Chapter 8: The Christmas Party

Lieutenant Steven Winters was an extremely good-looking Navy fighter pilot whose last posting had been aboard the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal. There was some unpleasantness when, after a wardroom ladies dine-in night on board the ship, the rather portly Executive Officer had opened the door to a hangar workshop and found his glamorous wife bent over a workbench with her sequined evening dress hiked up and her knickers around her ankles whilst she balanced on her high-heels and encouraged the young Lieutenant Winters to ‘do her doggy’. Which Lieutenant Winters, like any well-trained young officer, was in the process of doing.

It was Thursday evening and ironically the toast of the day was: ‘To Wives and Sweethearts’ which, at the men-only mess dinners, was usually followed by the witticism ‘may they never meet’. In this case the XO’s wife had somewhat reversed the pun and made the XO a laughing stock in his own ship.

This led to a hasty posting for Lieutenant Winters, not to a Naval Air Station, where most pilots went to keep up their skills, but as a Divisional Officer at Her Majesty’s Ship Chelmsford, considered to be one of the shittiest duties a young up and coming officer could have.

The XO’s wife was seen the day after the dine in night at Portsmouth railway station hiding a black eye behind large sunglasses, having been ‘called away at short notice to visit a sick sister’ in a small village in Wales.

For Lieutenant Winters, the exhilaration of being launched from a catapult whilst at the controls of an F4 Phantom was replaced by sitting behind a desk pushing papers and looking after the adolescents of Collins Division. He soon realised that by delegating just about all of his responsibilities off to the Petty Officers he could get away with about three hours work a day and then jump in his vintage MGB Roadster and fuck off into Chelmsford and nearby environs to pursue his favourite hobbies of drinking and shagging anything in a skirt.

The more senior officers saw him as a young rogue sowing his wild oats and presupposed that once he had served his time in purgatory he would be given a suitable posting where he could use his skills to rise through the ranks. It helped that most of them hated the XO of HMS Ark Royal and thought him a pompous ass and they delighted in the fact that young Winters had bought him down a peg or two by rogering his wife on board one Her Majesty’s Ships.

Similarly the Senior Sailors didn’t mind taking on his duties and responsibilities for the same reasons.

And so it came to pass that on Christmas Eve evening a thoroughly pissed Lieutenant Steve Winters pulled his MGB up outside the Recruit School administration building, where he had returned, despite being on leave, to retrieve his cumberbund to complete his Mess Dress uniform.

The lights and music emanating from the Recruit School wet canteen attracted him like a moth to a flame.

Earlier that evening there had been much ado in the Collins Division accommodation block as the four ‘Wrens’ gussied themselves up for the Christmas party.

All the preparations had been made: food cooked, Christmas tree trimmed, decorations put up (and as predicted by Polly Perkins, Jimmy Lovejoy had volunteered to hold the ladder and spent the whole time looking up her skirt which had led to an impromptu romp in the stationery store) and drinks and mixers stocked behind the bar.

Michele was in constant demand to assist with makeup, sew and adjust dresses, straighten wigs and generally help her three less experienced charges.

The Wrens of course were running late, keeping the lads anxiously waiting in the wets.

They laughed and joked while they preened. Their cabin smelt of perfume, deodorant, makeup, hairspray, nailpolish and a hint of cigarette smoke.

Jean Burgess made the mistake of coming over to their cabin to see what was taking so long.

“Poo! Smells like a brothel in here! How long are you girls gonna be?” he said, poking his head around the door of their cabin.

He was met by a hailstorm of high-heels, hairbrushes, compacts and nailfiles and was lucky to escape without losing an eye as he beat a hasty retreat.

“Fuck em’! How long does it take them to iron a white-front, polish their shoes and comb their hair. I’ve laddered three pairs of sheers with these new fucking false fingernails!” Mary complained.

When the girls finally entered the foyer to the wets, the boys were stunned into silence.

Doris Holiday was wearing a simple black evening gown which flattered her fuller figure and Billy Marron raced over and offered her his arm, complimenting her on her style.

Polly Perkins had opted for a dark blue cocktail dress that was so short it showed her knickers if so much as leaned one way or the other. She’d finished the ensemble with shimmery flesh-toned tights and white high-heels. Jimmy Lovejoy showed his appreciation by squeezing her bum as he escorted her into the bar.

Mary Maine was wearing a pure white maxi-dress of pleated taffeta which Jean Burgess found very much to his satisfaction, which he showed by slipping his hand inside one of the open pleats, promptly laddering Mary’s fourth pair of sheers for the day.

However, all the lads’ jaws dropped when Michele Nyland made her entrance. She was sheathed in a red satin gown that clung to her lithe frame and flared slightly from the waist down to her silver high-heels. Her legs were clad in smoky-grey stockings, the dark welts and suspender clips visible due to the side-split which went right to up her waist. Her jet-black hair was worn shoulder length in her best ‘Farrah Fawcett’, she wore silver jewellery accessorised with a silver clutch to match her shoes. Her eyes were smoky, her cheeks defined by rouge and her lipstick bright red.

When Jason Jones stepped forward and offered her his arm he was engulfed in a miasma of perfume.

Before long everyone was partying, drinking, eating, dancing and rubbing up against each other. Partners were swapped but for dancing only; the girls had now paired off and at this stage of their relationships showed no interest in the other men. For Doris, Polly and Mary this was their first transvestic experience and they felt comfortable with their partners; like mated pairs.

Jason’s reaction to the incident with Knocker had changed Michele. Her heart had hardened and her infatuation with Jason was over.

Michele had come to realise that men found her appealing only for her beauty and sexuality; there was no ‘love’ or even loyalty. When her incestuous affair with her Uncle Bill had been discovered, Bill had run away to Europe and left her to join the navy as decreed by her father. Jason had treated her like shit initially and had reverted to type when he suspected that she was seeing other men when in fact she was being defiled repeatedly by Petty Officer White. The other Wrens had cried when Jason had carried her into the wets, laid her on the couch and fawned over her. But the damage had been done. Michele now knew how shallow he was. Knocker White had used her like a come-bucket but at least he’d made no pretence of affection; he was probably the most honest of the three men she had so far had sex with.

Michele felt different now; she felt empowered. She knew that she was pretty when she dressed enfemme and was sexually attractive to men of a certain type and even those who claimed to be essentially heterosexual. She’d decided that she would no longer be any man’s pawn; she would use men the same way they used her.

The party was just getting into full swing when Lieutenant Steve Winters kicked open the door.

“What the fuck is going here!”

The revellers froze.

“Division Ho!” Spike yelled.

The recruits had been drilled from day one to snap to attention whenever an officer was present and they all did except for Michele. She was lying languidly on her side on one of the couches sipping a gin and tonic and smoking a menthol cigarette, her head resting on her hand; the split in her skirt revealing more leg than was becoming.

“Leading Recruit Jones reporting Collins Division sir. Well the remains of Collins Division anyway,” Jason blushed at his own inarticulateness.

Michele smiled; amused at what was transpiring.

She recognised Lieutenant Winters, and well she should, he was her Divisional Officer or ‘D.O.’ She also knew he was a slacker, a womaniser and a drunk; he was famous and admired for it. He was a young, handsome, fighter pilot so of course he was everyone’s hero. PO Knocker White eschewed the same qualities, admittedly he wasn’t handsome or young, but he was a slack drunken womaniser, but everyone loathed him. The hypocrisy was not lost on Michele.

Lieutenant Winters was dressed in his tailored mess dress: navy blue mess jacket, navy blue trousers, white dress shirt, cumberbund with his old squadron crest embroidered on it, black bow tie and patent leather shoes. He looked deliciously handsome and he knew it.

“You there! Shut that fucking music down!” he snapped at James Lovejoy.

Jimmy ran over to the record player and cut off ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’ by Wizzard, mid chorus.

Officers seldom spoke to the recruits and certainly never felt the need to explain themselves but in this case, it seemed appropriate.

“I stopped by my office to pick up my cumberbund; as you can see I too am off to a Christmas party but I have a few questions.”

“Where is Petty Officer White and why is he permitting you rabble to use the wets; and more importantly, who authorised you to bring these girls into the barracks?”

Steve Winters was working hard at maintaining his composure; he was three-parts pissed and on his way to a party where he had been assured there were more than enough pretty girls who would drop their knickers for a handsome young pilot. He really couldn’t give a fuck what the hook-rope party got up to over the ROP as long as he wasn’t held accountable.

The four leading recruits and three ‘Wrens’ standing to attention were gobsmacked. They didn’t know how to answer this officer. All they could think of was that their naval career was likely over before it began and the humiliation that would be theirs once news of this got out.

Steve Winters was amused; it never ceased to amaze him how the young and impressionable sailors became awestruck by his two gold rings and his pilots wings.

“Well who’s got an answer for me?” he smirked.

“Well sir. Err, I mean. Well...” Spike stammered.

“Who’s asking?” Michele’s syrupy but husky voice came from where she was lazing on the couch.

Michele had been working on sounding like Christine McVie from Fleetwood Mac and nearly had it down pat.

The others looked at Michele with every range of emotion from horror to amazement; shocked at her audacity. Jason was giving her the ‘cut it out’ sign, his hand waving across his neck and Mary was shaking her head vigorously.

Steve Winters looked at the delightful creature lying on the couch; his eyes examined her from head to toe and he was enchanted by what he saw.

“Lieutenant Steven Winters, Royal Navy, at your service,” he beamed at Michele.

“And whom do I have the pleasure to address,” he bowed theatrically.