It’s ‘Bearly’ Christmas

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Babes

A clever sabotage of a party costume backfires, and chivalry wins the day.

*****

As I look at my fancy dress costume on my sister’s bed, I almost have to applaud her cleverness.

It is Christmas Eve, and she is having a house party. I am a little surprised to have been invited. She’s ten years my junior, so we’d never been terribly close. Also, the last time I’d met her rather attractive friends, I’d been slightly tipsy and a little flirty. My advances had not been unwelcome, but my sister has decreed all her friends strictly off limits.

After ringing the doorbell, I discover the reason for my invite; the door is opened by my mum. If my parents were invited, my sister pretty much had to ask me. And hearing my dad’s loud voice somewhere in the house, telling an off-colour joke, I doubt if it’ll be long before my sister asks me to drive our parent’s home.

“Duncan, where is your costume?” Mum asks, a little drunkenly. Looking past her, seeing the few people in the hall are all in fancy dress. Something my sister had neglected to mention, knowing our parents would berate me for ‘spoiling’ my sister’s party. I’m just starting to mentally debate if I should tell mum how I’d been set up, or take in on the chin and let my sister win this one. Then she appears.

“Don’t worry mum, I hired his costume, it’s upstairs on my bed. When I saw it, I knew it was the only thing he could wear. It’s so cute!” The expression ‘so cute’ sets off warning claxons, as does her expression of gleeful malice.

I head upstairs, wondering what type of embarrassing outfit she’s got me. Rocky Horror-style basque and stockings or a Tarzan loincloth? If I get drunk enough I’m may be able to pull either of those off?

On the bed is a large teddy bear costume. She’s pulled off a “near perfect treble.” By hiring an expensive outfit, she has ensured I’ll have to wear it; our parents will never let me waste all that money. Secondly, she’s always called me her “big teddy bear” as a small girl, as I used to do some bodybuilding and have had a big bushy beard since my early twenties. Thirdly, this cumbersome costume squelches any chances of chatting up her friends.

Struggling and contorting, I manage to pull the zip up the back. The massive headpiece restricts my vision and makes eating and drinking impossible. However, drinking is the last of my worries. There’s no way I can get in and out of this costume each time I need to pee.

Heading down to the party, the costume turns out to be worse than I anticipated. It’s hot, heavy and I keep bumping into furniture and people. To make matters worse, I can hardly hear anyone and have to bellow to be heard. Accepting my fate, I exile myself to the hall. At least there I’m not in anyone’s way, and the draft from the front door is refreshing

However, it turns out this location has additional bonuses. The stream of beautiful people flowing up the stairs to the first-floor toilet. I’m not sure what it is with women these days, but the word ‘sexy’ seems to have to be appended to all costumes. Sexy nurse, sexy cop, sexy pirate and so on.

I’m feeling a little guilty as I’m doing it, but the headpiece now provides ample cover as I ogle the scantily clad women tottering up and down the stairs in high heels. However, I reckon it’s probably fair as it’s likely the only pleasure I’ll derive from this evening.

Then a woman steps into the hall, only a couple of inches shorter than myself, and topped with fiery red shoulder-length hair. She jumps when she sees me, then gives a self-deprecating half smile and turns away. I think I’m hooked. It’s not just the hair or the cute smile on an attractive face, it’s the whole package. Starting with her legs, of which I can see almost all. Her tight black skirt barely covers her buttocks leaving a pale skin gap between it and her dark stockings and suspenders.

Then I notice the reason for her height. Stripper shoes with platform soles and spiked heels. An accident waiting to happen, I thought.

When she steps into the bathroom, I run through my mental rolodex of my sister’s friends, but come up blank for this woman. Meaning she was most likely a friend from work, and to my calculations, might not fall under my sister’s blanket ban of chatting up her friends. At least that’s how my mind chooses to see it. Plus, given the women at this party outnumber the men, there was a chance she was single.

I have to give it a go. I’ll wait until she gets to the bottom of the stairs and pull off my costume head and make some joke about her hair colour matching the fur of the costume and how we must be fated to be together. Cheesy I know, but it should break the ice.

As she returns from the bathroom and comes back down the stairs, it’s like a slow-motion reveal. The shoes and legs, up to the exposed flesh of her thighs. For an instant, I could swear I saw a flash of something purple under her skirt. As her top half comes into view, it gets better and better. Her thin white cotton top has a plunging neckline exposing an impressive amount of cleavage.

Suddenly, ankara escort her ankle twists sideways, and she’s falling. Lunging towards her is like pushing through cold Treacle. I aim to catch her, but her fall has launched her towards me. I barely get my hands up to catch her when her forehead smashes into my bear snout.

Her momentum pushes us both back, and she forces the air from me as we land hard on my back with her on top of me. I can honestly say I’ve never been so pleased to be wearing a stupid padded costume in my life. However, the impact has spun the bear head nearly backward leaving me blinded.

I can hear a muffled woman’s voice, as she’s lifted off me. “Are you alright?” “Screw her, what about him? Is he even alive?” A loud male voice interjects. I suppose with the bear head like this it must look like I’ve broken my neck?

Pulling off the costume head, I struggle to sit up. “I’m OK,” not entirely true, the whack to my nose has brought tears to my eyes. So I shrug out of the furry gloves to wipe them away. Not that anyone is paying attention to me, as the woman is balling her eyes out and has everyone crowded around.

She’s sitting on the bottom step, with my sister kneeling in front of her.

“Are you OK?”

“I’ve broken my ankle!” She wails drunkenly. Looking through the sea of legs, I rerun the accident in my head, and I’m reasonably certain it’s just a strain. I’m also fairly sure she’s not aware she’s flashing her skimpy purple panties quite so clearly.

Whether my sister spotted this or just wants everyone back to the party, she insists everyone except me to return into the lounge.

“What do you think Duncan?” My sister asks me, knowing I’ve done a little first aid training.

“I think it’s just a sprain…”

“No! It’s definitely broken.” The woman wails.

“Let me have a look.” I offer, moving to kneel in front of her. Trying my hardest to avoid the temptation of looking up her skirt.

“No, I need the hospital.” she insists.

I look up at my sister in exasperation.

“Could you take her?” She asks. “It seems a bit much to call an ambulance, and it will take ages on a night like tonight.” Meaning she doesn’t want this crying woman hanging around the party and bringing everyone down.

I can imagine how hellish A&E would be tonight, but my parents raised me right, and my chivalrous side takes over, so I nod in agreement and stand. My sister, as if speaking to a child, leans down to her friend.

“It’s OK Dee Dee; my big strong brother will take you. Is that OK?” The girl looks at me as if for the first time and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. She looks a little alarmed, and I realise I must be quite an imposing sight looming over her. The bulk of the costume on top of my generous build.

“Cheers big bro!” My sister whispers, giving me a hug.

“You owe me big time for this sis. Can you unzip this costume so I can grab my keys?” She tugs down the zipper.

“Why don’t you have a shirt on?” She asks amused.

“It’s too hot in here. Just be glad I kept my pants on.”

Unfortunately, there isn’t enough slack in the costume to reach the pocket with my car keys. After struggling for a while, I turn to my sister.

“Can you help?”

“I’m not rummaging around my brother’s pockets!”

“Come here. I’ll do it, as long as we go straight away.” Dee Dee offers, and I stand with my back to her as she reaches inside the costume. Suddenly, I realise a strange woman’s hand in your pocket is a rather intimate thing, especially as I’m going commando tonight. Luckily she grabs the keys and nothing else, and produces them with a flourish and zips me back up.

“Can we go now?”

I want to tell her I need to change first. However, her doe-like eyes quash that idea.

Instead, I scoop her into my arms and wait for my sister to open the front door. Only as I turn, do I realise, from the amount of naked flesh my hand is grasping, I probably should have asked permission to manhandle her like this. However, Dee Dee does not object, instead resting her head against my shoulder.

I may not work out as much as I used to, but I still retain a reasonable degree of muscle, so the woman is no great burden. However, after a hundred yards I’m starting to flag, and in the bitter wind this stupid costume turns out to be a godsend.

Dee Dee is not so lucky; my arm under her legs is about the only thing covering her from the bum down. Setting her down, to open the car door, I notice several things. The first is it’s very obvious she’s not wearing a bra, and the two other things, well I think you can guess what indicators of the cold I’m referring to?

As she gets into the car, I’m rewarded with another flash of the underwear, and I swear I can see a neat patch of pubic hair through the material. Dee Dee catches me looking, but what can I do? I’m only a guy, and any guy would look, even if he’s gay.

A&E is as nightmarish as I’d expected. Busy, noisy and full. Taking a ticket and a clip boarded escort ankara form, we take a seat. I always feel it’s like going to a deli, where you take a number and wait to be served. In this place, however, it’s you who’s likely to be sliced open.

At least Dee Dee has stopped crying, even if her face looks like a sad Panda with her mascara having run. The fresh air and bright lights seem to be cutting through the fog of her alcohol. I fill in the form for her and learn her name, address and phone number. The later I commit to memory, she might be a hypochondriac, but her body is enough to overlook that.

After several long hours, she leans into me and whispers.

“I feel a bit of a fraud now. I’m sure I’m alright. Can we just go?” Instead, at that moment a nurse appears with a wheelchair to bring us to the doctor. At least this time I won’t be flashing her underwear to the entire room as I’d done on the way in.

She hopped, quite literally, up onto the examination couch, as a tired looking Indian doctor comes in. I couldn’t help noticing her tugging ineffectively at her skirt, trying to hide her underwear. But the doctor simply checks her form, asks a couple of questions and sits on a low stool. He’s professional enough to ignore her attempts to hide her underwear, wiggles her ankle once and declares it fine.

‘Keep it elevated and apply a cold compress to reduce the swelling’ was all the medical advice he gave.

After wheeling her back to the car and helping her to stand up, I turn my back as she gets in.

“Why so shy? You didn’t seem so shy the last time.” She asks looking up at me.

“When you got into the car?” I ask and could have kicked myself as I’d basically admitted to having seen her underwear more than once. Luckily, she merely nods.

“Last time you caught me by surprise. This time I thought it more chivalrous to avert my eyes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended that you ignored me like that.”

“Hey, I wasn’t ignoring you, it wasn’t easy to be such a gentleman, but believe me any red-blooded male would happily look at you. You realise how short that skirt is?” Why the hell did I say that?

“Oh, I know, but that’s rather the point.” She replies with a grin and shuts the door in my face.

As I return the wheelchair, I ponder how confusing this woman is.

Getting into the car, Dee Dee turns to me.

“I’m so sorry, wasting your time like this. Dragging you away from the party and everything.”

“Hey, it’s OK. To be honest, after my sister lumbered me with this costume, I was glad for almost any excuse to get away.”

“Why? It’s cute!” She replies, what is it with girls and teddy bear costumes?

“Well, it’s not cute to wear. Far too hot and uncomfortable.” As I say this my eyes drop, and I notice Dee Dee’s prominent nipples have returned. “Want me to put the heater on?”

Not very subtle and I don’t know if she noticed my glance, but she goes on.

“It’s a lot more practical than what I’m wearing…” As she says this, she tugs on the bottom of her shirt, expanding to a dangerous extent, the quantity of cleavage on display. Glancing up to see her watching me, catching me red handed she suppresses a grin.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, and she nods. “How come Dee Dee? Your name’s Jessica.” She smiles again, and I think I’m beginning to get addicted to that.

“Two reasons really. I’m Jessica Delores Dinklage, when I was a girl; I always introduced myself as Jessica D. Dinklage. It always seemed like a stutter on the ‘D’ so some people started calling me Dee Dee.”

“You said there were two reasons?” I ask, and she grins and looks down.

“Can you guess?” she wiggles her shoulders causing a pleasant movement of her breasts.

“Oh right. Double ‘D'”

“Yep, 36DD and I’m rather proud of them.”

“And you have every right to be so.” Taking the chance to stare at them openly, as she’s instigated this.

“Do you think this outfit is sexy?”

“Does the Pope wear a silly hat? Of course, it’s sexy. Why would you even need to ask?”

“It was a plan we hatched at work. There’s a new guy that started less than a month ago. Super sexy, come to bed eyes, hot body…”

“Yadda Yadda.” I interrupt not wanting her to go on about another guy.

“So the single girls going to your sister’s party decided to all come as sexy as they could.”

“Presumably, he’s there and what? You hoped to hook up?”

“No, I’m convinced he’s gay…”

“What?”

“Half the girls think he is the others just think he’s shy. So we had a bet on it.”

“You dangle your impressive bust at him; flash those purple panties at him to see if he’s gay? What if he’s not and took the bait?”

“I might have lost the bet, but I’d get to fuck a really hot guy.” It’s a little shocking she’s talking so boldly to a stranger.

“So, how much did you see when I got into the car?” I’m so far out of my wheelhouse here, so I decide honesty is the only option. If she’s bold, then I’ll just have to step up and ankara escort bayan reply in kind.

“I saw enough to know that’s your natural hair colour.” She giggles sweetly. “Let’s get you back to the party, so you can win your bet; however it turns out.”

Turning on the engine, I look around to check it’s safe to drive off and ask.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your costume?”

“It was supposed to be a French maid, but the silly mop cap looked crap, so I left it off. What time is it?” She asks suddenly.

Checking the display on the dashboard, I reply.

“12:45. Happy Christmas.”

“Really? Shit.”

“What?” I ask alarmed as she shuffles down in her seat and struggles to reach for something at her waist. If the seat wasn’t in so much shadow, I was sure I would have been seeing her knickers again.

Moments later she produces a plastic spring of mistletoe.

“I’ve been waiting all night to use this.” She exclaims, and laughing I reply.

“Where the hell did you hide that?”

“You’d be amazed what a woman can hide away.” Without thought I reply.

“Well, women do have an additional hiding place.” I know as soon as I’d said that, I started blushing. Instead of being offended she bursts out laughing.

“You think I’d hide that up my twat?” Her laughter grew louder and continued so long I had to join in.

“Mind you, it would give new meaning to kissing under the mistletoe. How about it?” She asks holding the small spring against the car’s roof.

My mind struggles with conflicting images. Primarily of her naked thighs wrapped around my head. Then I realise what she actually means.

“Come on, don’t leave a girl hanging. Think of it as a boon for my knight in shining armour.” She leans towards me, and I twist around and give her a quick kiss on the lips.

“Is that it? I was hoping for more than that tonight.” She leans back into her seat before I could try again.

“I’d welcome a second chance if you’ll let me, after we get back to the party.”

“It’ll be over by now.”

“Really?” I knew my sister’s parties normally last well into the early hours.

“Yeah, they said they were planning on going to a midnight carol service. Fuck!”

“What?”

“I left my phone and keys in the back of Paula’s car. Fuck! Now, what am I going to do? I can’t get back into my flat.”

“No flatmate or boyfriend”?

“No and no. Well, actually I have a flatmate, but she’s off bonking her boyfriend tonight.”

Thinking a moment, I hesitate in spite of myself, then offer.

“You’re welcome to stay at my place.” I know it sounds like a come on, even it’s a genuine offer of help.

“Are you trying to proposition me, or is it just your predilection for rescuing damsels in distress? How many have you saved this week?”

“I try to keep it down to one or two a week.”

“How can I turn down an offer like that?” She reaches over, and her hand rests on my thigh. The positioning of her hand close to my crotch seems to signal the night might not be a bust after all.

Pulling out of the parking space, we start to head towards my flat. Her hand remains on my leg as I drive and she gradually rubs her hand up and down.

“You know this fur is remarkably soft. I’ve always wanted to make love on a sheepskin rug in front of a roaring fire. I wonder if this costume would feel the same?”

With a comment like that hanging n the air, we got home quicker than was sensible at this time of year. I was amazed we’d not been pulled over by the cops on the way. Dee Dee insists on walking instead of me carrying her, so I walk, far too slowly for my preference, towards my front door with one of her arms over my shoulder.

Inside, my last minute tidy up on the off chance of visitors over Christmas suddenly feels like it had been a good idea. Normally I’m rather messy, but that’s acceptable for a guy living by himself. Not wanting to be too forward, despite her hints, I offer to light the fire.

“I think its warm enough, besides I can snuggle up against you if I get cold.” She wraps her arms around my neck.

Taking her cue, I lean down and wrap my arms around her and have a second attempt at that kiss. This time it’s not the polite public kiss, but one filled with passion and promise. Tightening my grip, I lift her up and off her feet. She squeals into my mouth, before breaking the kiss and laughing.

“OK, my knight in shining armour. I know you’re strong.” Her hand rubs against the fur on my shoulders. “And soft…”

“Are you comparing me to toilet paper?” I ask setting her down.

“No! Idiot. I was about to ask if you’re patient?”

“Of course.” I lied.

“OK, why don’t you put something on the TV and I’ll pop to the loo.”

“What do you want?” I ask as she hops to the door. Looking back and with a cheeky grin, she replies.

“How about some porn? Something to inspire us.”

I was beginning to think I’d bitten off more than I could chew with Dee Dee. I’m not against forward women, hell it saves a bucket load of time knowing what they want, but this is new. New and a little scary. What if I chose something she freaks out at? Instead, I turn on the TV and bring up my favourite adult website and leave the search screen open.

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