Ronnie’s wealthy friend Howard needs a favour, on the promise of a new iPad, Ronnie finds himself in a bigger pickle than ever Branston made.
“What if someone spots I’m not really a girl?” said Ronnie Atkins to his colleague.
“Then we’re both up shit creek without a paddle.” His companion was Howard Davis and they were both students at the University of South West England.
“This was a stupid idea, I told you before it wouldn’t work.”
“It is going to work, now shut the fuck up and do like you promised, Veronica.”
“I don’t like that as a name,” said the boy wearing the expensive mini-dress.
“Tough, that’s what I christened you, so you’re bloody well stuck with it.”
“It’s too close to my real name, they might twig.”
“Tough, you’ll just have to act so female that they don’t; won’t you?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’re the girl, I’ll leave that to you.”
Ronnie stopped and faced his companion, “This isn’t going to work.”
“It won’t if you keep on like that.” Howard saw someone approaching, “It’s Pratt, come ‘ere.” He grabbed Ronnie and pulled him into his body and before the smaller boy could react he covered his lips with his own and began kissing him.
“Get a room, Davis,” called George Pratt as he walked past chuckling.
Once he was clear, Howard let Veronica go. “What was that all about you bloody...”
Howard interrupted his companion, “Here,” handing her a tissue, “Clean up your lipstick.”
“I ought to belt you one for that,” complained Ronnie.
“You got one bit of the female act right anyway,” commented Howard.
“What?” Ronnie almost snarled then realised he was being paid a compliment. “What did I get right?”
“You whinge like a bitch.”
“That’s it, I’m going back to change.”
“You’re going to look a right sight with long blonde hair and plucked eyebrows.”
“Why did she have to do it blonde?”
“Because I asked her to, remember, my girlfriend was supposed to be blonde–a blonde, big breasted sex goddess.”
“Why did you have to make that bet?”
“Because he was impugning my character.”
“You know why I had to do it, to stop that oaf, Wallington, making me a laughing stock.”
“If you hadn’t bragged to him about your imaginary girlfriend, you’d have been alright. This,” Ronnie indicated his dress and massive faux mammaries, “is a nonsense–and while we’re at it, why couldn’t I have used a wig, instead of bleaching my bloody hair?”
“Because it might not have covered your own hair properly. Look we’ve been all through this, you agreed to help.”
“I agreed to walk round the town with you for an hour or two, wearing a dress and a wig, and these bloody things,” he pointed at the padding on his chest. “You didn’t say anything about going to a party.”
“I didn’t know then did I? I mean, how was I to know we’d meet Nicola en route and for her to invite us to her birthday party.”
“You coulda said I was ill or dying or having a baby or something–anything but yes.”
“She’d only have invited you to die there, you know how generous she is?”
“I should be in bed with her, not wearing these bloody things and tights.” Ronnie pointed to his high heeled shoes. “Have you ever tried walking anywhere in them?”
“Don’t be silly, woman, why would I wear high heels?”
“Woman? I’m not–oh shit here comes, Pratt again.”
Once again before Ronnie could prepare himself, Howard had him in face eating bear hug, from which he wouldn’t escape until Pratt had gone past.
“Is this her, then?” he quipped as he approached.
Howard pulled back from Ronnie, “Yes, say hello, Veronica.”
“Hi,” said Ronnie nervously as Pratt stared at his phenomenal chest. He was wearing a false bust on a vest like garment. It was joined to his skin at the neck, and diaphragm and behind his back. The latex like material was very close to his own skin colour and had been blended at the edges with makeup after the adhesive had set. The woman who’d done it told him it would need to come off after three days to let the skin breathe. He’d been horrified at that, three hours was more like it–it was like carrying a pillow shoved up his shirt. The hip pads were nearly as bad, and when she shoved some sort of corset thing round his waist and pulled it tight he thought he was going to be cut in half. However, once she’d dressed him with the gaff–that was so uncomfortable–and he saw his shape in the slinky dress, he nearly died. From the distance he looked like a young Dolly Parton. That was when he realised she’d bleached his hair and put extensions in it.
“Your delicate features will make you quite a pretty girl,” she said when she appraised him before they embarked on this nonsense–his only satisfaction was it must be costing Davis a fortune. What puzzled him was why Davis didn’t have a girlfriend? He was wealthy in his own right, thanks to an endowment from Grandma, who was apparently a millionairess several times over–so why weren’t girls throwing themselves at him? Ronnie was perplexed–he wasn’t gay was he?
Ronnie was still perplexed, even more so after those kisses. He almost missed what Pratt was saying.
“So we’ll see you at the party, then?”
“Answer the gentleman, Veronica,” prompted Howard to his girlfriend.
“Yes, I think so,” then he giggled, like his younger sister did when she was embarrassed. It was the girliest thing he could think of. Pratt seemed happy and walked on.
“Here. Put your arm around me and keep yourself close to me.”
“What for and what’s with all the kissing?”
“We’re supposed to be apotheosis of young love.”
“What?” gasped Ronnie mouth agape.
“We’ll need to get you an outfit for the party and I suppose we’d better have some lunch.”
“Lunch? I can’t eat with this vice thing round my stomach.”
“Tummy, Veronica, girls have tummies boys have stomachs and bellies.”
“You’re crazy, d’you know that?”
“Me crazy? You’re the one walking round in a dress and high heels.”
Ronnie gave him the bitchiest stare he could manage by the way it was ignored, he needed to work on it a bit more. Why did he have to call me Veronica? Ronnie fumed as they got in to Howard’s Peugeot 207 CC and to Ronnie’s annoyance put the roof down.
“If we go to Debenham’s we can get a bite to eat, sort out a dress for you and some shoes.”
“And a bag.”
“Yes, I can’t use the same bag for a party, this one is too big.” Ronnie tapped the handbag he’d chosen.
“Okay, a new bag.”
“I’ll need some sort of coat or jacket as well–and some more underwear.”
“Lingerie–girls wear lingerie.”
“Whatever, and some perfume and some more makeup and some accessories.”
“Yeah, some jewellery of some sort, earrings, perhaps a necklace and a bracelet or two.”
“Alright, alright–some accessories.”
“Then first thing tomorrow, you can take me back to that woman who can cut my hair and get rid of these bloody things.”
“Ah, what?” snapped Ronnie.
“She’s not there tomorrow.”
“How d’you know that?”
“She told me she wouldn’t be back until late Monday.”
“But that’s like three days away, I can’t wear this stuff until then.”
“You’ll have to, I’m afraid.”
“Bugger that, take me back there this minute.”
“Veronica, you are whining like a woman, and she isn’t there, she was leaving straight after she did you. That’s why we had to be there so early.”
“But that isn’t what I agreed?”
“You agreed to help me deal with the lack of a girlfriend so I could win the bet.”
“You promised me an iPad, a 64gig one.”
“You shall have the best iPad available, plus rings on your fingers and bells on your toes if necessary.”
Right you bastard, if I’m gonna be stuck like Boobzilla all weekend, it’s going to cost you. “I’m going to need more clothes.”
“If I have to spend the whole weekend up to Monday afternoon looking like this, I want a couple of changes of clothes, and something to wear at night.”
“What to go out in?”
“No to sleep in, stupid.”
“You told me you slept in the nude.”
“That was before some woman glued Mount Everest on my chest and stuck my goolies up my arse.”
“She didn’t, she stuck some hip pads on you and a faux vagina gaff.”
“It wasn’t your pubes she shaved off.”
“Would you have preferred she bleached them?”
Howard parked the car in a multi-storey near the department stores in Park Street, the posh shopping end of Bristol. He led ‘Veronica’ into the shop and up to the restaurant. Ronnie for his part, held on to Howard’s arm partly as role play and partly because he found walking in the three inch heels difficult–although with practice it was becoming easier.
“I hate to say it, buddy, but the guy behind you is totally mesmerised by your arse.”
“Oh shut up,” blushed Ronnie. All he needed now was someone trying to chat him up–so the guy behind likes silicone does he, let him get his own bubble butt–or whatever the Yanks call such an enhanced posterior.
Ronnie managed some tea and jacket potato with cheese and coleslaw, it was a struggle due to the compression round his waist, but without it, he’d have a far less killer figure and that’s what it was all about, pretending to be the ultimate in female stereotypical beauty.
After eating, Ronnie chose a pair of trousers, a pair of jeans, two tops, a skirt, a dress, two blouses and two pairs of shoes, a pair of black leather knee high boots, two bags, three sets of expensive bras and panties, bangles, and beads aplenty and in an act of revenge by Howard, had his ears pierced twice in each ear.
“Why did you make me have that done, you pig?” Veronica grumbled.
“All women our age have pierced ears.”
“This one didn’t.”
“She does now, and they’re real silver.” Howard couldn’t avoid a smirk which caused Ronnie’s elbow to catch him in the ribs. “Ow, bitch.”
Howard was fully laden with bags of clothing and shoes by the time they got back to the car. Veronica, being a feeble female, carried the makeup, perfume and nightgowns. She was still sniggering. She knew how much Coco cost, Howard didn’t until he blithely asked for a bottle at the perfumery counter. “Fifty odd quid for 50 mls, that’s practically a pound a squirt.”
“Well, you like me to smell nice for you, darling,” said Ronnie batting the enhanced eyelashes he’d received that morning. He reckoned if he looked down he could polish his shoes if they didn’t snag in his tights.
Then there had been the ordeal in the ladies. He’d heard his sister grumble about the length of the queues, he didn’t expect to find one so long. Still he had a little chat with the woman behind him who didn’t seem to twig. Then the next nightmare, he had to sit and it squirted everywhere–it would, it was glued in a latex or silicone gaff with the penetrable vagina–so the woman had said. His response, “I could do with somewhere to keep my pen, I’m always losing it.” She didn’t look impressed.
Finally, they got back to Howard’s flat, a two bedroom place in an old house not far from the downs. They hung up all the clothes in the spare bedroom and Howard shook his head. This was becoming much more expensive than he’d thought. Ronnie thought it was a hoot.
“For this sort of money, I could have got Andrej Pejic,” grumbled Howard as he totalled up the amount he’d spent.
“For an hour,” riposted Veronica.
“Yeah, but at least he’s beautiful.”
“Huh–thanks very much–where’s my iPad? I’m off.”
“Veronica–sorry–I didn’t mean it like that–you’re pretty hot too, you know.”
“Yeah, you should try wearing all this bloody silicone stuff. It’s very hot. Phew.”
Veronica wore her new dress to the party, and drew quite a few admirers from the boys. No one seemed to notice that Ron hadn’t come, then Nicola remembered she hadn’t seen him, just Howard and his girlfriend.
“I think he went home for the weekend, wasn’t feeling too good, apparently,” Howard suggested, fending off the would be rivals for Veronica’s affections. After a few drinks, Ronnie was really getting into the flirting bit, especially when he saw how pissed it made Howard. Veronica even kissed one or two of the boys–well the last Bacardi and coke had made it all relatively painless.
The end of the party was a bit of a blur but not as much as to why, Ronnie woke up in Howard’s bed, clad in a nightdress and no knickers and with Howard’s arm round him.
He struggled to scramble out of the bed and into the bathroom, feeling some ooze dribble down his leg as he went. “What the hell have I done?” he said to himself as he sat on the loo.
Howard walked past and said, “You know that fanny thing?”
“The gaff, what about it?”
“It works,” followed by a dirty laugh as he went to put the kettle on.
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