Panties 'r' Pants

(Author's note: In UK slang, something is 'pants' if it's no good or rubbish. Also, all references to 'pants' in this story mean underwear! P.S. There's a game at the end!)

* Clarissa is nineteen. She's started FE college, and still lives at home. She thinks she needs to come out of her shell, and then she'd have more fun. But she's decided she's just not bold - definitely not the outgoing type. And she's never had a relationship. How will she get a boyfriend while she isn't getting out? But she has taken one big step. That may be all it takes. Let's hear her speak for herself... *

I soldiered stoically through two long terms of first year 'Hospitality and Catering Management'. At my age I need to take my future seriously, but I knew I was wilting, neglecting my heart. I thought I could do that like it didn't matter, for reliable employment prospects, and a dependable career path. I live with my mum, and my brother who's at school. Mum and Dad are divorced, though Dad has a place nearby, and we see him quite often. My mother's strong, and I admire her, but she doesn't have time for airy ideas. Perhaps especially because I'm a girl, she wants me to get ahead. She's a partner in a travel consultancy. They don't sell packages to the public - they arrange trips for business clients. Mind you, she's sorted us out some pretty good holidays, growing up!

At college everyone's assigned a personal tutor. Mine is Sarah, and she's pretty smart, for she teaches Law. She's about Mum's age and I expected her to be similarly level-headed. But she told me straight that I seemed withdrawn and unhappy. She said it like a question, because of course she wouldn't pry. But I burst into tears, and spilled out stuff that I felt stupid saying - about wanting to be 'creative' and 'express myself'! She made us both a cup of tea, and asked me how I'd done that in the past. I told her how I'd drawn and painted pictures of models wearing outfits I'd made up, ever since I was at primary school, right through to GCSE year. Did I have a portfolio, she asked. Well, I'd kept all the ones that I was pleased with.

* Clarissa is able to change her course, and join 'Fashion Design and Technology'. Her mum berates her for being impulsive, and says she'll have to work hard to catch up. Then she tells her daughter that she's sure she has talent, and the most important thing is to be doing something you can love! Of course, finding her feet was daunting, when her new classmates already knew each other. But she's befriended - by a guy who seems to understand she needs some help lest she become isolated. He's called Gordon. He's extrovert and camp, and Clarissa is as bemused by him as she's grateful for his kindness! *

Gordon has saved my life! Or rather, he's made everything much easier, broken the ice for me! He's a bit older than those of us fresh from sixth form, and he's gay! I mean he's very 'out' about it - talks about the 'scene', and how much sex he's having!! I imagine lots of people fancy him: he's good fun, and boyishly good looking. I don't include me though. (For a start that would be futile, given his inclinations!) But I mean, I don't know what it feels like to want to have sex with someone. It's never happened with boys I've met. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, and need the 'right one' to come along? But it could be that I'm cold, and tell myself I'm quiet to hide it... And now we're partners on a project, and we're sparking off each other's ideas! That's so exciting!

* Soon, on an afternoon after classes, Gordon invites Clarissa back to the place where he lives nearby. He wants her to meet his flatmate Julie, who's eighteen and first year at college too. They share with their landlady Petunia, although she's often at her boyfriend's. Petunia is a postgraduate, and her parents bought the flat as an investment. She's not much older than Gordon, but she likes to be in charge! The dwelling has a south-facing balcony; that's where Clarissa finds Julie in the sunshine, wearing a tee shirt, and (as it turns out) nothing else. Julie welcomes her warmly, and very soon shares a surprising attitude. *

Today I met Julie - Gordon's flatmate who he talks about, and how they like to annoy the owner who lives there too, because she's posh, and bossy! Julie was outside, reclining on a lounger on their balcony. She looked cool, but when we came over, she lifted her up her shades to give me a very friendly smile, and said she'd heard all about me! She's blonde, with a nice tan on her arms and legs. She's smaller than I am, (most girls are) and pretty in a sort of natural 'girl next door' way. She had on a white tee shirt with 'Pixies' on the front, XL or man-size, too big for her and reaching to her thighs. But when she reached out to shake my hand, there was the fur at the top of her legs, plainly sort of glinting in the sunshine! I mean, she had no pants on, and didn't seem to care that I was there, nor Gordon, for that matter! (Okay, he's gay, but he's still a man - even if she wasn't giving him a thrill!) So we were squeezing fingers, and I was thinking it was an accident - her flashing! But Gordon introduced me saying,

"Clarissa, this immodest hussy is Julie, my junior flatmate. At any moment she'll tell you about her principle."

"Indeed I will. But first we should offer our visitor a drink, don't you think?"

She giggled at her rhyming, sounding the slightest bit tipsy. I noticed the nearly empty glass with ice-cubes in, on a little table beside her. She asked me,

"G&T ok for you, Clarissa?" I nodded.

"Oh, yes, thanks," surprising myself, because I wouldn't usually drink in the afternoon. She said to Gordon,

"Be a dear, get me another too?"

He snorted, and took her glass from her, giving her wrist a slap as well, and went off to sort out drinks for us all. Julie pointed at the lounger next to her, and I dropped my jacket beside it and got on awkwardly, trying to arrange a cushion to sit me up a bit. Gordon came back, and drew up a chair. Julie took a sip from her glass and said,

"I don't know where you stand, Clarissa, but I've found that, whatever they want us to believe, panties," she spoke the word with some contempt, "aren't the essentials they're made out to be! And I do without, healthily and happily, for most of the time. That's all. So please don't think I'm being rude. But I'm not going to be told that a normal part of my body is shameful and disgusting."

She concluded with a nod of finality. I placed her accent as Yorkshire. Plain speaking. I didn't know what I thought. What about hygiene? Decency? Unintentionally my gaze had fallen back on the subject, and apart from where it was, her goldy brown swathe of wisps and twirls was quite pettable-looking! Besides, the details of her anatomy were more or less veiled. I caught her looking at me looking, and may have blushed. But she grinned at me, and turned to Gordon.

"Do you remember last Saturday, when Petunia brought Larry back?"

"Oh yes!" Gordon said assuredly.

"It's Petunia's flat," she said to me, "or rather it's her parents'. Larry's her fiancée." She pronounced the word with Gallic emphasis. "It was three in the afternoon. I think she was miffed to find me only just up, and sitting around. I was coming to after a late night, drinking coffee, dressed in what I sleep in, which is much like this. Anyway, I couldn't believe it: she ordered Larry to wait in the hall, fetched a towel from the bathroom, hauled me bodily off the sofa to my feet, sat me back down on it, and wrapped it over me! Then she called him through, and straight off to her bedroom! Oh, he's alright, Larry: he just said 'hi' and shrugged at us, and trotted after her. They'd been out for lunch, most likely at 'The Dog' around the corner. I reckon a drink or two had given them urgent hots! Well, we heard it all, didn't we Gordon?" He nodded soberly. "Then she emerges in her dressing gown, to go to the loo and make them tea, expecting us to behave oblivious, whilst she's pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, and bushy tailed! All the hallmarks of a woman who's just been satisfactorily fucked!"

"And you have to wind her up..."

"I only asked if she felt better for it, after her exasperation earlier. It was a harmless question!" Julie refined her accent, to mimic her landlady.

'Larry needed me, Julie. He's my fiancée, so I am rightfully available. When you grow up a bit more, you'll appreciate that there are times to be discreet, and not to mention things that don't concern you.' Julie sniggered, and Gordon laughed at her.

"Mind you, the jury's still out on the bushiness of Petunia's tail, isn't it Gordon? I'd put her down for a tidy trim at least. There's a packet of lady razors in her washbag."

"I have to say I wouldn't have so intruded. There should be an etiquette to sharing a bathroom. And not everyone, flatmate, is blessed with the fine fairness you display so freely."

"I take a sympathetic interest in the tribulations of my sisters."

I was enjoying this! The drink was going to my head to make me woozy, the conversation not at all like we had at home! Already, I was heartily in support of Julie's right to show whatever she pleased! But she was looking at my legs, and frowning.

"Aren't you warm Clarissa?"

Black tights in the sun - absorbing heat! I like the 'college girl' look with a short pleated skirt. My legs are long, and I think I can show them off a bit.

"I mean, those aren't stockings, are they? Can't you feel the yeasts fermenting? I'm getting itchy just from looking at you!"

I couldn't pretend I was exactly comfortable.

"Where's your loo?" I asked, and they pointed inside together.

Coming back, I stuffed my hosiery into a pocket of my jacket where I'd dropped it. Lying down again, I was self-conscious that my legs were white and skinny next to Julie's toned and sturdy-looking limbs.

"Well then: knicks or no?" She looked at me with eyebrows raised enquiringly.

My skirt was very short, and with Gordon there, I simply didn't dare! (That's apart from the hair all over the place: I was vowing to tidy up asap!)

"I do have insecurities, I know. And cotton underwear." I was sort of pleased with my answer.

"Oh Clarissa," Julie said, "I'm going to have to work on you, aren't I? But you'll come round - just you wait and see!"

She was such a free spirit, and we'd only just met, but the way she said it struck me - she meant for us to be friends!

* And sure enough, in the half-term break the following week, Clarissa finds herself invited on a hike! *

Julie called me!

"Are you up for an adventure?" she asked me on the phone, and then explained her plan. We'd take a train to Penrith, then navigate about fifteen miles across the moors to a remote youth hostel. Put up there overnight, then the next day trek ten miles to a different station to come back from. We've both done Duke of Edinburgh: we talked about that on her balcony...

...Rain is pelting down now, and the gloom seems like nightfall coming early. It was lovely - warm and sunny - when we set out, and we're both wearing shorts beneath our waterproofs. But now we're bedraggled, grubby with mud splashed on our cold wet legs (at least that's how mine are), even while we're sweating with exertion on a long slippery scramble of a final climb! But we've reached a rough metalled track - some olden time road - and the hostel is ahead, a slate-roofed former farmhouse by the look of it. There are lights on, thank goodness, and smoke coming from a chimney. Hopefully, we'll find hot showers as well...!

"We're a bit basic I'm afraid," says Matt, the warden. He's 30ish, wearing a plaid outdoor shirt. We've hung up our dripping coats inside the entrance, and taken off our boots, and we're standing by the kitchen range and warming up. Through a door we can see a dining room, and an antique-looking wood-burner in a fireplace; there are flickers of orange visible through a grill. "The dormitories aren't heated," he goes on, "but there's loads of blankets for you to use. You're the only ones staying here tonight - it's midweek, after all. And sorry, there's no shower - only the bath."

"Oh. I really wanted to wash my hair..." I say, thinking aloud. It feels lank and greasy without a shampoo after getting wet.

"Me too!" Julie echoes.

"Well ladies, you can use a bowl from the kitchen for rinsing with. Take one of the stainless steel ones." Matt has hair to his shoulders himself. "But you'll only get one bath from the hot water tank. The boiler's ancient, and takes ages to get it warm again when it's been drained." He shrugs. "You'll have to sort out how to share, I guess. Supper's vegetarian - lentil and tomato stew and fresh home-baked bread. Does that sound ok?" We both agree it's wonderful, and head off to brave the chill of the interior.

We pass the bathroom, and look within: it's certainly old. There's an enamelled tub, formerly white but stained with age; a toilet with an industrial hard black seat, and institutional green tiling on the floor and halfway up the walls. There's also a small basin, and a squeezy floor mop in the corner. High on the wall facing the bath is an electric heater, and Julie pulls the switch cord. It only creaks and ticks at first but then emits a sunset glow, and the room seems potentially more inviting.

Leaving the bowl, we close the door, and head to the austere bunk room. While I'm hunting out my washbag from the bottom of my back-pack, Julie's found hers, and she's piling discarded clothing on a handy chair. I was wondering how to decide who goes first, but she's undressed and picking up her towel, so I guess I'll wait. Then Julie looks over her shoulder and says,

"Come on then! The nice man is cooking our dinner and we shouldn't be late!"

Now I see it's obvious to go together, and I take off my top clothes quickly. She's completely bare, and probably getting cold. I'm a bit shy about nudity, but I don't want to look the prude, so I whip my bra and pants off. She says cheerily "Lets go!" and leads the way down the passage. Following, I'm warily clutching my towel, even knowing that the only other person here is busy in the kitchen. Julie's got a wiggle as she walks: I've wondered if some girls practice that! Her cheeks are round and sort of oscillate. It's a very neat bum! I'm kind of envious: I feel big around smaller girls. I'm pretty much eye to eye with the average man. My mum's always telling me not to slouch, and pay attention to deportment. I do try to, but I don't like standing out!

With the plug in and the tap on, the water filling the bath is steaming pleasingly, even if there may not be much of it. We risk a few inches depth, and it's still running hot, and add some cold for fear of scalding. Julie says,

"You get in first, Clarissa, then I will next. We can help each other wash our hair, and use the hot water left for a nice clean rinse off. Does that sound like a plan?"

I agree it does, and step in, sitting down with care, because it's on the hot side of bearable - which is lovely in fact. Julie's sat on the toilet to pee, and now I'm busy splashing and soaping, I'm feeling less self-conscious. Julie stands by to pour scooped-up bowlfuls of water while I do my hair. Rinsed shampoo is streaming down my face when she asks me,

"What's it feel like, Clarissa, to have proper tits, that move about and stuff?"

Once I've stopped spluttering, I look at her. Actually, at her A-cups (that's a guess). I think it's a serious question!

"Well, they do feel pendulous sometimes - if I'm walking about undressed. But I've had them since fourteen, so I'm sort of used to them."

The attention has made me cradle my assets. I see that the nips have sprouted, long and rubbery, like those erasers on pencils! They seem to have a mind of their own. I wonder if Julie's noticed? I hurry on to distract her.

"I get properly measured when I buy bras... Oh, you're down on underwear, aren't you?"

"Actually Clarissa, I reckon that back in the sixties, lots of women suffered for being told that the choice was political! Since the boob goddess has blessed you with a bumper harvest, I'm sure that comfort's all that matters. And who am I to judge?" She looks down at her front, her mouth drooping comically. "I could get them done I suppose..."

"Oh no!" I exclaim, "They're cute - they suit you! You mustn't!" I've strong opinions about cosmetic surgery.

"Aww, that's kind of you." She addresses her boobs: "You'll have to do then, poor little things." She tweaks a pink nipple. "I just might have you pierced though..." she says to it mischievously!

Time's passing while we're talking, so we change places; the room has warmed up nicely, and I haven't finished yet, so I don't get my towel. I'm poised to do what she did for me with the bowl. Teamwork!

When Julie's washed and shampooed, she hunkers back, and says,

"You get in too Clarissa, for the last rinse-off, or we'll be hopping in and out like frogs!"

I clamber in at the tap end, and crouch to fill the bowl with fresh water. Our knees are clashing, there's not a great deal of room. I don't know what gets into me, but I twirl around and deluge her! Water goes everywhere, splashing off the tiled surround. She squeals and grabs the bowl, squeezing me aside to fill it up again. I'm cowering, while she eyes me devilishly, and chucks the contents like a wave breaking in my face! Then totally childish, we're grappling to be the next to drench the other, while the floor is getting flooded! At last it's clear the water's coming tepid, and we get a grip, giggling and breathless, to properly final-rinse each other's hair. We set to mopping up, and I bang my hip on the porcelain basin painfully.

"Ouch! I'm so clumsy! I wish I were graceful - and smaller, more like you..."

"We've just got different bodies, Clarissa. You have your womanly breasts - and those gorgeous long legs. You should be more confident! Models are like you!"

"I bet they don't bump into things, and fall over their own feet!"

"I'm sure they do. Hey! Do you know what? We should take a selfie together - like this!"

"No way!!"

"You should see your face!" She's laughing. "You are selfish Clarissa! Lots of people on the internet would love to see your bod!"

I stick my tongue out at her. The warden is calling now: we need to run and dress for supper.

The next day's walking is fine again, and we chat about what we're seeing, and all sorts of other stuff; ten miles seems quite easy. On the train we buy beer and share snacks, and congratulate ourselves on our fitness! We part at the station, and walking home, I'm wondering when we'll get together again. It's like I'm missing her.

Later, I have a small regret: if she'd persisted, I just might have overcome my inhibitions, and posed for her nudie picture! Not to put online, of course!! But I wish I'd showed her that I dared to!

* A few days later, Gordon offers Clarissa his ticket to a gig. He and Julie were going with some others, but Gordon has double-booked his hectic social life - would she like to take his place instead? *

It's been an amazing night - great bands! I'd have stayed back, but they wanted to mosh, and I got pulled into the heaving sweaty pit where everyone shoves - but looks out for one another! We've had a bit to drink, but what with the high energy dancing, I don't feel much affected. I'd have walked home by myself - it's only half an hour, and it's not unsafe around here. But the others - Julie and the three lads from her course - have set themselves a mission to 'walk Clarissa home!' - even though it's out of all their ways. So I don't really have a say, and it is nice to have the company. It seems no time at all and we're at my front gate. I'm saying thank you, but someone says, "Where's our goodnight kiss, Clarissa?", and then they're all chanting: "Goodnight kiss! Goodnight kiss!" - even Julie, who's pissing herself watching me panic! They're going to wake my mum, or worse, our elderly next door neighbours: the ones who complained all the time about us screaming in the garden when we were kids!!