She looked around. The other customers were a strange lot. She thought she recognized the man from the newsagents, someone she'd only ever seen from the waist up, permanently positioned behind piles of newspapers. He was dressed suspiciously like Elvis. Tight trousers (nice bum) gold lame shirt open, medallion nestling among a thicket of chest fuzz. His thinning hair was artfully swept into the semblance of a quiff; his expression dark, moody. He caught Brenda's eye and smouldered. She quickly looked away.
Over by the ice cream freezer she studied family sized tubs of tutti fruiti, alongside fat-free, guilt-free, taste-free, diet desserts, next to double chocolate Magnums. She felt a bit queer, unsure if it was the wine going to her head or the newsagent's meaningful stare. Her hand lingered over the Magnums.
“Go on, be a devil.” A large woman wearing a cat mask smiled. She was dressed in skin-tight scarlet rubber trousers, her magnificent creamy breasts spilling beyond the confines of a matching boob tube. Trying to ignore the outfit, Brenda nodded, picked up four Magnums and put them in her basket. Behind the cat mask, if she wasn't mistaken, was the manager of the Reliable Building Society.
I've walked into a fancy dress party, and I'm the only one here dressed as Mrs Drudge! Typical. She pulled her old coat closer around her. She was wearing tracksuit bottoms and one of Doug's baggy faded tee shirts. It would be the one with Mine's Bigger Than Yours printed on the front. She'd meant to bin the rag ages ago. At least my underwear's pretty. Now why did she think that?Must be the wine.
Brenda finished her drink. A flush was beginning to colour her cheeks and brighten her eyes. She felt her knees starting to weaken. Potent stuff. She was looking round for somewhere to put the empty glass when the same chap refilled it.
‘No,’ she protested, but the glass was brimming with fragrant deep red wine and he was offering her
a selection of chocolates. ‘Mm, alright then, I'll taste your chocolates, but Doug isn't going to believe this.’ Wire basket on the floor, she sampled the chocolates and drank the wine. Delicious.
The woman in the tiara and five-inch heels tottered by with a bloke in a toga. Her coat was gone. She was only wearing bra, suspender belt and fishnet stockings, the dark V of pubic hair glittering with a scattering of sequins. Brenda gulped her wine, finishing the glass. She fixed her eyes on the woman's fleshy bottom, one cheek of which her toga-clad companion held like a ripe pear.
“It's rude to stare.” The chap with the wine bottle was filling her glass again. Brenda took a swig without thinking. “I wasn't...” He smiled. “Wouldn't you feel more comfortable without your coat?”
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