Amateur Strip Night at the Local Pub

It had to happen eventually. My evenings out with Mary were getting more audacious, and it was only a matter of time before someone who saw us took extreme exception to our flashing. We knew it would happen. What we didn’t know was how we would react. And that’s the real surprise from that night. What we need to ask ourselves now is, in the cold light of day, are we proud or ashamed?

Poor Mary. Simon was being even more of a jerk or berk or sod, or whatever other adjective you feel appropriate, than usual, and she had become quite depressed. Good fortune did smile on her though, as some emergency had arisen at his Birmingham factory and he had gone to sort it out. Which meant he would be away overnight. Which meant the mice were definitely going to play.

We met immediately after work. The plan was to have a few relaxing drinks, exhibit ourselves a little (or a lot depending on circumstances), and then hightail it to Mary's for a night of orgasmic sex.

As I have said countless times before, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

On this occasion, the enemy consisted of two women who, in some ways, were similar to us. In others, not.

But I get ahead of myself.

As I entered the pub, I saw Mary sitting in a corner of the snug bar, a well chosen spot if we were going to flash our parts, but before she spotted me, I was taken aback by her look. Certainly not the Mary I knew and loved. Crestfallen is a word that springs to mind. Someone who had tried everything but failed. End of the road. God. Forget doing anything sexy, I told myself. I needed to save my friend from her dark place. A place I knew only too well.

I put on my most reassuring smile and walked over. On seeing me, she visibly brightened and we hugged and kissed. Full on the lips. Sod what anyone thought. The bar was not packed, but half of the tables were occupied by a varied bunch of customers.

Mary had only just arrived and hadn’t yet ordered a drink, so I went to the bar and bought a bottle of Pinot. Alcohol might not be the answer, but that depends on the question and I guessed a few glasses of wine would help Mary forget the imbecile she’d married.

I returned to the table with the wine and two glasses, filled them both, and encouraged Mary to unburden herself. Which she did.

By the time we finished the bottle, Mary was more like her old self. The depth of her depression was thankfully nowhere near where mine had been and the subject changed to a more pleasant one.

Being eager to forget Simon existed, slightly tipsy on half a bottle of wine each and having recounted our latest sexual exploits in pornographic detail could lead to only one outcome.

Mary went to the bar for our second bottle and I surveyed the room for likely targets.

I know my audience reading this is mainly men and it’s clearly a stupid thing to denigrate one’s audience, but with Mary's recent experience and my historical one, ‘target’ seemed the right descriptive. Back to plan and enemy saying.

Anyway, the clientele had changed during our chat. The snug bar was now empty, but the main one was filling with what looked like a social outing for the 3rd eleven of a local football club. A group who would appreciate a floor show. A floor show I was certainly in the mood to give. I’d see how Mary felt. Drinking alcohol while depressed can be dangerous, I know, but with my encouragement, I thought it was the right course.

Mary’s trip back from the bar proved me right. It wasn’t jammed packed but Mary had to negotiate groups of largish men.

You men have probably never considered this, but when you are a normal woman, pushing past men, there is an overwhelming desire — need even — to avoid brushing one's tits against them or allowing lower parts of one’s body to touch. I don’t need to explain why do I? Why give cheap thrills out to all and sundry?

You’ll note my use of the word ‘normal’. Not applicable to us two degenerates. Especially when drunk and horny.

Mary didn’t take the path of least resistance, but fought her way through a jungle of male torsos. You may have noticed her tits are not as large as mine, so she had to be more deliberate in her actions, leaning forward slightly as she sidled between bodies. It was pretty obvious, and I saw three men follow her with their eyes as she came back to the table.

“That was fun,” she giggled as she sat down. “Can you imagine them all standing in line, cocks hard, waiting for their turn to fuck?” Mary's black mood had definitely gone!

“We on for a show then,” I asked. A rhetorical question. Mary had already hitched her skirt stocking top high and crossed her legs. My skirt followed suit, but I let my legs drift apart rather than crossing them.

The snug was still empty, but our table was in direct line of sight from the other bar. Attracting our audience’s attention would be the biggest difficulty, but after Mary’s walk back from the bar, it was odds on one or two would glance in our direction and that’s all it would take.

Then the two women walked in.

They were of a similar age to us and both were attractive. Definitely beddable! Mary and I glanced at each other. Two minds, but a single thought. It would be fun to seduce the pair. How far off track we were!

As they walked in, they couldn’t not notice our display. In days gone by, we might have pulled our skirts down, but those days have gone. If they objected, they needn’t look. If they approved, they were welcome to join in.

Their presence didn’t deter us. We assumed as usually happened they’d pretend to ignore us. The snug wasn’t big (hence its name!), and so even though they chose the table furthest away from us, their proximity meant they’d be well aware of our actions.

The group in the main bar was perfect. About a dozen men of varying ages clearly out for a social get-together, getting noisier and more raucous. Lots of chatter and laughter.

Having seen what Mary had got up to in town a while back, I knew she had no reservations about showing it all. And I definitely felt the need to be utterly brazen. It’s weird, I don’t know if you guys can appreciate it, but the buzz of being so — let’s say pornographic — in public, gives me a lift akin to sex itself. A kink, I suppose, but I knew Mary felt much the same.

We continued with our strip. It’s the only way to describe it really.

It started innocuously enough. Mary took her jacket off, and I undid a couple of buttons on my blouse.

Perhaps innocuous isn’t the right word. I should mention Mary wasn’t wearing a blouse, so was now sitting just in her bra. A quite decent bra. Sexy, but not see-through. I was the other way around. A blouse, but no bra. The three remaining buttons needed undoing and Mary obliged, insisting on opening the blouse so it just covered my nipples. Between events, we were kissing and groping each other. On reflection totally out of order, but our mood aided by our drunkenness meant we didn’t care.

The occasional glance at the two women showed a rising sense of disgust. Not that they were saying anything but body language, and the frequent glances in our direction said it all. It acted as a turn on. Aspur to be totally debauched. At the same time it was ashame because I was well in the mood for a foursome.

At last one man in the other bar spotted us and nudged the guy next to him. He gave us a smile and a thumbs-up but didn’t spread the word. Perhaps he was hoping things might develop and keeping numbers down would give him a bigger slice of the cake!

The two women also noticed, and that seemed a tipping point. With both pairs of eyes locked on us they began whispering to each other.

We continued ignoring them.

“You going first?” Mary asked. She didn’t need to explain what she meant.

“If you insist,” I replied with a smile. I pulled my legs together, put my hands up my skirt, raised my bum off the chair, and pushed my knickers down to my ankles. That certainly kept the attention of the two guys, who seemed to have lost interest in the jokes their mates were telling.

I bent down and retrieved my knickers, letting them hang from a finger for a few seconds so the men could get a good look, and then pushed them into my bag.

Before we went any further, one of the women addressed us in a sort of stage whispered shout, if that makes sense. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She hissed. “This is a public bar. That’s utterly disgusting.”

Her accent was cut glass. Or at least she tried to make it sound upper crust. It actually sounded false. Not put on for us, but for her friend and no doubt all her acquaintances. I can’t stand people trying to make out they are something they are not, so she immediately had my back up.

“Well, best you leave then,” I responded.

“Certainly not. It’s you who should go.”

“No thanks, we’re perfectly comfortable here and enjoying brightening up those guys' day.” I nodded towards the other bar.

“You’re revolting and look at your friend! Sitting there in her bra for everyone to see.”

“Yes. Absolutely disgusting,” I agreed, “Mary, this lady thinks it's distasteful sitting there in your bra. Take it off.”

“Certainly, anything to please,” she replied. How we kept straight faces I’ll never know. Mary reached behind her back to unclip the bra. That sparked more reaction. The woman stood up and came and blocked the view from the other bar.

She stood close to Mary. Invading her personal space. Threatening. Telling her what a slut she and I were. That was too much and caused us to giggle. That enraged her more. I have to admit what happened next wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t had a glass (or bottle) too many of wine. But we had. So it did.

The woman was standing directly in front of Mary. Toe-to-toe closeness. Legs apart. Hands on hips. Glaring. A torrent of abuse. We giggled, said nothing,

Mary had her legs crossed and started swinging one to and fro. Given the closeness of the woman, my friend's foot was going between her parted legs. Brushing against her skirt hem.

The woman continued her tirade which we were ignoring. Mary’s extended leg brushed against the woman’s leg. It didn’t stop her abuse. She didn’t seem to register it or perhaps assumed it was accidental. It wasn’t. Mary tipped her shoe off and ran her foot up the woman's thigh. Ha! Her look! Then, before she could react, to her horror, Mary leant forward, grabbed her skirt, and lifted it waist high. “Don't be such a prude,” Mary told her, “let the guys have a peek. They love it. Gets them all horny.” The woman was slow to react. Shock I think, and we glimpsed her knickers before she stepped back, pulling her skirt out of Mary's grasp.

“They’re nice,” Mary lied, as the horror of what had happened dawned on the woman.

“What the fuck do you think you doing?” Her cut glass accent had slipped. More estuary Essex now. “I’m reporting you for assault.” She turned to her friend, who had remained seated and silent, and who, I would swear, had the hint of a smile on her face. “Sophie, call the police.” That really doubled us up. We’d consumed too much alcohol. We should have defused the situation and high-tailed it, but that’s not how the brain works when one's tipsy, is it?

“You’ve shown me yours so I’ll show you mine,” retorted Mary, ignoring the fact we were facing a night in the cells, and hitched her skirt up to reveal a skimpy, sexy red pair.

Sophie hadn’t complied with her friend’s request and the woman looked at her again. “Sophie! The police!”

“Oh come on Rachel, it’s not worth the bother. If you’re that upset by them, let's drink up and go.” She finished her drink, stood, picked up her bag, and handed her friends hers. “Come on.” She took her friend’s arm and led her out, Rachel still muttering about getting the police, sluts, and the state of things.

We looked at each other and dissolved into fits of laughter, but before we could talk about it, our two admirers from the bar sauntered over. Our brief episode had had an audience.

Author’s note: Medium has changed the way they calculate the amount they pay us authors for what we post. I’m hardly a J K Rowling but what I did earn kept me in new knickers. Now those earnings have dropped to 10% of what they had been. (To 10%, not by 10%) And we were told it was for our benefit! I don’t like being ripped off, but will for the time being keep posting to see if I can recover those few £s. So please, please if you have enjoyed this little blog, do clap, it helps the little algorithm thingy think I’m human. XXX