Martin said, "How?"

Veronica said, "Perhaps you haven't heard of shops."

Martin was horrified. Go and buy girls' clothes from a shop! What on earth would people think!

He said, "You haven't got any money."

Veronica said, "What makes you think that."

Martin said, "You're not wearing any clothes."

The sudden reference to her nudity made Veronica suddenly self conscious. She stuck one arm across her breasts and one hand in front of that intimate area where her legs met and stood knock-kneed and red faced.

She said, "Stop staring. You can give me some of your clothes."

Martin continued staring. He had never seen anything quite so alluring. Anyway the thought of someone else, however alluring, wearing his clothes filled him with horror.

He said, "You're not wearing my clothes."

There was a sudden ring at the door. Veronica peeked out the window. Down the road she could see a white car with a blue light on the top.

She said, "My God! The Plod! They're doing a house to house."

He said, "The Plod?"

She said, "Yes, the police. They're after me. Don't tell them I'm here."

Martin went to the door. Such was the allure of having a naked woman in the house that he had no intention of telling 'The Plod' anything.

************

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg felt that her many talents were not appreciated by the powers that be in Letsby Avenue Police Station. It was clear to her that she should by now at least have achieved the rank of Detective Sergeant. It was only the antediluvian sexism of the likes of Sergeant William 'Bill' Constable that held her back.

She was an avid fan of the long running TV show 'The Plod' in which the exploits of intrepid but somehow strangely vulnerable Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles resulted in the regular apprehension of a string of wicked but somehow strangely sexually attractive villains. Usually after Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles had been held hostage by the wicked but somehow strangely sexually attractive villain and lost a fair proportion of her clothes. The series was very popular.

She wondered if the villain seen pursuing the naked woman into the house in The Grove was wicked but somehow strangely sexually attractive. He had, after all, to be wicked, otherwise he would not be holding a woman hostage; and the fact that she was naked suggested that he was somehow strangely sexually attractive.

She decided that she would 'show 'em a thing or two down at the nick'. 'Show 'em a thing or two down at the nick' was a favourite phrase of Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles. She had a plan. And it did not consist of knocking on the door looking like a police constable.

************

Veronica did not feel that Martin was somehow strangely sexually attractive. Like everyone over the age of 24 he was a wonker and she was well aware that she was giving him plenty to wonk about. Why couldn't he just do as he was told? And now even more wonkers would be coming to the door, and they'd drag her off down the police station, parading her through the town, then throw her in a cell stark naked and give the miscreants something to wonk about.

The door bell rang again.

Veronica said "Well aren't you going to answer it?"

Martin said "Why should I?"

Veronica said, "Because they won't frigging go away until you do. And you'd better not bleeding tell them I'm here."

Martin was unhappy. He was not good at lying. He opened the door. A short rather aggressive girl with close-cropped fair hair confronted him. She appeared to be wearing a brown workman's smock over a policeman's uniform.

The girl said, "Evenin' Sir. Gas Company Sir. Read your gas meter Sir."

Martin said, "Gas Company?"

The girl said, "That's right Sir. The Gas Company."

Martin said, "Which gas company?"

The girl said, "Your gas company. I must insist on entry to your premises Sir."

Martin said, "Do you have a search warrant?"

The girl said, "Under the Gas Meter (Special Exemption from the need to have a search warrant) General Regulations 1997, the requirement for employees of the Gas Company to show a search warrant when searching premises, I mean reading the gas meter, is specifically er... Exempted."

It was a line, she thought, worthy of Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles herself. Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles knew that where wicked, but somehow strangely sexually attractive, villains were concerned, rules had to be bent a little.

It was unfortunate that the man appeared neither wicked nor strangely sexually attractive.

*************

Up and down The Grove curtains twitched some more. It was clear that something strange was afoot. And it was clear what it was. They were filming an episode of The Plod. Mrs Prendergast at number twenty-four picked up her telephone and started dialling.

**************

Martin said, "Oh. You'd better come in then."

It was strange. He didn't have gas.

Veronica looked on horrified as Martin invited the wonker from the plod in. People, she thought, never did what they were told. She would just have to take matters into her own hands.

She said, "Get her! She's plod!"

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg looked at the naked girl in horror. Stockholm Syndrome. There'd been an episode all about it in The Plod! It had ended with Detective Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles being taken hostage and losing a fair proportion of her clothes.

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg put up her hands. She had a horrible suspicion she was going to lose a fair proportion of her clothes.

Veronica saw, at last, a way out. She, Veronica, had no clothes, the Gas Company woman had clothes. And she was standing in front of them with her hands in the air.

Veronica said, "Take your clothes off."

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "I am Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg I am not permitted under Section 24 subsection 2 of the Police Officer's Code to remove my uniform while on duty."

It was a dissemblance worthy of Sergeant Charlotte 'Charlie' Charles herself. There was no such Police Officer's Code.

Martin said "Oh."

Veronica said, "Strip her Martin. She's from the Gas Company. She said so herself."

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg had one of her moments of inspiration. It wasn't, if truth be told, strictly speaking a moment of her inspiration as it was a ploy use by Sergeant Charlotte ' Charlie' Charles in Episode 73 of The Plod (the one where the writers were fast running out of ideas).

The wicked, and unfortunately in this case not that sexually attractive, villain would be made to pay.

She turned to Martin.

Martin said, "What?"

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "Remove your clothes Sir and give them to this lady."

Martin looked from the lady from the Gas Police to the Naked Girl. He was a law abiding citizen. All his life he had been brought up to do as he was told to by people in authority.

Martin said, "Yes Constable."

He started to take off his clothes. As he took them off Veronica put them on.

Martin said, "All of them Constable?"

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "All of them."

Martin took all his clothes off and Veronica put them on.

Martin stood knock-kneed, nude and blushing crimson with his hands over his willy.

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "Hands behind your back Sir."

Martin was in the nude. A police person was giving him orders. He did as he was told.

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg quickly cuffed him. It was the only thing to do with wicked, and now somewhat strangely vulnerable, villains.

Martin turned a deeper shade of crimson. He was no longer able to hide his willy. It dangled, limp, abject and unimpressive under the gaze if the girls.

Veronica said, "Thank you so much Constable."

Constable Theresa 'Terri' Sprogg said, "All in the way of duty Miss. Now Sir I must ask you to accompany me to the station."