Hi, my name's Kevin and, as the saying goes, I'd like to tell you a story.

What occasionally feels like a long time ago I used to be in the Army but I'd done my time and having reached the grand old age of forty I'd retired from their ranks. Since leaving the forces I'd got a job with an old mate of mine, he had the business acumen and I, along with several others, supplied the technical knowledge. On the basis of this job and my terminal grant I'd bought a house in this garrison town.

My job is pretty flexible as far as hours are concerned, as long as I'm available on the phone, so I don't have to be in the office at any given time. Add my pension from the Army to the wages I get from the job and I'm pretty comfortably off.

Being single I get to spend most of my free time in the pubs and clubs frequented by soldiers and, of course, their families. Now this could be seen as being rather sad but I find soldiers and their wives fun to be with. Much more so than any of the civvies that I work with. It just seems that civilians don't have the same wicked, or extreme, sense of humour that squaddies have.

The beginning of this tale finds me in one of the 'better' pubs in the area, there aren't many soldiers present as the two regiments that are based here are away. One's in Bosnia, the other has been sent to Kosovo, so far they've both been gone for a couple of months.

I was sat chatting with a group of wives, we'd seen each other around but this was the first time that we'd actually spoken. I'd approached them and we'd got talking, they obviously didn't consider me to be a threat. The women were older than the average, but all younger than I was. It turned out that they were the wives of the regiments officers and senior NCO's, all of whose husbands were away.

They had, after several weeks, all realised that they were bored and had got together and agreed to go out on Thursdays to relieve this problem. The times I'd seen them had all been as a result of their regular night out.

There were seven of these women sat with me around a table. Our table was tucked away in one of those alcoves that old world pubs have, making it reasonably private, though we could still see the entrance to the bar.

Before I go any further I will introducing the ladies. We had, on my right, Jenny, she was the youngest of the group at 35, she had long, straight dark hair and very long legs. Next to her was Jayne, she was 37 years old and slightly plumper than Jenny, not fat, just more rounded. Her blond hair cut in a fashionable bob.

Across from me sat Alison and Paula, Alison was 38 years old and the plumpest here. You wouldn't normally think of her as fat but in this company she did look a little overweight. She wore her brown hair long and curly. Paula was her friend, she was 41 and had a wicked sense of humour, she was very slim with short, bleached, blond hair. She looked and acted much younger than she was.

The senior members of the group were sat further around on my right, they were Sandra, Melanie and Alexandra. All three of them were married to officers in the regiment. Sandra was the oldest at 45, she was skinny, almost anorexic, her hair was short and dark, streaked through with grey. Her face was covered with laughter lines and she was always smiling.

Melanie was 40 and very tall, pretty close to six foot at a guess, she had long blond hair and a was quite chunky in a very athletic way, her body was toned and tanned, very sexy. The last of the women was Alex, she was nearly 40 as she put it, with short, dark hair. She had a small frame which made her tits look huge, she'd tried to camouflage them by wearing a loose top but they put pressure on it every time she turned.

As the evening wore on we drank lots of wine and solved the problems of the world, that should be familiar to anyone whose had a few to drink whilst with pleasant company.

Whilst we were gossiping away two young ladies entered the pub, they paused as they came in looking around. The nearest one to me was wearing a very short, very tight fitting red dress. It was so tight that she couldn't possibly have been wearing anything under it, you'd have been able to see it if she was. She was tottering along in a pair of ridiculously high platform shoes that matched the colour of her dress, as did her very bright lipstick.

Her friend was just about wearing a denim micro-mini skirt and a tight cropped top, the top hugged her tits and showed off her protruding nipples. As she turned towards us I could clearly see a bright ring through her belly button. She too was wearing a very high pair of platform shoes.

As they moved away from the door I was surprised to hear several hissed comments from the women, the ones I could make out clearly were tarts, sluts and tramps. I looked at them shocked, I hadn't thought they'd go off like that.

I started to defend the girls, "Oh come on ladies, they are just young, fashionable and sexy, surely you can see that."

"That's not fashionable, she's just out to get a bloke, she's a tart", said one, another piped up, "Yes, and the other bitch has mutilated her body, what's she need to do that for?"

"Oh come on ladies" I continued " surely you've dressed up to attract men before?"

The replies that followed were along the lines of "Not like a tramp, I haven't".

I looked at them, they were all conservatively dressed, even dowdy in a couple of cases. Makeup was bland or none existent. I shifted my gaze from one to another, Finally I asked, "Have you forgotten how to be young, to tease, to dress sexily?"

The replies were instant, "No, I haven't forgotten", they continued their denials amongst themselves.

"Are you sure of that?" I asked.

The answers were still no, but not so firm. I noticed one or two casting glances at their friends, looking them up and down, a look of doubt creeping into their eyes.

The conversation that followed was very enlightening, they asked "What did I think was sexy?"

I just smiled in answer. Somebody said "You don't have to dress like a tart to be sexy".

One of the women, Paula I think, said "My bloke isn't worth dressing up for", she was answered by one of her friends with a question "Isn't it worth dressing up for yourself?"

This interesting conversation rattled on for quite a while until, as it was petering out with no conclusion I asked, "So, can you still dress sexily?"

I looked around the table, studying the effect of my question on the group, Jenny was the first to respond, nodding an affirmative yes.

Then Jayne said "Of course."

Paula called out "Easy"

I looked to my left, Melanie was nodding yes, Alexandra just looked superior.

"OK then ladies, a challenge for you, all come to this bar next Thursday evening at eight dressed sexily. The lady who you all vote is dressed the sexiest will get a bottle of champagne as a prize." I had their attention that was for sure, I continued "To make it interesting, and ensure that everyone makes an effort we will say that the one who is voted as the most boring has to stand on the table and remove her frumpy clothing, what do you say?"

They all agreed, although a couple of the more sober ones had to be called chicken by their friends before they joined in

After another couple of drinks and a fair bit of teasing we all went our separate ways, "Until next week" I reminded them.

It may seem strange to go to the effort, as I wasn't sure if the ladies would take up the challenge, or even turn up, but I was going to be ready in case they did. I prepared a simple voting form on my computer, it laid out a few simple rules.

1. Remember you cannot vote for yourself
2. You are voting on presentation, nothing else

and then gave two spaces,

the first was simply labelled 'The sexiest dressed woman is number... '

and the last space said 'The frumpiest is number... '

In addition to this I printed out the numbers one to ten on pieces of card and bent them to act as labels. The thing I nearly forgot was a supply of pens, but a stop at the garage on the way to the bar cured that.

When I got into the bar I had a chat with the manager and ordered a full bottle of champagne along with two half bottles and had all of them put on ice, ready for the presentations, if they happened. Fortunately for me the table we'd used the week before was vacant so made myself comfortable, the voting slips, contestant numbers and pens all safely stowed away under the table. Going on what I had planned I stood up, moved a couple of the smaller chairs and tables away from the one I was using and, once I was happy I settled back with a drink and waited to see what would happen.

At seven thirty Jenny and Jayne arrived together, they saw me as they came through the door and smiled along with a little wave. Both of them were dressed to kill, game on as they say. Jayne went off to the bar and Jenny came over to the table, smiling as she approached.

Jenny was wearing a long, slinky black dress with little string straps holding the top up. It was split to her hip, the split was held shut by a series of gold buttons, trying to count them without appearing obvious I reckoned there were a dozen, the bottom five of which were open. a pair of black high heels and her long dark hair piled high completed the picture. A little over dressed for the bar but reasonably sexy never the less.

She smiled shyly and slid past me, she didn't say a word but blushed as I looked her over. Before the silence became to embarrassing Jayne appeared with their drinks. She, in contrast to Jenny, was wearing a short floaty red dress with matching high heels, her blond hair was freshly cut in a bob and her legs were encased in sheer nylon, stockings I hoped, though I couldn't tell from where I was sat.

She slid along the bench seat and finished up next to Jenny, after sipping her drink she looked at me, glanced at Jenny and giggled, "We didn't think you'd be brave enough to be here!".

"What and miss the sight of you lovely ladies," I replied, "of course I was going to be here." It may have been laying it on a bit thick but the women seemed to enjoy it.

All of a sudden there was a rush of arrivals, as Sandra, Melanie and Alexandra made their appearance, and what an appearance it was. They might have been the oldest wives in the group, and married to officers as well, but you couldn't fault their turnout in the slightest.

Sandra, at forty five, may have been the oldest in the group but she wasn't letting that hold her back. She'd appeared in a flowery summer dress with a full skirt and a tight bodice, a row of buttons that ran from top to bottom completed it. Her feet were encased in white, high heeled sandals, that displayed her polished toe nails with distinction.

Melanie was in your standard, figure hugging, little black dress, but as she was six feet tall in her black high heels it looked very good on her. Her long blond hair fell down her back and shone with vitality, overall a very healthy package.

Alexandra was wearing what looked like a business suit in light blue, with a short skirt and tight, fitted jacket. There didn't appear to be a blouse under it, which fuelled my imagination if no one else's. The outfit was completed with matching light blue high heels and hand bag.

Drinks were collected and the conversation around the table became animated. I glanced at my watch and decided to give it another five minutes before I called everyone to order.

With a minute to spare the last two of the group arrived.