Barrack Room Betty Chapter Ten
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Barrack Room Betty Chapter Nine free porn video
Barrack Room Betty
By Michele Nylons
Chapter Nine - Pink Pussycats
All good things come to an end and the six-week Reduced Operations
Period at HMS Chelmsford ended on 15th January 1974.
The Wrens and Leading Recruits were very busy as that day approached.
The Depot needed to be de-winterised and preparations made for the
return of the Ship's Company, the recruits, and the Wrens from their
leave. Even Petty Officer White sobered up for the last week to oversee
things.
Knocker was wary around Leading Recruit Jones and the other lads and ran
things from his cabin. The Wrens were very sad that they would once
again have to become male grommets and the Leading Recruits were sad
that they would be losing their lovers.
There was much discussion in the evenings at the wet canteen about where
things should go once normality returned.
Michele and Jason maintained their relationship but things had cooled;
there was no infatuation between them, it was just sex and Michele was
quite relieved; she'd had enough of Jason's jealousy.
The other three couples still behaved like lovebirds and were lamenting
the day when their relationships would resolve.
As usual it was left to Michele to provide a solution. On the final
evening before they would have to clean and return all of the uniforms
and other female paraphernalia they had purloined from the Wrens block,
the subject came up again. The six lovers were stymied as to where to go
and what to do, they really wanted their commitment to each other to
continue.
"They don't have to end," Michele interjected whilst drawing on her
ciggie.
"What?" the others chimed in unison.
"Your relationships. They don't have to end," she sipped her gin and
tonic.
The others looked at her expectantly.
"Of course your days of canoodling on board HMS Chelmsford are gone; but
what happens ashore, stays ashore."
"We all have a five day furlough coming our way as compensation for
being the hook rope party while everyone else was on leave. You add in
the weekend that's seven days."
The others nodded.
"I propose this. I'll take my three proteges ashore and take them
shopping for everything we need to crossdress."
"I've taught you girls enough so that once you have what you need you
can do a decent job of femming up on your own."
The three Wrens nodded and the three Leading Recruits listened eagerly.
"You get cheap lodgings ashore and you can carry on doing your thing for
seven days and then every weekend after," Michele explained.
"You're fucking brilliant Michele," Polly beamed and the others agreed.
"I want one thing in return," Michele cracked an ice cube between her
teeth and the girls and boys saw mischievousness in her eyes.
"What?" they chimed.
"I want a girls night out at Pink Pussycats," Michele smiled at her
three girlfriends.
"Oh god yes!" Polly came in first.
"Oh yes please!" Mary followed.
"Really?" as usual Doris was unsure of herself.
"Fuck me Doris I think you've lost a stone over the ROP and you know how
stunning you looked on New Year's Eve," Michele reminded her.
The girls and guys all smiled as they recalled their New Year's revelry;
the party was wilder than their Christmas Party but Michele was
disappointed that Lieutenant Winters hadn't dropped by for a New Year's
shag. When Michele had jokingly bought the subject up on the night,
Spike had gone into one of his usual jealous sulks and Michele had to
bring him around by paying him undivided attention.
"Great idea!" the lads chimed in.
"Oh fucking no you don't! It's a girl's night out! You can shag these
three senseless on the other six nights but I'm having my girls only
night!" Michele dictated.
"Sounds great!" the Wrens were excited about being out on the town as
girls, even Doris was excited.
"Sounds shit!" the lads lamented.
"Oh fucking grow up you lot. It's just sex! We're four transvestites and
you're four men; what do you think you're going to do; live happy ever
after?" Michele snapped.
The others looked hurt but Michele was right; their days spent as full
time lovers were past. The illusion of the four young men with their
four young women would dissolve tomorrow when the Wrens went to cleaning
stations on their kit and returned everything back to the Wrenery and
the dry canteen.
And so it came to pass, on the morning of Monday 15th January 1974 PO
White fell in his hook rope party of four Leading Recruits and four
'grommet' new intake recruits. He reported to the OIC of the Recruit
Training School who was relieved that the rabble hadn't burnt the place
to the ground.
They were dismissed and allowed to proceed on leave until the following
Monday.
The eight Recruits boarded the leave bus and the Leading Recruits made a
show of haranguing the grommets, but their heart wasn't in it. They sat
at the back of the bus smoking; they didn't really want to see their
sweethearts in 'male mode'. They didn't want Mick, Doc, Brian and Ray;
they wanted Michele, Doris, Polly and Mary.
When the bus hit Cheltenham High Street the grommets got off and Mick
Nyland led his cohorts through a maze of backstreets to a nearby lodging
house that was only a few doors down from Pink Pussycats. Michele had
found the place advertised in the phone book and called ahead and the
lady who answered professed that the place was 'tranny friendly'.
"Oh we get em' all ere' luv."
"Trannys, crossdressers, tranny chasers, homos, queers, sailors the
lot!"
"I don't care what they get up to as long as they keep the noise down
and they pay for their lodgings up front," she sniffed.
"Perfect," Michele replied and booked four rooms.
They checked into their dodgy lodgings, stowed their kit bags and met in
the lounge which sported an old black and white TV, two stained and
ripped overstuffed couches with matching lounge chairs, a cigarette
burned coffee table with out of date magazines on it, and a fly-specked
window draped with greying net curtains. It smelt of stale cigarette
smoke, stale beer, old farts and mould.
"What a fucking dump!" Polly lamented.
"It's perfect! And it's cheap," Mick replied and they all grinned.
"Right lets get cracking lads; we've some shopping to do," Michele led
them out the front door.
The first stop was an Oxfam shop where they bought cheap second hand
jeans and shirts, they could get way with their navy issue black shoes
but as Michele explained, they couldn't go shopping for women's clothes
in their navy uniforms could they? They would stand out like the
proverbial dogs balls.
They went back to their digs and changed into their cheap civvies and
went back to Oxfam. Mick helped the self-conscious lads pick out some
nice female attire and even went into the fitting rooms with them to
help them try them on.
"I'm so nervous; those old biddies are watching us," Doc Holliday
whined.
"So long as we pay for everything they won't care Doc. It's Monday
afternoon and no one's out shopping so they've got nothing else to do,"
Mick explained.
"I'm scared too," Ray Maine whined.
Mick walked over to the counter and addressed a lady who looked to be in
her sixties; she had a blue rinse in her hair.
"Excuse me. My friends and I are crossdressers and were looking for nice
outfits to wear to Pink Pussycats.
The other three young sailors baulked; their faces crimson with
embarrassment.
"Of course you are dear, I could tell. We get your type in here all the
time. Now let me help you. Come on Mabel lets help these young fellows
choose some nice dresses."
Mabel went to the door and flicked the sign over to 'closed' and locked
it.
"There, now have some privacy; lets get you lot sorted," she beamed.
The four 'girls' and the two old biddies had a great time trying on
various dresses, blouses and skirts. They tried on shoes too. The good
thing about the demographic that use Oxfam is that they are often larger
sized ladies and the girls managed to get two pairs of high heels each.
They also scored slips, brassieres, and nightwear. They even got a
clutch-purse each.
For about twenty pounds they each had three outfits each and foundation
garments. They had kept the wigs they'd purloined from hairdressers on
board HMS Chelmsford, now they needed makeup and few other purchases.
Having dropped off their bargains at their lodging they made their way
to Debenhams on the High Street. Emboldened by their victory at Oxfam
the four sailors did not hesitate and went straight to the lingerie
section and purchased knickers, suspender belts and stockings; lots of
stockings. Stockings seemed to get laddered and snagged quite easily
during their canoodling sessions.
They allowed Mick to select their cosmetics because as 'Michele', he was
the expert when it came to selecting and applying makeup. They stopped
at the costume jewellery counter and bought accessories.
It helped that being Monday, Debenhams wasn't particularly crowded so
they breezed through, selecting their purchases and paying for them at
the counters.
The four were very excited as they walked back to their digs.
"I'll say one thing; its fucking expensive being a crossdresser," Mary
Maine was known to be a spendthrift.
"Maybe you can sell your arse at Pink Pussycats to make back some
money," Polly Perkins joked.
They stopped off at an off licence and bought lager, gin, and bottles of
Brit Vic tonic water.
Back at their digs they crowded into Mick's room, excited at the
forthcoming evening's entertainment.
"Ok you grommets. Someone pour me a G and T and light me a ciggy and sit
down here one at a time so I can do your makeup," Michele pulled her
room's only other chair in front of her; the makeup laid out on the side
table.
Two hours later, Mick, Doc, Brian and Ray had transformed into Michele,
Doris, Polly and Mary. The girls preened, giggled and nattered, drinking
and smoking waiting for day to become night and for Pink Pussycats to
open.
At nine o'clock the four attractive transvestites sauntered into Pink
Pussycats. There had been some trepidation about going out dressed but
the four 'girls' had had plenty of practice walking in high-heels,
developing a womanly gait. No one paid much attention to them except for
a group of lads outside a pub on the corner who gave them a 'wolf-
whistle'.
The trannies all giggled.
"Show us yer knickers love!" one of the young revellers yelled.
Polly obliged and turned to face them and lifted the front of her dress
and gave them a panty flash.
"Fuck me boys; she's a stunner!" one of them gasped.
While the rest of the lads preened, joked and strutted, one of the group
eyed the four girls intently.
"Four trannies off to Pick Pussycats," the dark eyed, longhaired,
brooding young man pronounced.
"You think?" one his cohorts challenged.
"I think," he replied and finished his pint and licked his lips.
Pink Pussycats was a dive. The club was situated on the second floor
over a dodgy souvlaki restaurant serviced by a rickety staircase. Shag
carpet stained an indiscriminate colour after years of spilled beer,
ground in cigarette ash, and god knows what else. It never really dried
and sucked at the patrons shoes like quicksand. The yellow nicotine
stained walls were lit by sconces, every second bulb blown, the ceiling
was supposed to be white but it had long ago turned yellow, the plastic
chandeliers were cobweb riddled. Mirror balls hung from the ceiling,
reflecting the coloured lights from various spotlights, the bar was
long, dirty and had suffered thousands of cigarette burns. There was a
line of booths along one wall and low tables attended by tatty couches
and armchairs scattered around the room and a small dancefloor of
polished wood with a discotheque booth at one end. It smelled of stale
beer, cheap spirits, disinfectant and perfume.
"Its perfect!" Michele beamed.
Michele's Uncle Bill had taken her out a couple times to clubs just like
this during their torrid one-year affair. Michele knew that these were
the sort of clubs frequented by transvestites, lesbians, gays, and their
admirers and other 'perverts' ostracised by society in the 1970s.
Nine o'clock was early for Pink Pussycats, most of the trannies and
punters didn't roll in until around eleven o'clock, but the small
contingent gathered at the bar all swivelled around to watch the four
stunning trannies strut to the bar.
Michele ordered gin and tonics for all of them and they clinked glasses.
"To our girls night out," Michele toasted.
The others repeated the toast and beamed. They were very comfortable
here and were glad that they had listened to Michele. Once again their
mentor had been right.
The girls took a table with a couple of couches pulled up to it; they
drank, smoked and chatted. As the evening progressed more crossdressers
and admirers arrived. Some trannies and admirers paired off but most of
the trannies stayed together in small groups and chatted and danced
together, eyed off by the as yet timid admirers.
"The admirers are working up Dutch courage so they can talk to the
girls," Michele explained.
After a few drinks the girls danced as a group and then some of the
other girls came over and they danced with them. It was exciting for
Doris, Polly, and Mary whose only crossdressing experience had been
during the ROP at HMS Chelmsford. Michele too was enjoying herself,
particularly now that her charges were spreading their wings and
confident enough to do their own thing without her needing to constantly
guide them.
Most of the male admirers had drunk enough now so that they were able to
leave their perches at the bar and approach the girls and dance or chat
with them. Some had paired off already and were chatting or smooching in
the dark corners of the club.
Michele's girls were dancing with a small group of other transvestites
and male admirers, taking a break now and then to get a drink and to
chat. The night was getting late and the music had changed from the
unce, unce, unce, of the disco beat to the ballads of Roxy Music and
David Bowie.
Polly, Doris and Mary were dancing with three admirers, the girls were
having fun but it was obvious from their body language that all the
admirers were going to get was a dance. Every attempt at a bum squeeze
or a kiss was gently rebuffed by the girls. They were having fun but
still infatuated with their sailor beaus and intended to remain
faithful.
Michele had retired to a booth where she sat on her own watching her
charges.
"Grommets!" she giggled to herself.
She was more drunk than sober, but still had control of her faculties.
She lit a cigarette and drained the last of her gin and tonic and was
about to get up and go to the bar when suddenly a fresh gin and tonic
appeared before her.
A man slid into the booth and seated himself across from her. Michele
recognised the longhaired broody young man from outside the pub.
"Cheers," he raised his scotch and dry ginger to her and took a sip.
Michele looked at him warily. He dug in his pockets and produced a
packet of menthol cigarettes and lit two; offering one to Michele.
She took it in her delicate fingers, nails painted blood red.
She drew on her cigarette and sipped her drink, eying him sceptically.
"Cocky bastard aren't you," she smiled at him.
His handsome face was framed by long blonde locks, stylishly unkempt,
his lips were sensual and red, Mick Jagger lips, his eyes dark with long
lashes. He was fashionably pale, his slim frame clad in a tight denim
jacket and jeans.
He oozed self confidence.
He smiled back at her and her heart skipped a beat. This young man was
extremely handsome and exuded a raw sexiness. He lifted himself out of
his seat and sat down next to her.
"Yes?" Michele raised her eyebrows at him.
"Is that a question or an answer?" he responded and lowered his face to
hers.
Michele melted when his luscious lips met hers. He kissed her softly and
tenderly, brushing his lips on hers. He teased her and when Michele
attempted to crush her lips on his he resisted and held her face still.
Then he slipped just the tip of tongue inside her lips; Michele tried to
make him kiss her harder but he resisted and gently caressed her lips
with his, tentatively slipping the tip of tongue across her lips.
He broke the kiss and drew on his cigarette and took a sip of his drink.
Michele did the same.
She was dressed in a deep blue, skin-tight maxi-dress, split at the
side, displaying her long elegant legs clad in fully-fashioned, flesh-
toned stockings. Her makeup was heavy, but perfect for night-clubbing,
dark smoky eyes, rouged cheeks and blood-red lips to match her
nailpolish. Accessorised with silver jewellery and high-heels, her hair
styled in a short black bob; she looked sumptuous and she knew it.
Michele scooted into the corner of the booth and lay her long legs along
the bench seat. She sipped her drink glancing at the broody young man
indifferently.
"Any chance of another drink," she gave him her best sultry look.
"Sure, I just have to do one thing," he replied.
"What's that?" Michele asked.
"This!"
He leapt across the booth and pulled Michele to him, his lips crushed
hers and finally he kissed her passionately and Michele responded,
pulling him against her. His hand found the split in her skirt at the
same time as she found the bulge in his tight jeans. She squeezed his
erection through the denim while he explored her legs and buttocks,
neither of them breaking the kiss.
After the initial burst of excitement they slowed things down and took
their time, kissing and exploring each other in the dark corner of the
booth.
"Look at the lovebirds!" Polly sniggered to her chums, pointing with her
chin across the room to where Michele sat in her booth.
"Didn't take her long to find someone else did it?" Doris huffed.
"What? Have you and Billy Marron got true love? Come on Doris, we all
know things between Michele and Jason haven't been going well since
Christmas," Mary replied.
"Well in that case, this could be interesting," Polly grinned.
She pointed over to the top of the staircase where an unmistakably drunk
Leading Recruit 'Spike' Jones had just staggered into the club.
Michele and her new beau were only interested in each other and were not
paying attention to the passing parade in the dark noisy nightclub. They
had sated their initial lust and were seated side by side kissing and
fondling each other, happy in with their own company when Jason stormed
over to their booth.
His uniform was dishevelled, his lanyard askew and the silk around his
neck had come adrift from the tapes that normally secured it, tied in
bow. His blue sailor's collar was crooked and he reeked of rum.
"Hello slut!" he drawled drunkenly and uninvitedly plonking himself into
the booth across from them.
He'd stopped at the bar for a double rum and slammed it on the table,
spilling some of the dark liquor on the table top.
"Jason what are you doing here?" Michele asked.
Her voice was calming, deliberately non-confrontational.
"Well apparently my girlfriend was going to have a girls night out, but
now I've found her with some hippy looking tosser who's got every
intention of fucking her!" he slurred.
The broody young man slid along the bench seat, his intention to eject
the drunken sailor obvious, but Michele gripped his bicep to stop him.
"Jason I stopped being your girlfriend the day you called me a slut just
before the Christmas party. I'm not your possession and never will be,
so just get over it," Michele said maintaining a calm tone.
"Well you obviously are a slut!"
"You're here with this skinny fag tranny fucker!" he screeched.
Jason could be heard over the music and the sleepy bouncer at the top of
the stairs awakened and looked in their direction, ready for trouble,
but didn't move.
"Jason, you're making a scene. Go back to your digs and we'll discuss
this tomorrow," Michele said trying to soothe him.
"Ah fuck you and fuck your longhaired, sissy faggot!" Spike roared and
threw the remains of his drink over Michele.
The lithe young man sitting beside Michele leapt to his feet and hauled
Spike out of his seat and dragged him over to the entrance door. He
grabbed him by his tunic and tossed him down the stairs.
He looked at the bellicose bouncer.
"Isn't this what you're paid to do?" he quipped.
"Nah, why bother when you can do my job for me," the bouncer replied.
The broody young longhair strode back to the booth.
"Come on!" he grabbed Michele by the arm and half dragged her from her
seat.
"Where are we going?" Michele asked.
"Your place! I presume you have one?"
They burst through the door to Michele's room at her cheap lodgings,
kissing and groping at each other.
Michele dragged him over to the bed and they fell on it, the shabby bed
groaning under their weight. They kissed and groped each other, Michele
was underneath him, struggling to pull down his skin tight jeans as he
clawed at her knickers.
"Fuck that!" Michele groaned wantonly.
She pulled him on top of her and her hand found him; hot, hard and
ready. She pulled aside the gusset of her stain panties and guided him
to her sphincter. She had pre-lubricated in anticipation of bringing
home a beau.
Michele gripped his hips and rose up off the bed, slowly impaling
herself on his hard phallus. She bucked underneath him, moving her hands
to his shoulders and bringing his face to hers so she could kiss him.
They fucked and thrashed on the rickety bed.
Michele put a hand to his throat, forcing him to pause. She lifted her
legs up high and put them over his shoulders and he thrust into her
deeply, his scrotum resting in her buttocks.
Then Michele fucked him; she hung onto his shoulders and thrust herself
up and down off the bed to meet his thrusts.
Her high-heels banged against the wall; the bed groaned and squeaked as
their passion mounted. In the room next door Polly and Mary giggled as
they listened to the banging on the wall.
"Fuck me!"
"Fuck me!"
"Fuck me hard you bastard!" Michele was irrevocable, lost in animal
lust.
The young hipster gripped her tight and screamed obscenities as he
orgasmed and spent himself deep inside her. Michele's anal muscles
contracted and gripped his throbbing penis as she spent into her
panties.
An hour later the two lovers were sipping drinks and smoking a
cigarette, still ensconced in the afterglow of their frenzied
lovemaking.
Michele had slinked out of her dress and was left dressed in knickers,
brassiere, suspenders and stockings, which were laddered and holed. She
still wore her silver high heels.
Michele crushed out her cigarette and drained her drink.
"Bet you can't go again," she chided her lover.
"Oh for fuck sake am I going to get any sleep tonight?" Polly whinged in
the room next door as the wall began to shake.
As the pale light of dawn crept through the window Michele snuggled up
to her paramour.
"What's your name by the way?" she asked.
"Does it matter?" he replied.
"Not really." Michele yawned and fell asleep.
To be continued.
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