Copyright Oggbashan December 2009
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary;
the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to
represent specific places or living persons.
I blame my little niece Molly. She wanted someone to drive her and her friend to a square dance. She'd exhausted all her usual sources of transport, so in desperation she asked her “aged” Uncle Alan. I wasn't keen. The idea of a square dance in the 1990s seemed like the enthusiastically promoted church youth club dances that I had endured in the 1960s.
I should have suspected that it might be another matchmaking idea from my sister-in-law Karen. Ever since my wife May had died ten years ago, Karen had been trying to get me married again. She kept telling me that I “was too good a man to waste”. I was fond of Karen and thought that my younger brother Ralph was a lucky man but I wish she'd leave me alone. I didn't suspect Karen this time. I was just happy to help Molly. Like her mother, she could charm birds out of trees so I agreed without finding out the details.
On the evening I drove up to their house in my 9 seat MPV. I thought that Molly would have more than “a” friend for me to transport. I was right. I was greeted by a gaggle of young ladies dressed in full-petticoated dresses looking the female chorus from a production of Oklahoma. They had mid-calf hems on their brightly coloured satin skirts. They made me wish I was 20 years younger. They were an attractive bunch and full of life.
The rustle of silk, taffeta and net reminded me of the dresses girls wore when I was young. Looking back to check that they were all seated I saw a sea of petticoats billowing around them. Each was wearing so many flounced slips that the car's seats and most of the windows were covered. They had left the front passenger seat free.
Molly leant over from the back. Her ballooning skirt tickled the back of my neck.
“Uncle Alan, could you drive to Station Road, number 73, please? We need to collect Fiona.”
“OK” I replied, thinking that Fiona was another one of Molly's troupe. She wasn't. She was an attractive lady about five years younger than I. I'd vaguely seen her around the town at various functions but we'd never met.
As I pulled up, Fiona came out of her bungalow dressed almost like the others but her hemline was ankle length. She was carrying a briefcase but limping with an arm crutch. I hopped out to take her case and let her in the passenger door. I had to help her in to the front seat and she leaned heavily on me. She was as tall as I am and slightly taller on her heels. Her royal blue satin skirt fluffed up over the dashboard and spread sideways. I had to stuff it in to shut the door. I wondered why she was going fully dressed to the dance when she had such obvious difficulty. Molly explained before I asked.
“Fiona, this is my Uncle Alan. He's our driver for this evening. Uncle Alan, this is Fiona Owens. She's the pianist who will be accompanying some of the dances. She sprained her ankle on Thursday otherwise she'd have driven herself.”
I was slightly embarrassed because I had to push Fiona's skirt aside every time that I changed gear. It didn't seem to bother her. She and I exchanged light conversation as best we could above the hubbub from Molly and her friends. I found out that Karen had persuaded Fiona to help at the dance and warning bells began to ring. Was this another of Karen's plots?
At the barn – it actually was a barn, shades of my youth, but restored and improved to be a village hall – Molly and her friends rushed off heedlessly, leaving me to assist Fiona. She was in pain and I half-carried her, bundling her skirt around her legs. I sat her down at a table and went to get cups of tea for us. This seemed even more like a re-run of the 1950s. I intercepted Molly.
“No alcohol? Tea, coffee or soft drinks? What sort of event is this?”
“You should know, Uncle Alan. It's a 1950s evening. We've tried to re-create the sort of dance that would have been held here then.”
“You've done very well. It's much as I remembered it except for the musical equipment.”
“It is! That's great!”
What I didn't say was that the girls' skirts had too many petticoats. The skirts stood out far more than those I recalled.
I got a kiss suitable for an “elderly” uncle as Molly rushed off. Fiona seemed amused.
“Molly treats you as if you are very old.” she said.
“I suppose to her I am. When I was her age my uncles seemed impossibly ancient. I don't think they were any older than I am now but they were battered. Perhaps it might have been the effect of fighting in the war.”
“And the way people dressed then didn't help,” Fiona added, “Women seemed to go into 'old-lady' clothes in their late 30s. They wouldn't have dared dress like this.”
She shook her skirts and petticoats. The sound brought back memories of youthful affairs. Was it more fun when girls dressed like girls? I was drifting away in reverie when Fiona brought me back to the present.
“I'm going to have a problem with getting to that piano. The only way to the stage is up the steps and I haven't climbed a step since Thursday.”
I shifted my chair to beside Fiona so that we both had a clear view of the stage.
“We get you up there somehow. There are a lot of healthy young men around. Even Molly and her friends are fit enough to lift you. If I were younger…”
“I'm sure you still can. You're not exactly decrepit. I dare you!”
“Dare me do what?”
“Carry me on to the stage. I'm sure you can do it.”
“And what if I accept your dare?”
“I'll give you a reward.” Fiona's eyes twinkled at me.
“You're on. When you want to, I'll carry you on to the stage, and off again afterwards.”
“Thank you, Alan.”
She leant over and kissed me. Not an aged uncle kiss – this kiss was from an attractive and mature woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
That kiss woke feelings in me that I thought long dormant. I wished to dance with Fiona. She couldn't, so we watched the youngsters. The girls were twirling to show off their skirts and petticoats but overall the dances were too laboured and mechanical as they tried hard to follow the caller's instructions. Then Molly came over.
“Dance with me, uncle, please?” I looked at Fiona.
“Go on, Alan! Show them how it's done.”
Molly and I took the floor and joined a set. I knew that Molly could dance so we let ourselves go. We upstaged the other pair shamelessly. I threw Molly around and she twirled around me as if we were in a competition. At the end of the dance Molly caught my arm and dragged me off to the caller.
“Can we do a solo, please?” she asked him.
“I don't see why not. You, sir, know how to dance.”
He bowed to me. I bowed back.
We took the centre of the floor and then … I admit it. I showed off! I threw Molly around, swung her, twirled her, lifted her up in the air -I did all the fancy moves I knew. Everyone had a good view of her swirling petticoats – but no more. She was wearing so many that it would have been impossible to tell what she was wearing underneath. She could have been wearing tights or stockings and panties or stockings and nothing.
Even if I had turned her upside down the petticoats were so tightly stuffed under her skirt that I think it would have stayed in place. That was the error that I had noticed earlier. Of course I didn't turn her upside down. An uncle has responsibilities to his nieces!
The man's part in this sort of dancing is to enhance his partner. That I did. The whole place stopped to watch Molly. We ended with her cradled in my arms and her head on my shoulder. I carried her off the floor to a storm of applause. When we got back to Fiona, Molly kissed me hard.
“Mum told me you were a good dancer, but that was wonderful!”
I murmured something about a mis-spent youth but Molly and Fiona agreed that I should dance more. Molly kissed me again and rushed off to receive the congratulations of her friends.
I sat down and Fiona squeezed my hand. Then she held it gently.
“You know that you've made her evening?”
“What? For a dance with her uncle?”
“Her uncle made her the belle of the ball. She won't have a free dance for the rest of the night. You showed her off as a woman. She'll have the young men round her like flies tonight. And the women will be queuing for a dance with you.”
“I'd rather dance with you.” I said impulsively.
“I wish I could. I think I'd enjoy that,” she said wistfully.
“Your ankle won't always be sprained.” I said.
“No … I could walk on it in a few days. It will take a few more before I could dance like Molly.”
“Then how about dancing with me next weekend?”
Fiona looked at me carefully.
“Are you asking me out?”
“Yes. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?”
“I don't know,” she said. “I've been divorced a long time, but you…?”
“I'm a widower. My wife died ten years ago.”
Fiona looked at me again.
“OK. We'll go to a dance next weekend and see.”
“We'll see if my ankle will stand it, whether I can dance as well as you, and…” her voice trailed off sadly.
“Let's leave it at that. We'll just see if we can dance together.”
Her hand stroked mine. It was a long time since I'd had my hand held and enjoyed it.
“Thank you, Alan. It's nearly time for you to perform your dare.”
I looked back at the stage. While the band was still playing there were signs that they were preparing to break.
“OK. We'll get you on your feet first.”
I helped her to stand leaving her crutch by her chair. She leant on me, clutched her briefcase to her and we moved slowly towards the stage as the dance ended.
I picked Fiona up in my arms. No one seemed to notice us. She settled against my shoulder as if she belonged there. Her full skirt slithered and her petticoats rustled as I walked up the steps. I carried her like a delicate and fragile doll but I was very aware that there was a well-proportioned woman in my arms perhaps the same weight as I am. I took her to the piano and lowered her on to the piano stool. She spread her skirt around her covering a large area of floor. As I released her she kissed my cheek.
“You are not abandoning me here. Stay and turn my music.”
It was an order. She didn't even know if I could read music. I collected one of the band's chairs and sat beside her.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.” She looked at the caller, who nodded.
Then she was away. Her playing was strongly rhythmical and foot-tapping. Despite the reduced volume compared with the amplified band the floor soon filled with eager dancers.
After twenty minutes the band began to return. When Fiona ended she had an ovation from the floor. Then in silence she gathered her music, lifted her arms to me and I picked her up. I carried here down the steps and to our table watched by the audience. Then they clapped me.
“You did it!” she grinned at me. “You'll get your reward, later.”
The rest of the evening was pleasant. I danced with most of Molly's friends but talked with Fiona more. We seemed to have a lot in common. This was one lady I wanted to see again. We discussed where to go for our dance date. We didn't reach a conclusion because neither of us knew what was on where. Molly solved it for us. She sat with us to rest for a few minutes as we were talking.
“There's a charity dinner dance next Saturday at the Oddfellows' Hall. Why not go to that? Those going will be more your age than mine. Even Mum and Dad are going.”
With that she left us to join the swirling dancers. All too soon the event ended. Molly gathered up her troupe to join me by the MPV. I seemed to have danced with most of them during the evening. They treated me very differently now. I was surrounded by them and lost in a sea of petticoats. I had a hug and kiss from each as they entered. Fiona from her perch on the front seat found them amusing. I was just enjoying myself. It had been a long time since I had been kissed so often.
Fiona and I had to wait a long time as I drove round the town depositing girls one by one. Finally I dropped Molly. She came round to my window, leant in and kissed me hard.
“Thank you, Uncle Alan. That was a great evening and I loved dancing with you. Look after Fiona, please.”
Then she left in a rustle of petticoats. I drove the short distance to Fiona's bungalow. I helped her out but as she touched the ground her sprained ankle was obviously in pain. She leant on me but when she stumbled I caught her. I lifted her into my arms.
“Don't be stupid,” I told her. “You've overdone it this evening.”
She relaxed in my arms. She opened the door with a key from her briefcase. I carried her across the threshold and into her sitting room. I lowered her on to the settee.
“Will you be all right now?” I asked.
“Wait!” she ordered. I waited. “I haven't given you your reward for the dare.”
“Forget it.” I replied, “You're a nice armful to carry. That was reward in itself.”
“I intended to make you some coffee but my ankle has had it. I don't want to impose, but I think I need you to help some more. Will you?”
“Then please put me to bed.”
My eyes opened wide. She laughed. “I don't mean any more than on the bed.”
“If that's what you want.”
I picked her up again and carried her into her bedroom. I laid her on the bed. Her petticoats ballooned about her legs. She caught my hand.
“Sit down, Alan.”
I sat beside her. As we talked she eased her shoes off and pushed them off the bed.
“Molly and her friends thanked you properly. Now I want to…”
“But you are afraid that I might take advantage.”
I finished for her.
“Well, yes. We don't know each other that well yet.”
“Why not leave the thanks until our date next week.” I suggested.
“No. I don't want to. I want to thank you now.”
“I'll try not to overstay my welcome but you are an attractive woman and I've had few opportunities the last few years.”
“Poor Alan!” She stroked my cheek then she said abruptly:
“Turn your back to me!”
“Give me your hands.”
I put my hands behind my back. She grabbed one, placed it over the other then I felt something soft and silky on them. Suddenly she pulled and my hands were forced together. She'd tied my hands behind me. Then she pulled me backwards on to her lap. I fell on to satin cushioned by billowing petticoats. I looked up at her face leaning over me.
“Now I can say thank you safely.” Fiona's face came down, her hair fell like curtains either side as her lips sought mine and we kissed. It was not great because she was upside down. She pulled away.
“Swing your legs on to the bed.” she told me.
I did and she settled me on her bouffant skirt. Then her hair hid me again. This time the kiss was prolonged and arousing. Her legs moved under my head pushing me up. She pulled her lips away and held me against her breasts.
“I wish I wasn't so crocked,” she said. I didn't comment. My mouth had a very satisfactory breast against it. If I'd wanted to say anything I'd have to pull away. I might have to anyway if I wanted to continue breathing.
“Do you like that?” she asked, realising that I couldn't reply.
“Mmmm,” was all I could manage.
“I'll take that as a “yes”.” she said pushing her clothed breast further into my mouth.
“MMMM!” I responded.
“That's better!” Fiona said complacently. “This is the sort of reward I had in mind for your dare. Do you approve?”
I nuzzled against her top and my hand sought her other breast.
“Ahh! That I like. Do it again!”
I did. I swapped breasts, stroked and tongued and nibbled through the silky material. Eventually Fiona lifted my head off her and laid me down on her lap.
“Don't speak yet, Alan.”
Her hand pressed a thick fold of blue skirt across my face to emphasise her order. I struggled to breathe as she said:
“There's one last thing I want to do tonight before going to bed. I like dressing up in full skirts and petticoats but rarely have an excuse. I'd like to do something while I'm still wearing them. Is that OK with you?”
I didn't know what the “something” was and couldn't speak because of the skirt smothering me. I nodded as best I could.
“Was that a nod?” I nodded again.
“OK.” She uncovered my face. Gingerly she slid out from underneath me. My head flopped back to the bed. Then her skirts and petticoats swept up. She held them out as the good leg crossed my body. She hitched herself up until her legs were outside mine. She lowered the bundled hems over my head. My face was concealed under her skirt and petticoats and she was pressing them over my mouth and nose. My nose enjoyed the perfume of her clothes mixed with her own more basic scent. Touch contrasted the satin, silk, lace, taffeta and net wrapping my head. My ears were picking up the rustle and swish. My brain – I was lost and enjoying the sensations she was giving me.
Fiona held her position for but a few seconds before rolling off me.
“That's just a sample!” she laughed. “Was it a nice sample?”
“Yes.” I managed to say.
What else could I say? I'd been celibate for nearly 10 years and in one evening I'd been kissed by Molly and her friends and now had a sample of what Fiona could offer.
“I'm glad you liked it. I was taking a risk. I wanted to thank you for an enjoyable evening but I was afraid I went too far.”
“No. You reminded me of the time when girls dressed like girls.”
“I thought so. I saw you watching the youngsters dancing tonight. You couldn't take your eyes of their dresses – when you weren't looking at mine.”
“It wasn't only the dresses. I'd forgotten how good women looked in full skirts enjoying themselves.”
“They were, weren't they? Particularly when you'd showed their partners how it should be done.”
“I wish…” my voice trailed off.
“What do you wish, Alan?”
“I wish I'd been able to dance with you.”
“So do I. However if it wasn't for this ankle you might not be where you are now.”
Her hand pulled my head on to her shoulder.
“And you might not have got this…”
She kissed me. Her satin swathed leg covered mine.
“Ouch! I shouldn't have done that!”
I extricated myself from her and moved down her body. It was difficult because my hands were still tied behind me. I lifted her skirt with my head and kissed the injured ankle gently.
“There!” I said. “That's a kiss to make it better.”
Her sound leg raised and her nylon covered foot stroked my head.
“I'd like another, please, Alan.”
“As many as you want, Fiona.”
I kissed the ankle again and again.
“I think that had better be enough for tonight. We don't want to go too far on our first meeting, do we?”
“No. I'd like there to be many more.”
“Perhaps there will be. We'll see on Saturday when we dance together.”
“Are you sure about dancing so soon?”
“I'd rather wait for the dance until you are fully fit. We could do something else that evening and go to a dance later.”
“No. We'll go. If I can't dance – then I can't. If I can we'll take it easy. Please don't throw me around like you threw Molly.”
I laughed. “I was showing Molly off. I don't think next Saturday's dance will be that sort of event. A foxtrot or cha-cha might be as far as they go.”
“So I might manage if your kisses work.”
“I'm sure they will – if you rest that ankle this week. Oh! I've just realised that I don't know what you do for a living. Will you be able to work this week?”