"Ten minutes to spare. Time for a grope in the lingerie."
Jay glared at me anew.
"Behave yourself for once! I don't want a repetition of the Harrod's incident!"
"I wouldn't mind a repetition of the Harrod's incident."
"Harrod's wouldn't."
I cracked my knuckles ready for lingerie. There had been no mention of Tittitata Lodge since our escape from Tillie's Tea Shoppe. Good.
Lingerie was on the second floor. I pushed Jay on the escalator in front of me and felt for her undies through her woolen dress.
"Roll-ons to the right, conveniently next to the vests and thick knickers. You'll be in and out of here in a flash!"
"As well you know, I wear nothing but the best next to my alabaster skin. Turn left and seek out teddies."
"My pleasure. My pleasure indeed… Oh, I say! A civilized store! The goods are actually on display – tactile display! I complained bitterly to Mr. Marks and Mr. Spencer when M amp;S packaged their undies in cellophane. Cellophane simply does not feel the same as silk. I shall close my eyes and unerringly select the very best in the store for you."
I advanced on a rack of lacy bras and panties. I advanced so far and abruptly abandoned advancing. Something was amiss with my breathing. It had to do with the long scarf someone called Lawrence had wrapped round my neck.
"Heel! Put your hands in your pockets. And no tasting, either!"
I obeyed reluctantly as Jay selected a matched pair of red bra and panties that I was sure were a size too small. She likes bursting out all over. I like it too.
"Slips. Onward, Neptune."
This was starting to get boring. I cast my eyes idly over the serried ranks of feminine frippery and stopped on a green silk teddy. I imagined Sugar's bumptious boobs pressing into the silk, nipples hardening under the sensual…
"Hello again! You found your way here, then? Given that woman the slip? What a sight! I bet she eats men for breakfast."
"Only rich men, Sugar, my dear. Apart from one gardener." I maintained my sangfroid magnificently.
Plainly Sugar was to be the star of the Pixie Parade. She wore a short green tunic with yellow buttons barely holding out against the assault of her chest. Bare – nay naked – legs led down to green slippers with bells on. A green hat perched between her ears at a jaunty angle.
"Maybe I'll treat myself to that later. I do like green."
"What?"
"The teddy! All nice and slinky. I can just imagine myself wiggling in that…"
I gulped. I could imagine her wiggling in that, too. I did imagine it. I felt burgeoning pressure in the trouser department.
"Er, Sugar…"
"Coo-ee!!!!!!"
Sugar giggled at my startled face and un-Parliamentary language.
"I thought you disapproved of bad language, Mr. Neptune! My dad used to say things like that when the rent man snuck in the back door. Come on! I'll save you again."
She grabbed my hand and dived through the rack of slinkies.
"Harr-ee!!! Gigi's here!! Come and pick out a nice nightie for Gigi!"
The sound of pursuit stayed with us as we brushed through the lingerie undergrowth. I might have risked all and lingered in the sensory heaven of seamed stockings and garter belts, but Sugar hauled me on.
"The Parade starts in a minute! I'll have to stash you somewhere. I know…"
A quick burst of speed put us momentarily out of sight of the happily trilling Mrs. Goldfinkel. Sugar pushed open a door and dragged me in.
"In there! Keep the curtain drawn and don't say a word!"
She disappeared leaving me in a small cubicle with head-height walls, a mirror, and a single bench. I sat down to catch my breath.
The strains of 'Jingle Bells' came faintly through the ceiling. Sugar must be leading the Pixies round the floor and corralling kids to be ministered to by Santa. I wondered how long to wait before the coast would be clear.
"It's me! It's so me! I'll just check it for fit and then I'll take six!"
"Very well, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Certainly Mrs. Goldfinkel. I'll wait outside for you, Mrs. Goldfinkel."
I looked around desperately for an exit. The only way in or out of my cubicle was the curtain. I hastily stood on the bench to hide my size twelves. I grasped the curtain barely in time as a bejeweled hand appeared at the edge.
"Taken! Never mind, next door's free!"
A curtain swished and a zipper unzipped. There was a noise as of shoes being kicked off and of discarded clothes being scattered around.
I crouched on the bench to keep my head below wall level. I breathed carefully and quietly under the sound of the Goldfinkel disrobing and singing little snatches of Christmas songs to herself.
I wondered how long it would go on. Already cramp was creeping into my calves. Then something else crept into me.
It was a dreadful, dreadful temptation. I fought but it had me firmly in its grip. An insidious force battered my willpower. Madness was in the air. I could no more resist than an urchin could resist peeking through a hole in a fence. Slowly my knees straightened.
"Aaaaeeeeeee!!!!!! Feelthy pervert!!!!!!"
I knew I shouldn't have taken Harry lingerie shopping. A vague, gnawing sense of concern had been toying with me since his sudden disappearance in 'Teddies amp; Bustiers'. Feeling uncomfortably like a lax mother with an unchecked, rampaging child, I hurried in the direction of the piercing shrieks, clutching my cache of lacy undies. A rather large lady of Mediterranean origin was hyperventilating beside the changing cubicles, her Rubenesque form sensibly clad in several acres of pale pink flannelette. Aghast, she pointed at the middle cubicle, which appeared to be empty, although the curtain was drawn. Several sales assistants and a security guard came panting down the aisle to see what the fuss was about. The night-gowned mamma immediately began to wail and wave her arms about, in a rather operatic manner.
"It was a man! A pooping tom!"
One of the sales assistants giggled.
"I think you mean a peeping tom, madam!"
"I know what I mean! He made a rude noise and then…"
"Thrrrrrppppptttttt!!!!!!"
A ripe, juicy raspberry issued from the depths of 'Garter Belts amp; G-Strings' and just for one brief moment I thought I spied Harry's mischievous grin through the shrubbery of dangling smalls. The fat lady cried out:
"That's him! That's what I heard! Catch him!"
"What is all the fuss about? Are they giving away free pantyhose again? I've never heard such a commotion! Oh! Oh! Is it Santa time yet?"
The now familiar excitable tones of the Black Widow cut through my chagrin and I turned to see a second bedtime-apparelled apparition appear from the row of cubicles.
"Good heavens! Mrs. Goldfinkel!"
For once I was at a loss for words. The Black Widow was squeezed, by some method unknown, into a tight satin tiger print gown, complete with matching high-heeled mules and a long feather boa. Generous handfuls of tropically tanned flesh were visible in assorted directions and the overall effect was of an overstuffed sofa that had split its seams and spilled its filling. I gasped. So did the Black Widow. Like Sugar, there was something over-the-top about her bust line, even allowing for her generous dress size. I couldn't help myself. Before you could say "Double D", I had grasped the mighty melons and given them a good firm squeeze.
Toot! Toot!
"Hooray! Hooray! It's the Twatton's Pixie Parade!"
At that moment, mere mayhem descended into all-out fracas. The elevator doors opened and a nubile chorus line of six attractive young ladies in bright green mini-dresses and matching pointed hats began to prance through the department, scattering candy canes to left and right as they wriggled and jiggled to a merry festive tune. The Black Widow shrieked in glee, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I had just grabbed her by the titties. Quite overcome with excitement, she grasped my arm and propelled me towards the gyrating elves.