Vicars and Tarts

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“Are you sure about this, babe?” I asked, examining myself in the full-length bedroom mirror and concluding that I looked completely ridiculous. I mean I’m sure some men could pull off wearing a dress, the kind of men willing to pluck their eyebrows and shave their chests, but that just wasn’t me. I looked like what I was: a thirty-year-old man squeezed into an ill-fitting charity shop dress. I’m quite lean and have the kind compact, wiry body that’s perfect for playing right-back in my local pub team but not so good for pretending to be a woman. My shoulders were too broad, my chin a bit too square, my eyebrows too thick to make it convincing. In short, I looked like a desperately poor drag act.

“Let’s see,” Marnie said, twisting around, her freshly applied pink lipstick glistening wetly in the bright lights of her dressing table.

I twisted to face her, my arms outstretched, the soft pleats of the old-fashioned dress swishing around my knees.

“I think you look adorable, sweetie,” she said, placing a hand over her mouth and barely managing to stifle a laugh.

We’d been invited to Steve and Trisha’s housewarming party a while ago, although since then it had somehow transformed into a ‘vicars and tarts’ party. I barely knew the couple but Marnie had gone to nursing college with Trisha, along with several other colleagues of hers from the hospital that would be also be there tonight.

They’d all known each other for ages, and it was the kind of daring and ‘fun’ theme that I’d come to expect. Later, when they’d come up with the idea of the women going as ‘vicars’ and the men as ‘tarts’ I’d laughed and gone along with it, figuring that it was a bit of a joke that everyone would either chicken out or forget about, but as it had got closer, I’d realised that I was actually going to have to go through with it. Marnie is quite slim so she sensibly forbid me from even trying to squeeze into any of her dresses but she’d been more than pleased to drag me around the charity shops in the morning.

She loves clothes shopping and was in her element, enjoying the process of sifting through many, many racks of second-hand clothes as we went from shop to shop, looking for extra-large women’s clothing. It hadn’t taken long to find this rather old-fashioned scarlet dress sprinkled with white polka dots. It was designed to fit someone with a fuller figure, and we found the only way to make it fit properly, was for me to wear one of Marnie’s old bras stuffed with toilet paper to pad out my chest. The silky embrace of her bra felt odd, as did the large matching ivory silk knickers that we’d bought from Marks and Spencers. I’d wanted to wear my usual underwear but Marnie had reminded me how I’d rashly promised to wear only women’s clothes, a promise I was now deeply regretting, although I have to confess the feeling of the cool, smooth silk against my body felt shamefully good.

It had taken longer to find shoes that were large enough for my size eight feet though. Marnie had insisted that it just wouldn’t look right without some kind of heel, and it had taken several more charity shops before we came across a matching pair of red patent-leather court shoes with a low heel, which weren’t too uncomfortable.

Normally it would take Marnie at least twice as long as me to get ready when we were going out, but tonight the roles were reversed. She’d insisted I shaved my face before patiently applying some make-up: blusher over my smooth cheeks, some mascara, a little scarlet lipstick to match the brightly coloured dress. I’d drawn the line at shaving my legs though. Luckily, I have fair hair, my legs lightly covered in a golden fuzz, which didn’t really show and my chest is hairless, which made me feel slightly less ludicrous. An unconvincing charity-shop wig of dense ruby curls perched on top of my head completed my outfit.

Marnie, as always, looked gorgeous and suitably clerical in a pair of fitting black trousers hugging her slim hips and a thin black sweater over a plain white blouse. She wore a crucifix-shaped broach on one breast and kept her make-up subtle, with her fair hair tied back in a neat bun giving her a boyish look. She’d carefully drawn a thin moustache on her upper lips, rakishly curled up at the ends which looked surprisingly erotic.

“Listen, I’m really not sure this is going to work, perhaps I should just wear something normal,” I whined.

“Oh come on, you’ll be amongst friends, it’s not like we’re out in public,” she insisted.

“I guess,” I replied. This was partially true; the people at the party would mainly be Marnie’s colleagues from the hospital, people that I’d met a few times before on social occasions but not really my friends.

“No, come on, be a sport, I think all the men are going in drag. I know for sure Mike and Jeff are. Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said, coming over and wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Okay, but you owe me one…” I said.

“Besides, look at these gorgeous boobs,” she said, her lips next to my ear as he slid her hands up avcılar elit escort over my chest and gave my fake boobs a crude squeeze. “Much bigger than mine. I’m quite jealous.”

“They are pretty impressive,” I agreed proudly.

“And I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, if you play your cards right, you can expect a nice surprise,” she said, pressing her lips against my neck, and kissing me until I forgot how uncomfortable I felt.

“Alright mate?” I said, as we got into the back of the taxi.

The driver, a balding middle-aged man, gave me a lingering look in his rear-view mirror.

“Sycamore Drive, right?” he said, frowning as he took in my brightly-coloured dress and ruby curls.

“Yeah, we’re going to a fancy dress party,” I explained, smiling as I tugged my skirt down over my knees.

“Sure,” he said as we set off.

Beside me, Marnie coughed to hide a chuckle.

Despite several puzzled glances in his mirror, the rest of the journey was silent and we made it to our friends’ house in good time. I was relieved to find that, as promised, most of the men were in drag, and I was surprised to see that one or two of them looked even more absurd than me. The party was in full swing by then, eighties music blaring out of the hi-fi in the open-plan living area, people drinking and laughing, spilling out of the lounge into the kitchen and from the kitchen out onto the patio. It was quite an odd, almost surreal, sight to see the roles reversed. The women were mostly dressed in plain, sober, mainly black, clothing, their hair tied back, their makeup subtle. Conversely, the men were dressed in a broad range of colourful skirts and blouses and frocks in bright primary colours: gaudy jade greens, sunflower yellows and royal blues.

We chatted to Steve and Trisha about their new house for a while, and then when some of her friends joined us and they started talking about their work at the hospital, I went in search of another beer, slipping outside to share the remains of the late evening sunshine with the smokers collected just outside the backdoor.

“Nice nails, mate,” someone said as I lingered outside the back door, and turning around I recognised Mike and Jeff from previous parties.

“Thanks, Jo insisted I go the whole hog,” I explained, rolling my eyes then looking down at my fingers wrapped around my beer bottle, the nails painted glossy crimson to match the colour of my dress.

We chatted for a while, bonding over our unusual clothing, before moving onto safer subjects like football and the proposed bypass on the south side of town. Mike was wearing a spiky blonde wig and a black PVC mini-skirt over fishnet stockings, which looked absurd alongside the bushy moustache that he’d decided to keep long after ‘Movember’ had finished. He reminded me of Freddie Mercury from that Queen video where he’s dressed as a housewife. And Jeff was wearing an old-fashioned summer-dress, bright orange flowers against a green background which might have been found in the same charity shop as my frock.

After an hour or so, I returned to the kitchen to find another beer and looked for Marnie, eventually finding her at the back of the lounge. She was with Jo, one of the senior nurses, a tall woman of our age that Marnie had started working with a couple of months earlier. Jo was tall and attractive with prominent cheekbones and slightly angular nose that gave her a hawkish look. Tonight she was dressed in a plain black dress over black nylons, a large silver cross pendant around her neck. Her straight, toffee-coloured hair was centre-parted and scraped back into a sleek ponytail. I’d met her a few times before and wasn’t sure what to make of her. She seemed quite self-confident, almost arrogant and always seemed to be so self-assured. It could have been my imagination but it felt like Marnie had become more assertive and opinionated since meeting her.

As I weaved through the crowd of people, I sensed Marnie was angry. Having known her for five years, I could easily spot when she was beginning to lose her temper, could almost see a little black cloud hovering over her head. I’d been on the wrong end of her sudden temper many times and from ten yards away across the crowded open-plan living room, I could see the signs: the thin, pursed lips, the intense stare, the tightly crossed arms. Jo looked annoyed too and the target of their anger appeared to be Mike, another of the nurses’ boyfriends, who was talking animatedly, holding up his hands, palms towards them, as if trying to defuse the situation.

“All I’m saying is that it’s not always one hundred percent the man’s fault in that situation,” I heard Mike say as I drew closer. “These days, there’s always someone you can report that kind of thing to. It’s up to women to speak out.”

“But if a woman’s being harassed by a man who’s in a position of power, it’s not always that easy, is it? Men can often make it really difficult for women avcılar escort who don’t play along with their little power games,” Marnie insisted.

“And besides, your typical HR department is more interested in protecting the reputation of the company than creating bad publicity by outing a sex pest,” Jo added.

“Hey guys, enjoying the party? What do you think of the house?” I interrupted, crudely trying to change the topic of conversation.

“We were just talking about that shocking survey that was in the papers that showed that fifty percent of nurses have been sexually harassed in the workplace,” Jo said, fixing me with her intense, dark green eyes.

“And Mike here was being an apologist for male sexual predators,” Marnie added, shaking her head.

I groaned inwardly. I knew that both Marnie and Jo both had strong opinions on this subject. Marnie and I were very different in how strongly we express our opinions. I’m a woolly Guardian-reading liberal, able to see both sides of any argument which helps in my job as a journalist, but I know sometimes infuriates her. Marnie’s a lot more decisive, and not afraid to share her views. She would call herself ‘strong’ and ‘assertive’, although sometimes I would call her ‘bossy’. I guess that old adage about ‘opposites attracting’ was certainly true in our case.

I knew from previous nights out that Jo had strong feminist views too and that they could both be quite forthright in expressing their views, especially after a couple of drinks.

“Come on, ladies. That’s not what I was saying. I was just pointing out that if women are going to dress provocatively they should expect to get more attention.”

“Provocatively?” Marnie snapped. “What do you mean by provocatively though? Is it provocative if I wear a shorter skirt because it’s hot outside, or a lower-cut top because I think it looks good on me?”

“Yeah, come on!” echoed Jo. “Next you’ll be telling us that women who wear shorts skirts are ‘asking for it’.”

“Look, let me give you an example: there’s a girl, sorry, a young woman in my office who wears these tight little skirts, and you know, she wiggles around the place on her high heels and you can’t help but look, and maybe have a bit of banter with her.”

“Right…” prompted Jo, her lips pursed.

“Yeah, so I’m saying she understands that she expects a little attention, a little office flirting. Its harmless banter, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but there’s a big difference between a bit of harmless flirting and sexual harassment, don’t you agree?” Marnie said, glancing at me.

The thing is, I did agree. There’d been a lot in the news recently around sexual harassment, and clearly there was no excuse for that sort of unwanted attention. On the other hand, I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Mike, who seemed to be outnumbered and with my journalist’s training I somehow couldn’t help slipping into the role of Devil’s Advocate.

“Well yes. But I think Mike has a point: sometimes there’s a thin line between flirting and unwanted sexual advances. I mean, men and women can see things very differently.”

“Oh come on! We’re all grown-ups. I think we all know the difference between a bit of banter and sexual harassment!”

“No, I don’t think it’s that simple. I mean, some women are quite passive and like to be pursued. It’s difficult to know when a women’s genuinely not interested and when she’s playing ‘hard to get’.”

“Come on, I think women make it pretty clear when they’re not interested.”

My heart sank as I felt myself being drawn deeper and deeper into the realm of sexual politics. Thankfully, at that point we were interrupted by the loud pop and brief cheer that accompanied a bottle of champagne being opened in the kitchen.

“Come on, Mike,” I said brightly, keen to escape the conversation. “Let’s get the girls some glasses of champagne.”

“It’d be different if they were the ones being molested,” I heard Marnie say as we turned and pushed our way through the crowded room towards the kitchen.

I’d known Marnie for a long while now, and knew that although she could get angry quickly, she’d also cool down just as swiftly so I avoided her for a while, lingering back outside with the smokers until the sun set and it started to get dark and cold. I headed back inside just as the party was winding down. All the other thirty-something couples making excuses about babysitters and work commitments, and organising lifts or calling for taxis.

I was delayed by Jeff in the kitchen, debating whether Arsenal could realistically win the league this season, but eventually I headed back to the living room where I spotted Jo and Marnie still lingering where I’d left them next to the dining table, which was now cluttered with half-empty wine glasses.

The both looked over at me as I approached, and as Jo ran her eyes up and down my body I once again felt self-conscious about my appearance, tugging the hem of my skirt down over my knees and trying to ignore avcılar eve gelen escort how uncomfortable my shoes were becoming. As I got closer, Marnie whispered something to Jo that made her grin, then I watched as Jo leant in and whispered something in Marnie’s ear. Whatever she said caused them both to laugh loudly.

“Hi,” Jo said, putting her hand over her mouth as she stifled her laughter.

“Hello darling,” Marnie said, in a tone of voice that suggested she wanted something. I couldn’t help noticing that her voice was a little slurred, her face flushed.

“Hi. Something funny?”

“Jo was just saying how much she fancies you in that dress,” Marnie said, with a lopsided grin.

“That’s right,” Jo giggled, reaching out and plucking one of the pleats. “It’s a bit short but you’ve definitely got the legs to pull it off.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering just how many glasses of wine they’d got through whilst I was outside.

“Listen, Jo drove here tonight, and although she’s not come far I suggested it would be wise to come back to our place tonight. Then we can come back and get her car tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not, you’re always welcome Jo,” I said, although I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed, and hoped it wouldn’t spoil whatever Marnie had planned for later.

“Great, thanks sweetie,” Marnie said, pecking me on the lips.

“Looks like the party’s winding down now,” I said as we turned. Behind us, a couple we vaguely knew gave us a brief wave as they headed towards the door.

“I’ll call us a cab,” Marnie said, fishing around in her handbag for her mobile.

Marnie and I waited in the taxi, listening to the steady rumble of the engine as we waited for Jo to say her goodbyes.

“You don’t mind do you? It wasn’t safe for Jo to drive and she kept hinting.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that, well…”


“You promised something special earlier,” I said, twisting my head and whispering her ear. “I hope we’re still on.”

“Don’t worry,” Marnie said, her lips curling into a seductive smile as we watched Jo approach the taxi. “I don’t think you’re going to forget tonight in a hurry.” Jo joined us before I got a chance to ask what she meant and soon the taxi was cruising through the dark streets, the interior lit with the intermittent amber glow of the streetlights. Although the roads were near empty at this time of night, I reckoned it would still take us around twenty minutes to get back to our modest, two-bedroom semi on the other side of town.

Instead of getting in front with the driver, Jo had squeezed into the backseat with us and I found myself sandwiched between the two women, the bright red of my dress squeezed between their plain black outfits.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Marnie asked, sliding her hand over mine, lacing our fingers together.

“Yeah, it was fun. I felt pretty self-conscious turning up in this dress. Wasn’t too bad after a couple of beers though.”

“Well, I think it really suits you, thanks for being a sport.”

She leaned in, tilting her head up towards me and we kissed. I just expected a quick peck on the lips, but she slid a hand around my neck, holding me steady as it turned into a long, smouldering kiss, her tongue darting between my lips as I tasted the sweet tartness of white wine. I felt the warmth of her body pressing against me, her hand sliding over my thigh and squeezing my knee. She looked up at me, a wicked grin on her face as she slowly slid her hand beneath the hem of my skirt.

“Hey, I’m not that kind of girl,” I joked, grasping her wrist as she eased it up over my knee. “Not on a first date.”

“Come now, I think that’s exactly the kind of girl you are,” she giggled, trying to pull her hand free. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Yeah, don’t be a tease,” Jo chuckled, twisting towards me, her hand squeezing my bare knee. “We just want a little look.”

“Come on girls,” I said with a nervous laugh as they playfully tugged at the hem of my dress. “Stop fooling around!”

“Come on, we just want to see a little more of those gorgeous legs,” Jo insisted.

“Yeah, you know girls who dress provocatively have to expect this kind of attention,” Marnie chuckled as she drunkenly groped me. I squirmed uncomfortably as she managed to slide a hand between my legs and tickle my thighs, feeling my cock stir, pressing against the thin silk of my knickers as I squirmed, trying to escape their probing fingers.

“Yeah, girls like you are just asking for it,” Jo agreed, tugging my skirt up at the side to reveal a patch of bare thigh.

I guess they were still a little angry at me for sticking up for Mike earlier or perhaps they just wanted to give me a little taste of what it felt like to be a women being groped by sexually aggressive men. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t deny that being ‘molested’ by these two women was making me very hard and I felt my cock sliding against the thin silk of my knickers as I wriggled.

“Maybe he’s just playing hard to get,” Marnie suggested, pulling at my wrists as I grimly held onto the hem of my skirt.

“Or maybe he’s just being a tease,” Jo said, as between them they managed to inch my skirt a little higher over my thighs, which flashed palely as we swept beneath the streetlights.

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