Fur Coat No Knickers (22 page)

Oh my God. How on earth am I going to get out of it?
It was that hard to get into, I would probably have to be cut out. Oh the shame of it. My bladder was now feckin’ bursting. Crossing my legs, I grabbed hold of my lady-garden, mumbling frantically at my poor, constricted bladder to
hold on, hold on.

Pulling desperately at any loose fabric I could find, I started to jump up and down, frantically wriggling this way and that. But every time I pulled it back over my head, the body of the catsuit shortened and pulled itself even tighter.
Oh God,
I was going to pee myself for the first time in thirty years. (My orgasm with Travis doesn't count, I Googled it. And I was asleep when I did that other one last year, so it doesn't count either). No matter how much I pulled my butt cheeks and pelvis in, it was a no-go. By now I was in a serious flap.

‘Pull you
rself together, Tara, for feck's sake!’ I admonished, realising with a start I’d actually said it out loud. Hoping no one heard, I began a frantic conversation in my head.
Think! Think! Come on, brain - please start working.
After a moment’s deliberation, I decided to try and catch the catsuit off guard. To surprise it, I closed my eyes and meditated briefly while I planned a sneak attack on the costume. This was war! However, as I quickly found, fighting a battle in the dark with my eyes closed against the rubbery predator was probably the worst idea I’d ever had. My assault was immediately repelled and I was thrown back against the changing room door.

Defeated, I slid down the length o
f the door in to a panting mess. I’d lost.

But what now?
I was too ashamed to ask the assistant for help, they had warned me about the talc. Hysteria began to kick in. I needed to make an SOS call.

Then a thought hit me. Maybe I could rip it off? Damn it, that should’ve been Travis’ job
, but it was too late now. I began to hunt for a good place to start picking at a seam with my tweezers.

Then, like a godsend, a voice from heaven filled my ears. It was James. I knew that voice
anywhere
.

‘James?’ I hissed over the top of the changing room door. ‘Is that you?’

Easing the door open, just enough to pop my head out, I could see the back of his highlighted hair.

‘James!’ I snarled. ‘Come here!’

Looking confused, James leaned back away from a shelf full of sex toys and pouted his heavily glossed lips. His eyes and head darted in every direction before he finally spotted my torso-less head, peeking around the changing room door.

‘Come in here,’ I demanded through gritted teeth.
‘I’m stuck.’

I watched his eyes light up and his mouth open wide. God
, he can be a bitch at times.

‘
Oh my god. So this is where you dashed off to in such a rush tonight. We all decided to abandon the dance class because you wouldn't come with us. Never mind, we can all go next week. At least you can now meet my new boyfriend - I’ll bring him over…’

‘
No! Listen to me,’ I said, unable to disguise how desperate I felt as I opened the changing room door fully. ‘I can’t get out of
this,
I’m stuck.’

As I revealed the full extent of my humiliation, I dropped my arms to my side in exhaustion. I already couldn't stand what was inevitably coming next.

‘But, you look fabulous, Tara,’ James announced theatrically, gasping through his fingers which he’s raised to his mouth in mock admiration. ‘Christian, sweetie, come quick! Come see what my boss is wearing. We have just
got
to get us one of these!’

‘
Please…
I’ve been like this for half an hour. Just come in and help me out of it,’ I wheedled, my feeling of horror and shame growing each second.

I saw Christian hurrying over, noting he was James’ usual type; about 19-years
old, athletic and achingly good-looking.

‘Christian, be a love and hold this butt plug, Tara needs me,’ James declared melodramatically as he swept into the changing room, slamming the door behind him. ‘Wow,’ he gasped, this time in apparent genuine admiration. ‘It looks like it has been sprayed on. It’s fabulously raunchy. I hope you’re going to buy it? If you’re not,
I
certainly will. Does it feel good on? Do you think it would fit me?’

‘Shut up!’ I brutally interrupted, puffing with the exertion of trying to get out of the feckin
’ catsuit. ‘Just get me out of it!’

‘Oh Tara, look at me
- I look like boiled shit,’ said James swiveling around, distracted by the wall-to-wall mirrors. ‘All this wind is doing no favours for my hair… and, oh my God, my arse is so massive in this mirror!’

‘Hey
, Christian… Christian!’ he began yelling over the top of the door. ‘Does my arse look big today? Looks like I’ll need an extra large butt plug after all,’ he laughed.

  ‘James, please s
top poncing around,’ I begged, desperately.

‘Sorry
,’ said James. Then, tilting his head to one side, he said, ‘It just doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? I can see all the weeds in your lady-garden.’

‘I’m going to bloody wet myself in a second and I will hold you fully responsible!’ I spat, giving James the evil eye. ‘Now please just hold the collar and stretch it apart as far you can.’

I spun around to give him better access and waited for him to do what he needed to do to help release me from the clutches of this evil black suit. I tried to ignore the feeling of his fingertips vibrating as he held back deep shudders of laughter.

‘Christian,’ cried James, again, snorting heavily with the effort of it all. ‘We need all hands on deck here. There is a big black rubber to deal with. Come on in and help.’

Then, looking conspiratorially, he whispered to me, ‘It’s okay. He’s seen far worse.’

It didn't matter. I didn’t care anymore. I’d gone past that point. Christian hurried in and then, after the briefest of introductions, the
gay brigade set to, pulling and pushing me this way and that. It seemed to take forever. Meanwhile, my eyes were rolling into the back of my head with the pain of it all - I had to constantly bite my lip to prevent myself from pissing everywhere.

‘Tara
… have you tried undoing the Velcro on the back of the collar?’ James asked, still trying not to laugh.

‘What?’ I spat in horror, swinging around to look at him.

‘You mean you got that on with the VELCRO done up?’ he said in amazement. ‘Wow, get
you
. I bet you’re a
right
minx in the bedroom!’

By now, both he and Christian could no longer hold back the hysterics and
both were howling with laughter; tears rolling down their faces.

‘James, I implore you
–
DO NOT
mention this to
anyone
,’ I instructed, as he finally released me from my bonds. It was such a relief as I rolled the hot PVC prison off each leg. ‘I’ll give you a bonus at the end of the week. And Christian - you can come and have a couple of sun beds - but both of you please just keep shtoom!’

‘I swear on my
huge
bonus and Christian’s twenty free tanning sessions; we won’t tell a soul,’ chanted James, placing his right on his chest (around about where his heart would be, if he had one).

I flopped down into the chair and both James and Christian held the catsuit by the ankles and pulled and heaved. To help ease things along I peeled the rest away from my now chaffed, sweaty skin. Then,
voila,
it was off! The feeling of freedom was immense.

I shoved both my savio
urs out of the dressing room, got dressed at lightning speed and raced towards an assistant whilst cupping my lady-garden, jumping desperately from one foot to the other.

‘Please,’
I winced, ‘where are the loos in here, please?’

‘They’re staff only toilets,’ she replied snootily, returning her gaze to her notebook.

That was it. I had had enough. I told her in no uncertain terms that unless she let me use the loo, she was going to have a fine mess to clear up. For good measure, I added that I had eaten a mean curry for dinner last night. The assistant’s face said it all. She hastily asked me to follow her.

My pride
and reputation emptied down that toilet. After the most gratifying wee of my life, I composed myself and left the shop without looking at anyone, not even James. I just wanted to go home.

Still, at least I had tomorrow to look f
orward to. Hearing a ping from my phone, I dug it out of my handbag excitedly.
It’ll be Travis, making last minute arrangements, I’m sure.

[Text from Jayde]

Just fort I wud let u no, James has sent every1 a picture of u trapt in a gimp outfit, in a sex shop. Is it tru or is it photo shopped?

The following day, I decided to close the Salon slightly earlier than I should’ve but, hey, it’s not every day you get to see your man live on TV, or that you have the second hottest date of your life. I instructed Siobhan to come over with enough alcoholic provisions to last her the night. No doubt she would end up crashed out somewhere completely arse-faced, but the deal was that we’d all watch the match together on the Salon TV and that when the match was over, she’d be in charge of getting everyone out of the Salon so I would be alone when Travis came. In a brief text exchange that morning, Travis had said he expected to be away from the stadium by 6pm and would meet me at the Salon as soon as he could. I’d bombarded him with questions about where we’d go once he got to the Salon, but as always, his text messages abruptly dried up. I didn’t care. This was already shaping up to be one of the best days of my life.

James walked
- or should I say limped - in, around 30 minutes before kick-off, making his usual dramatic entrance.

‘Fuck me sideways and call me Samantha, I’v
e only gone and pulled my groin!’ he grimaced as he tenderly walked through the door with a frozen bag of peas over his manly-hood. ‘I’ve spent my whole day off in Accident and Emergency! Five hours I was sitting there. But worse than that, the only Vogue magazine they had was three years out of date. All they did in the end was tell me to go home and take some paracetamol. Well, I said to them, ‘only if you can give me a suppository’. I don’t think the doctor had any idea how much danger my moneymaker was in. Mind you, I did get him to have a cup of the plums before I left - just to make sure I hadn’t pulled them as well.’

‘Oh
poor
James,’ I replied, sarcastically eyeballing him. ‘Could that have been Karma… as a result of his gossiping? Or perhaps from sending crude pictures of
a
helpless victim trapped in a catsuit?’

‘Don’t ya be
worryin’ about screamin’ queenie over there,’ interrupted Jayde. ‘He just wants even more attention than normal. Oh and by the way, Jackie text me on me way over and she ain’t feeling great. So she’s gonna stay home tonight.’

‘Oh that’s a shame,’ I replied, feeling rather disappointed. This was my big night after all. ‘I wonder what’s up with her lately. She never seems to want to come out anymore. Anyway you two, help yourselves to drink and nibbles over there.’

Just as I turned to follow James into the staffroom to give him an ear bashing, I heard a crashing thud against the front door. It was then flung open by Siobhan accompanied by her usual manic grin.

‘Sorry
, Tara. It’s this feckin’ trolley. Got a mind of its own, especially now it’s only got three wheels. By the way, if the neighbouring shop says anything about their car being dented; it wasn’t me, right? It’s just a coincidence. Me fourth trolley wheel is stuck underneath his car, along with me right shoe. That dent was feck-all to do with me,’ Siobhan stammered in a continuous stream of speech. She then hobbled through the door, dragging a wobbly Tesco trolley that was filled to the brim with wine boxes. ‘So you alright then?’

‘Yeah, I’m really happy about seeing my man on the TV,’ I replied
, laughing at her scatty behaviour. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised Siobhan, but I have to ask… what’s with the trolley?’

‘Well, I was going through Tesco looking for a little something for tonight, right? I see these boxes of wine on offer.
That’ll do nicely,
I thought. So I pile them into me trolley and you know how it is, you try a little tipple on your way to the till. Who doesn’t? But I took a little detour and didn't realise I’d been through nearly a whole box. Anyways, I get outside and I can’t remember where I parked the feckin’ car. So here I am, trolley and all. I’ve paid a feckin’ pound for it anyway. That reminds me, Tara, I’ll be needing that pound back. Have you a fork or something so I can jimmy it out?’

‘Oh, Siobhan
,’ I replied with mock reproach at yet another dose of her crazy antics. ‘Help yourself, but leave the trolley outside please. Now come on - the match is about to start.’

We all crowded into the staffroom, finding space as best we could around the tiny TV. As I took a seat, I began to gloat to myself;
not only am I going to watch my future husband at work, I’m going to tape it so I can show everyone (including our future children)
. I was so very excited that I could finally see Travis in his kit. As an added bonus, I would be surrounded by my girlfriends and gay best friend. I felt so proud that at last they could get to see what I had been going on about since I returned from Ireland.