“I’m struggling to get your strippers sorted, Beth,” my sister Joanna complained as she poured two glasses of wine. We were sat at her kitchen table discussing my up-and-coming hen party weekend. “I’m just waiting on a guy to get back to me. Looks like we might have to have them do their show later than planned. But the hotel have allowed us a small function room to use, on the strict basis that no funny stuff goes on. We will have some hotel staff serving drinks during the show,” she explained.
“I told you not to bother with strippers,” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “But as you insist, I’m grateful it’s professionals and not sleazy meatheads on steroids.”
“Well, I can’t guarantee they aren’t the latter, but I can guarantee they are professional and that they come highly recommended. They do all sorts from hen parties to corporate parties,” she explained further.
“Corporate?” I coughed, swallowing a mouthful of wine.
“Yes, I told you they are professional. Besides, you needn’t worry, the hotel aren’t going to allow strippers to parade around with their cocks out, or a bunch of randy hens to suck them off.”
We both leaned back in laughter before enjoying more of the wine. “You must be disappointed then,” I teased her.
“Tell me about it! I haven’t been laid in weeks!” she moaned. “I could quite happily spend a night locked in a room with a group of big-dicked strippers!”
“You’ll never change.”
“And you’ll never want me to.”
“So apart from the strippers what else do I have to worry about?”
“I could tease you I suppose, but I won’t. Just relax and be yourself. We’re sisters. I’m your maid of honour. I’m taking this seriously,” she said, sitting up with her chest puffed out. “Everything will be an enjoyable surprise.”
“I know, and I do trust you. Besides, mum and Aunt June will be there,” I reminded her.
“June would be after that cock if she was twenty years younger, don’t you worry,” she stated seriously. “Maybe I get it from her?” she added, sending us both into a fit of giggles.
“Can’t you stop thinking about cock for one moment during this conversation?” I rolled me eyes at her again.
“Sorry, it’s this wine and the thought of organising my little sisters hen weekend. Anyway, the fancy-dress outfit is sorted. I’ve ordered your sizes, and it has some give in it, so don’t worry about it not fitting you. I tried it on, seen as we’re very similar in size.”
“What? Joanna hasn’t decided upon a risqué, tight and revealing costume? I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Oh no,” she played serious, “it is most definitely risqué, tight and revealing. But don’t worry, I shall be keeping a watchful eye on you, making sure no guys try and take advantage of the bride-to-be.”
“And who will be keeping a watchful eye on you?” I raised my eyebrows above the glass as I drank.
“I can look after myself,” she grinned, before taking a gulp of wine herself. “On a serious note though, please don’t fret about anything. We are going to have a right laugh. Of course there will be games and times when you will be expected to embarrass yourself. But it will be a fun filled, action packed weekend with late nights, great laughs, and lots and lots of alcohol.”
“Sounds perfect!” I smiled, raising my glass to toast. “I’m guessing by embarrassing myself you mean I’ll have to perform my party trick?”
“Yes, amongst other things,” she smiled wickedly, and then raised her glass to meet mine. “Congratulations, Beth. I’m so proud of you. I love you more than anything. You’re going to have a hen party you’ll never forget, and something to tell the grandkids about.”
“I love you to, sister, but don’t be getting all emotional on me during a bottle of wine. You’ll have us both in tears, and I’m not quite sure a hen party organised by you will be something to share with the grandkids.”
We both laughed. “Here’s to my little sister Bethan, and her hen weekend!” she beamed.
“Amen!” I responded, before knocking back our drinks, ready for a refill.
2
When we touched down at John Lennon Airport in Liverpool, following the shortest flight of my life from Stanstead Airport in London, we were all grateful that Joanna insisted we didn’t travel by coach. After a few glasses of champagne, before boarding, it was nice to travel so many miles so quickly, and still feel fresh.
I was also extremely grateful to have gotten off lightly by not having to wear a fancy-dress outfit on the plane. I definitely expected one. But Joanna informed me it was more of a stag-party thing that guys did. She was right, as shortly before boarding we spotted a stag party walking through the airport with the groom-to-be dressed as a nurse. I still wonder sometimes if he managed to get on his flight in that state. I have no idea where they were headed.
After collecting our bags, we hopped into several taxis between us and headed for our hotel. I had to admit that my sister was impressing me so far, as we pulled up to a very grand looking hotel. “Strippers… in there?” I pointed.
“You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you.” she giggled and poked the tip of my nose.
For me personally, the hen weekend truly began when we all met downstairs in the hotel bar that evening, surrounded by my family and closest friends, drinking and celebrating.
We all wore a variety of dresses, no sign of any ridiculous costumes just yet. I had chosen my dress; it was a simple but effective sexy little black number. Short to reveal my legs, and low cut to flaunt my cleavage. I may have been a bride-to-be but I was still my own woman, and I was determined to have a damn good time. Across the dress I wore a pink sash with the words “Bride To Be” running diagonally up my body in black writing, and with hearts along it. Everyone else had a sash saying, “Hen Party,” unless they were a “Bridesmaid” or in Joanna’s case, “Maid of Honour.” We drank some champagne, downed a round of shots, which were on the house from the lovely bar manager, and then scuttled outside into waiting taxis.
Liverpool was buzzing, and I highly recommend the city for a hen weekend. The people were friendly and welcoming, congratulating me on getting married as we click-clacked on our heels from bar to bar. Each place we drank in I had to pick out a guy and ask him to kiss me on both cheeks. That quickly got boring as the men were surprisingly shy and wary, suspecting that the joke was on them.
The final bar of the evening, before heading to a club, Joanna had secretly reserved a table with large jugs filled with cocktails for us to play some hen party drinking games. We were all fairly drunk by this point, and I wondered how many of us would last the night, especially me.
One particular game I vividly remember playing was ‘two truths and a lie’ only Joanna’s twisted version was slightly different. She would tell the group something about me, sexual in nature of course, and as a group they had to agree if it was the truth or a lie. If they guessed correct I had to drink some of the cocktail, and if they guessed incorrect then they had to take the drink.
“Ok, ladies, now I’ve explained the rules we shall begin!” an excited Joanna said.
“First truth or lie is… growing up, Bethan had a crush on the Irish boy band Westlife. She couldn’t decide which one she loved the most, so she decided she wanted to lose her virginity to all of them.”
Loud calls of ‘true’ went up with laughter all around me. I blushed and slapped my hands over my face in dire embarrassment, before picking up my cocktail and accepting my fate.
“Fucking bitch!” I grinned at Joanna.
“He-he!” she chuckled back. “Ok, the next one. Bethan gave her first blowjob in the back of some guys car.”
“Some guy?” I protested, quickly followed by more laughter and calls of ‘true’.
“Ok, Kevin Harrison, then!” She shrugged with a grin.
“No it wasn’t,” I smiled ready to correct her, “It was Timmy Simmons inside his bedroom!”
“That horrible little shit!” my mother suddenly burst into life.
Everybody except for my mother exploded into hysterics, before I reminded them of the rules.
They accepted Joanna didn’t know as much about me as she thought she did, and took a large drink each. The game continued for a while longer until Joanna really started to screw down on me. Everybody sensed it was going too far and my mother warned her a couple of times. I wasn’t the dirty slut she was painting me out to be. But I couldn’t deny the last one, which did finally bring the game to a welcome end.
“On our first all-girls holiday to Falaraki, back when Bethan was nineteen…”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I abruptly interrupted her, picking up the half jug of cocktail. “I’ll throw it over you!” I warned her.
Joanna knew my threats were always empty, plus I was giggling. But I was also willing myself inside to do it if she said what I thought she was going to say.
“Out of the six girls on the holiday, Bethan slept with the most guys during our stay. A grand total of five guys in seven nights!”
I relaxed and put the jug back down on the table. She hadn’t said it. For a moment I seriously thought she was going to spill the beans about her walking in on me having a threesome with two guys, they were spit roasting me at the time. Although what she had shared was bad enough.
“It’s a lie!” Tina, one of my bridesmaids shouted. The rest agreed which made me and Joanna rock with laughter.
“Do you want to tell them or shall I?” she nudged me with her shoulder.
Dropping my head in shame, I nodded, blushed, and then held my hands up. “Sorry mum, buts it’s true.”
“And you thought it was the other one who was the slut!” Our Aunt Jane said to our mother, loud enough for everyone to hear and start laughing again.
“Thank god she’s getting married, that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” My mother shook her head in disappointment.
“Drink up my darling little hens!” I screamed in delight.
Just as we were finishing up, a guy around twenty-years-old, from a nearby table of guys around his age, came over to me.
“Sounds… like you love… the cock, babe. You’re a hot looking… MILF!” He drunkenly slurred his words. His friends started laughing from the other table, proud of their idiot mate no doubt.