What Do You Expect?
‘Excuse me! Are you going to do something about this?’ I shouted.
The policeman just laughed, returned something along the lines of ‘What do you expect, dressed like that?’ and went back to taking selfies with a passing hen do. Meanwhile, someone belched full in my face as their tongue probed toward me like a salivating alien. I shoved them away and walked on, noticing in my peripheral how the policeman stiffened and twitched as my ‘victim’ cried out.
I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it at first. Whether they were genuine or not, I’ve never had so many compliments on my legs, or my eyes for that matter. Comments on my bum I was more used to, though people were more vociferous now they could actually see most of it. It was all fun though, only words, and most with a laugh behind them, bar a couple of bitter sounding sorts who were probably jealous. It was great to be the centre of attention, and I even ended up getting a couple of shots bought for me.
People did get a little more intrusive as we moved later into the night. It seemed to be a fun game to give my chest a squeeze whenever someone found themselves stood close enough, and a few cheeky souls slapped my arse as they passed. I shot most of them down with a dirty look - aside from the fit ones, obviously. Yeah, OK, winking at them was encouragement, and probably made it my fault when the pair of wobblers on the dancefloor decided to see who could leave the reddest hand-print, by going at a cheek each.
It wasn’t actually the physical stuff that got to me at first, it was what started coming out of people’s mouths as the booze and excitement did away with their inhibitions, or rather their manners, I suppose. It was all cheesy stuff to begin with, groan-inducing but not offensive. It did start getting… I don’t know if I want to say darker. More aggressive, for sure; more concerning, maybe? I just started feeling uncomfortable, like perhaps I should just cover up and stop making such a show of myself. In the end, I got fed up with it and rounded up the guys to leave the club early. There were still hours ‘til close and it was supposed to be a big night, but I just wanted to get away from the crowd. Maybe try to find somewhere quiet for a last few drinks with the gang, maybe just get back to the hotel and call it a night.
It was while we stood by the takeaway, trying to figure it out, that it all really came to a head. Some woman came right up behind me, lifted my babydoll and started trying to yank aside the front of my knickers so she could grab hold of my cock, right there in the middle of the street with everyone watching. The rest of the lads thought it was hilarious, and I’ve no doubt my bystander of a best-man was already making notes for the speech.
‘I can promise, with my hand on my heart, the groom never so much as touched another woman on his stag. As for the other way round…’