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A clever sabotage of a party costume backfires, and chivalry wins the day.

*****

As I look at my fancy dress costume on my sister's bed, I almost have to applaud her cleverness.

It is Christmas Eve, and she is having a house party. I am a little surprised to have been invited. She's ten years my junior, so we'd never been terribly close. Also, the last time I'd met her rather attractive friends, I'd been slightly tipsy and a little flirty. My advances had not been unwelcome, but my sister has decreed all her friends strictly off limits.

After ringing the doorbell, I discover the reason for my invite; the door is opened by my mum. If my parents were invited, my sister pretty much had to ask me. And hearing my dad's loud voice somewhere in the house, telling an off-colour joke, I doubt if it'll be long before my sister asks me to drive our parent's home.

*quot;Duncan, where is your costume?*quot; Mum asks, a little drunkenly. Looking past her, seeing the few people in the hall are all in fancy dress. Something my sister had neglected to mention, knowing our parents would berate me for 'spoiling' my sister's party. I'm just starting to mentally debate if I should tell mum how I'd been set up, or take in on the chin and let my sister win this one. Then she appears.

*quot;Don't worry mum, I hired his costume, it's upstairs on my bed. When I saw it, I knew it was the only thing he could wear. It's so cute!*quot; The expression 'so cute' sets off warning claxons, as does her expression of gleeful malice.

I head upstairs, wondering what type of embarrassing outfit she's got me. Rocky Horror-style basque and stockings or a Tarzan loincloth? If I get drunk enough I'm may be able to pull either of those off?

On the bed is a large teddy bear costume. She's pulled off a *quot;near perfect treble.*quot; By hiring an expensive outfit, she has ensured I'll have to wear it; our parents will never let me waste all that money. Secondly, she's always called me her *quot;big teddy bear*quot; as a small girl, as I used to do some bodybuilding and have had a big bushy beard since my early twenties. Thirdly, this cumbersome costume squelches any chances of chatting up her friends.

Struggling and contorting, I manage to pull the zip up the back. The massive headpiece restricts my vision and makes eating and drinking impossible. However, drinking is the last of my worries. There's no way I can get in and out of this costume each time I need to pee.

Heading down to the party, the costume turns out to be worse than I anticipated. It's hot, heavy and I keep bumping into furniture and people. To make matters worse, I can hardly hear anyone and have to bellow to be heard. Accepting my fate, I exile myself to the hall. At least there I'm not in anyone's way, and the draft from the front door is refreshing

However, it turns out this location has additional bonuses. The stream of beautiful people flowing up the stairs to the first-floor toilet. I'm not sure what it is with women these days, but the word 'sexy' seems to have to be appended to all costumes. Sexy nurse, sexy cop, sexy pirate and so on.

I'm feeling a little guilty as I'm doing it, but the headpiece now provides ample cover as I ogle the scantily clad women tottering up and down the stairs in high heels. However, I reckon it's probably fair as it's likely the only pleasure I'll derive from this evening.

Then a woman steps into the hall, only a couple of inches shorter than myself, and topped with fiery red shoulder-length hair. She jumps when she sees me, then gives a self-deprecating half smile and turns away. I think I'm hooked. It's not just the hair or the cute smile on an attractive face, it's the whole package. Starting with her legs, of which I can see almost all. Her tight black skirt barely covers her buttocks leaving a pale skin gap between it and her dark stockings and suspenders.

Then I notice the reason for her height. Stripper shoes with platform soles and spiked heels. An accident waiting to happen, I thought.

When she steps into the bathroom, I run through my mental rolodex of my sister's friends, but come up blank for this woman. Meaning she was most likely a friend from work, and to my calculations, might not fall under my sister's blanket ban of chatting up her friends. At least that's how my mind chooses to see it. Plus, given the women at this party outnumber the men, there was a chance she was single.

I have to give it a go. I'll wait until she gets to the bottom of the stairs and pull off my costume head and make some joke about her hair colour matching the fur of the costume and how we must be fated to be together. Cheesy I know, but it should break the ice.

As she returns from the bathroom and comes back down the stairs, it's like a slow-motion reveal. The shoes and legs, up to the exposed flesh of her thighs. For an instant, I could swear I saw a flash of something purple under her skirt. As her top half comes into view, it gets better and better. Her thin white cotton top has a plunging neckline exposing an impressive amount of cleavage.

Suddenly, elvankent escort her ankle twists sideways, and she's falling. Lunging towards her is like pushing through cold Treacle. I aim to catch her, but her fall has launched her towards me. I barely get my hands up to catch her when her forehead smashes into my bear snout.

Her momentum pushes us both back, and she forces the air from me as we land hard on my back with her on top of me. I can honestly say I've never been so pleased to be wearing a stupid padded costume in my life. However, the impact has spun the bear head nearly backward leaving me blinded.

I can hear a muffled woman's voice, as she's lifted off me. *quot;Are you alright?*quot; *quot;Screw her, what about him? Is he even alive?*quot; A loud male voice interjects. I suppose with the bear head like this it must look like I've broken my neck?

Pulling off the costume head, I struggle to sit up. *quot;I'm OK,*quot; not entirely true, the whack to my nose has brought tears to my eyes. So I shrug out of the furry gloves to wipe them away. Not that anyone is paying attention to me, as the woman is balling her eyes out and has everyone crowded around.

She's sitting on the bottom step, with my sister kneeling in front of her.

*quot;Are you OK?*quot;

*quot;I've broken my ankle!*quot; She wails drunkenly. Looking through the sea of legs, I rerun the accident in my head, and I'm reasonably certain it's just a strain. I'm also fairly sure she's not aware she's flashing her skimpy purple panties quite so clearly.

Whether my sister spotted this or just wants everyone back to the party, she insists everyone except me to return into the lounge.

*quot;What do you think Duncan?*quot; My sister asks me, knowing I've done a little first aid training.

*quot;I think it's just a sprain...*quot;

*quot;No! It's definitely broken.*quot; The woman wails.

*quot;Let me have a look.*quot; I offer, moving to kneel in front of her. Trying my hardest to avoid the temptation of looking up her skirt.

*quot;No, I need the hospital.*quot; she insists.

I look up at my sister in exasperation.

*quot;Could you take her?*quot; She asks. *quot;It seems a bit much to call an ambulance, and it will take ages on a night like tonight.*quot; Meaning she doesn't want this crying woman hanging around the party and bringing everyone down.

I can imagine how hellish A