Carla's Pals Give Thanks for Her

Walking home at the end of her Wednesday work day, Carla paid more attention than usual to the sights along her route on this, her last working day before leaving town. The trip from the bank where she worked to her apartment was as simple as could be; turn right after clearing the front door and walk three blocks, crossing the street somewhere along the way where traffic allowed. Finding a convenient place to cross was all too easy these days; the historic business district of Ardmer, Oklahoma had long ago lost most of its customers to newer shopping centers and office buildings on the outskirts of town, making crossing the main drag no problem. Still, she thought it was a pleasant enough stretch, with a few fun shops and restaurants, "nice, but not enough to keep me here," she thought as she came to her building.

She had given her manager two weeks' notice two weeks ago. She told him she wanted to move back to the Pittsburgh area, to be closer to her family. Her explanation was true but incomplete. She didn't mention that the only reason she had ever laid eyes on this town in the first place was her decision to follow her boyfriend Ethan as he returned to his hometown when they both graduated from college. With the relationship now definitively ended by Ethan's decision a few months ago to get back together with his high school sweetheart, Carla was more than ready to end the Ardmer chapter in her life. Other than finishing packing up her stuff in order to be out of her apartment by December 1st, she was basically done with this town.

Carla would rather have moved earlier, but since she hadn't lined up a new job yet and her lease ran through November she'd delayed her departure. With a deadline now looming, she planned on spending a good part of the four day Thanksgiving weekend packing for her move. Before getting down to work boxing up her belongings, she decided to stop by at what had become her favorite place in the town, a bar a few doors down the street from her apartment.

Named, for no obvious reason, "The Whistlestop," the place was not quite a dive but had clearly seen better days. She often wondered how it could stay in business at all with as few patrons as it had; seeing more than eight customers at a time was highly unusual, and usually half of that number was all you were likely to find chatting with the bartender. All the regulars knew each other and apparently had done for years, probably for decades.

Carla stood out from the Whistlestop's longtime customers in every way imaginable; she was almost always the only woman in the place, younger than the average customer by at least a decade or two, was usually the only college graduate present, and was just generally Not-From-Here. Being an outsider hadn't prevented her from being warmly welcomed into the joint's barfly society; she generally stayed for two beers, maybe as many as three on a weekend visit if she had a meal and was watching a football game. However long she stayed, she never seemed to need to buy herself more than one round. Anything more than that was usually covered by one or another of the regulars.

Being a very nicely proportioned young woman with a pretty face certainly helped keep her spending down, but she quickly learned that though her middle-aged fellow barflies liked to flirt with her, they didn't expect buying her a drink to lead anywhere. She wasn't sure if they were too worried about their wives finding out to make a play for her or if they were just genuinely well behaved. Whatever the reason, other than the occasional mild comment when she was wearing something shorter or tighter than one of her typical workplace outfits, the men she hung out with at the Whistlestop treated her more like just another drinking buddy than a possible conquest.

The outfit Carla was wearing as she entered the Whistlestop this particular evening was more or less her regular weekday look as the days were getting cooler; a white button-down blouse over somewhat heavy leggings, with a long lightweight sweater, partly for the slightly chilly walk to and from work but also good to provide coverage for the lighter weight leggings she sometimes wore. Despite today's leggings being conservative enough for work, she knew she could count on a comment or two from some of her fellow customers, nothing particularly rude, just their weird way of letting her know they thought her butt looked good. Right on schedule, Keith, one of the regulars, welcomed her as she stepped up to the bar, "Well hello, Carla! I see you forgot your skirt again, not that I'm complaining."

"Well, Keith," Carla replied as she took off her sweater and draped it over an empty barstool, "I don't expect you to be up on the latest fashions, but no, I'm not wearing pantyhose, these are called LEGGINGS, and they're perfectly respectable work wear, especially with the tails of my blouse being long enough to keep perverts like you from staring at my butt." Carla's smile let Keith and his usual drinking buddy Tim know they were all in on the joke.

"I don't know, Carla, I'm not sure that blouse is long enough to cover as much as you think it does," Tim chimed in.

"Honestly, I don't see what all the fuss is about," Carla replied, taking her beer along as she stepped a few feet away from the bar. She lifted the hem of her blouse up, probably a little more than she intended, revealing for a few seconds not just the waistband of her leggings, not only her toned abs, but also the lower half of a lacy white bra, "See, they're heavy enough and dark enough to not be very revealing, even without the blouse."

"Without the blouse, you say? Now that I'd like to see!" chuckled Keith. Tim nodded in agreement.

"Dude, I'm NOT taking my shirt off for you guys. So, how're you all doing today?"

"Okay, I guess," Keith said, "but I heard a disturbing rumor this morning."

"Oh, it is something scandalous?" she asked, hoping for some juicy gossip.

"Not scandalous, just unfortunate if it's true. My wife has a cousin who works in the bank where you work. She said the word in the bank is that you're leaving town, is that so?"

"Suddenly choked up, Carla admitted, "Yes, I've been meaning to let you all know, but you guys are about all I'll miss about this town, so I've had a hard time telling you."

Keith looked down at his shoes and said, "We'll surely miss you, but to be honest I've never understood why you stuck around here after you and Ethan broke up."

"Just wanted to not feel like I was running away, I guess."

"Once you're gone, Tim and I will need to find some other girl to class up the joint; you'll be hard to replace, not to mention how long it will take for us to train the newcomer."

Keith and Tim each bought her a couple of rounds to accompany her bar meal as she filled them in on her plans. Much later than she'd planned, Carla bid her two favorite barflies good night, saying, "see you guys sometime this weekend," as she put her sweater on.

"Weekend? You're not joining us here tomorrow for the Cowboys game?" Keith said, faking outrage.

"I just assumed this place would be closed on Thanksgiving like everything else in town. I really need to do some packing, but I could probably stop by for a while."

"Until tomorrow, then!" said Tim, sounding exactly like someone who'd downed as many beers as he had in the last four hours.

Thursday morning came at Carla at what seemed like an unnecessarily early hour. A shower, followed by some toast and coffee cleared her head enough to focus on her list of tasks for the day. She needed to do laundry, but remembered a sign at her regular laundromat saying it would be closed for the holiday, so she spent a few hours packing boxes. Feeling like three hours of packing was enough for the time being, at noon she started a nice long Zoom call with her folks as they were getting their feast in place. Around 45 minutes into the call her Mom excused herself to check on the turkey. "I see you're all dressed up for the holiday," her Dad teased, seeing Carla in a long flannel shirt and leggings.

"C'mon, Dad," she pleaded, "this is about all I have that's not a work outfit, dirty or already packed; besides, dressing this casually for Thanksgiving is the only real advantage to my spending the holiday here. Don't make me feel guilty about being comfortable."

"So no big plans for the day?" he asked.

"Nope, packing, having something basic to eat, reading something if I have anything interesting not already packed, and maybe watching a little football." she replied, remembering her loose plan to hang out at the Whistlestop.

"That's right, we'll be watching the Steelers here too, after cleaning up."

"Actually, Dad, I'm ashamed to admit I forgot about the Steelers playing today; the only team anyone around here cares about is Dallas."

"Oh, well; when in Ardmer, do as the Ardmerians do, I suppose. Or is it Ardmerites? Anyway, your Mother is summoning me to help with something in the kitchen; have a good day, love from us both."

"Bye, love you too!" she said before ending the call. She did a little more work around the apartment, but when she noticed there was less than an hour left until the start of the Cowboys game she wrapped up what she was doing and left her packing behind to go down to the Whistlestop.

Carla opened the front door of the bar just as four guys about her age were leaving. A little surprised to see people her own age there, even if they were leaving, she wondered if Thanksgiving was some sort of big day for the Whistlestop; maybe no other local bars were open? Once she had taken two steps in past the door, she saw the joint was, as usual, nearly empty.

"Too busy for them, I guess!" said Keith.

"But we managed to save you a seat!" said Tim.

"Your usual?" asked Ron, the bartender and owner.

"Their loss," she said to Keith.

"Thanks for looking out for me," she said to Tim.

"Sure, I'll have a Lone Star, and can I get a cheeseburger platter?" she said to Ron. She had only seen Ron behind the bar a handful of times, he normally left the operation of the bar to his brother Ed. Carla gave Ron a nice smile as she placed her order, pleased to see the owner giving his one employee Thanksgiving off. Ron and Ed were both in their late sixties, which she supposed was why closing time was never later than 11 PM.

The bar's only three customers chatted about their respective Thanksgiving plans. Both Keith and Tim had planned their day around watching the game and drinking beer, which dovetailed nicely with their situations at home; both men would be having dinner later tonight a couple hours after their spouses ended their shifts at the Homeland grocery store. Between them they had a half dozen kids, but they were all older teens, apparently able to be left on their own so their Dads could hang out at the bar.

Carla was not a serious football fan, but couldn't help hearing at work all about the miserable season the Cowboys were having. That small bit of knowledge, combined with her loosely paying attention to how her hometown Steelers were doing this year gave her plenty of ammunition as she, Keith and Tim had their own joking pre-game show. She actually liked watching football, but had never understood why it was necessary to talk for two hours before and one hour after a three hour game.

"Despite your almost total lack of football knowledge, I'm glad you made it in time for some of the pregame," Keith said, "even if you had to come in your pajamas to get here on time." He called Ron over and asked for another round of beers.

"Jesus!" replied Carla, feigning indignation, "You seem to be having as hard a time understanding this as you had with the concept of sports bras. How many times do I have to explain this to you,"she asked, pointing at her legs, "these are LEGGINGS, not pantyhose, not underwear, and, no, not pajamas. I have occasionally slept in them, so I guess technically you're not entirely wrong."

Keith nodded and replied, "See, even you aren't sure what you're wearing. At first I thought they might be leggings, but they look different than the ones you were wearing last night, so I thought they might be pajamas. The shirt definitely looks like a pajama top, too."

"Wrong again," Carla replied, chuckling, "This type of heavy shirt, baggy and long enough to cover a woman's butt, is called a Boyfriend shirt, and is often worn out in public, especially when paired with, yup, LEGGINGS!" Satisfied she had given her companions a thorough enough education in casual fashion choices for the time being, she finished off her beer.

After a long pause Keith replied, "It's still kind of confusing. I think to understand how what you were wearing yesterday compares with your current outfit, I'd need to see the complete leggings you're wearing today, like you were kind enough to show us yesterday."

"Sounds to me like you just want to see how my butt looks in today's leggings." Carla said, sounding doubtful.

"If I remember correctly," Keith said, "you claim leggings can be worn with or without a top covering your bottom, so what's the big deal?"

"Well," Carla responded, "last night I slipped up a bit and raised my blouse a little too high. I'm pretty sure I accidentally gave you guys at least a partial flash of my bra. Since I'm not wearing one today and raising the long shirt is kind of awkward, I'm not sure I want to risk flashing what I'd be flashing if I were to make the same mistake as yesterday!"

"No bra, really?" Tim asked.

Carla was amused by the attention her friends paid to the truly insignificant fact that there was only one layer of plaid flannel between her boobs and the world. Her shirt was more than heavy enough and baggy enough to keep her body well concealed without the help of a bra. Her slightly naughty response to Tim and Keith's curiosity most likely wouldn't have been possible if she wasn't well into her third beer, but something stirred her to prove she wasn't, for some strange reason, lying about her lack of a bra. Before she had time to think too hard about it, she had begun unbuttoning her shirt! She calmly worked her way down; one button, then a second, and after a brief hesitation, a third!

Counting the button at her collar, which most likely hadn't been buttoned since Ethan unwrapped the package it came in last Christmas morning, Carla's shirt was now more than halfway opened, all the way down to a spot slightly below her breasts! She carefully pulled the two sides apart far enough to show her companions a generous view of her braless cleavage. She laughed at the shocked but pleased reactions to her method of proving that her shirt truly was all she had covering her above her waist. Seated between her companions, she swiveled back and forth on her stool to give them both a good look, then fastened the lowest button again.

The joking protests to her refastening even one button weren't really why she left the other two undone; she was surprised to find herself enjoying the effect this bit of teasing had on Keith and Tim, and didn't see any harm in letting them see a little of her cleavage. It hadn't been something she thought much about at the time, but she was glad now that she hadn't bothered putting on one of her usual 38C bras this morning.

"So, we've established that you are definitely not wearing a bra. Thank you for clearing that up. Does that mean you can't just carefully show us the rest of the leggings?" asked Keith.

"I'm pretty sure you just want to ogle my ass, but if it will shut you up, sure," Carla replied, smirking. She stepped off her barstool and took a few steps away from the two barflies, stopping at a relatively bright area produced by a misaligned spotlight, meant to light up a corner where bands used to play. Standing in her little pool of light, facing away from her friends, she quickly unfastened the bottom two buttons on her shirt, leaving only the two nearest her waist fastened. She was surprised to feel a sudden urge to undo the two remaining buttons, and impulsively gave in, at least partially, unfastening one more! She went as far as rolling her thumb around the edge of the last button, but didn't seriously consider undoing it, keeping her shirt more or less closed.

Carla looked over her shoulder to check how her companions were reacting as she tentatively lifted the rear of her shirt, carefully bunching up the soft cotton, not stopping until her leggings were clearly, completely uncovered. Until now she hadn't thought too much about which of her several pairs of leggings she was wearing that day, but now that she was showing them off to her companions she remembered that they were noticeably thinner than the ones she had worn yesterday, and way clingier, somehow managing to hug her every curve like a second skin, including each curve of each separate butt cheek. The looks on the faces of all three men said it all; they couldn't help showing their awe at how this miracle of complicated garment design, lycra, exercise and genetics had resulted in the amazing sight they were being treated to.

After allowing what she thought a generous amount of time for her three observers to study her practically painted on leggings, she smiled and turned to face her audience, lifting the front tails enough to show them that view. She was unaware at first how lifting the tails had made the mostly open front above her waist gap open even wider. Seeing the look on her buddies faces, obviously enjoying her performance, she checked to see exactly what they were seeing.

Looking down, she almost gasped when she saw that from her vantage point she could clearly see her entire right nipple, including its small brown areola, lit well by the spotlight. Only the fact that the edge of her shirt had bunched up in front of the nipple kept it out of sight, probably, from where her audience was standing. Realizing she couldn't be sure how much she'd just shown her friends, she blushed and quickly turned her back to her companions, this time buttoning even the never used top button before returning to her barstool.

Carla listened as Keith and Tim babbled at length about how flattering today's leggings were, comparing them as politely as possible to the ones she had worn the day before. She even made a couple of comments about the leggings herself, but mostly she was distracted by how close she'd just come to treating her buddies to a serious boob flash. They seemed to have no idea just how close they had been to seeing even more of her, but the unexpected bit of exposed flesh they did get to see had definitely made an impression, no surprise there.

The revelation was how much she herself was excited by seeing her nipple out in the open, independent of what her audience did or didn't see! She was fairly sure her brush with a nip slip had been accidental, but feeling as exhilarated as she did now she wasn't 100% convinced that some part of her psyche normally held in check was making its presence felt.

Carla had somehow managed to make it through high school and college without any part of her body typically covered by a modest bikini ever being seen in anything like a public setting. No streaking for her, no wet t-shirt contests, no raunchy truth or dare parties, no sexting gone awry, not even going topless at a beach when she vacationed with friends in Greece before her last year in college. She often wished she could be as uninhibited as some of her girlfriends were, but whenever a chance for her to be a little daring had come up she had always found some reason to hold back. She wasn't a prude, and had fun being around her friends when they had that sort of adventure; she just had always been a little more reserved, to the point of generally being considered shy.

Regardless of whether it had been an innocent slip or some previously repressed urge which caused her to nearly expose herself, the effect was clear; she was sure her pulse rate must have doubled the moment she saw the exposed nipple, before she'd even had time to process the fact that her friends were close to seeing it right along with her. She felt a little bit embarrassed, but also, surprisingly, felt at least as much excitement. One thing she didn't feel was regret. "No harm done, really," she thought, "especially with me leaving town next week. These guys have certainly seen that much and way more plenty of times at that nudie bar over in Kingston they always talk about."