Panties 'r' Pants

"Ok, ok! Be quiet! Please!!" I'm pleading desperately. Simon is nearest, and I go to peck his cheek, but he pulls me to him (gently to be fair), and plants his lips on mine, and not wanting to be mean, I let him smooch me for a bit. Actually, I feel sort of fitting in his arms, because he's tall! Next comes Adam, who's only my height. He's the laddish one, and goes straight for tongues! I clamp my teeth to keep him out, squirming while he pokes at them between my lips. It's very slobbery! Nonetheless, I smirk at him victoriously when he has to let me go! Charlie's geeky, shy like me I think, and I snog him so he doesn't feel left out, until we part embarrassed! Overall, I hope I'm hiding it - that I last kissed a boy at a school friend's fourteenth birthday party! Then Julie's there, pointing at her puckered lips. So I lean in to play the game, and our mouths touch softly, and seem to adhere, and I can taste her breath - a kind of sweetness, like liqueur, and we linger, neither of us breaking off, for long enough that when we do, the guys are looking at us interested! Julie makes eyes at me comically, and I almost say how nice she is to kiss, but stop myself. I wave them all goodbye, and head down the path to my front door, hunting for my key as I go.

* In her darkened bedroom, Clarissa takes stock, leaning on the window sill, looking out on moonlit shapes and shadows in the darkness of the garden. There's no disturbing light from the street or neighbours. It's past one in the morning but she isn't tired. She's thinking about Julie - how she thinks about her constantly! She wants to be with her all the time. Could she be in love? Clarissa tries that on for size. 'You can't choose who you fall in love with.' Someone said that. And her love is a girl - comes with a girl's body - like even that much is not a choice! She feels so happy, like everything is possible - the world all full of hope and opportunity! And a part of her is also scared, that she's living in a big shiny soap bubble, surely destined to burst...

But for now, undressed to her glossy blouse, (her bra), and white knickers, her fingertips are rubbing circles on the latter, at the front where it feels nicest. She likes this sort of underpants, and has lots of pairs. Sometimes when she puts them on freshly, clean and soft - a frisson alerts her to her sexual side. Maybe Julie gets that feeling in quite the opposite way! Rising pleasure is warming her. The need to let off steam has been building up. She's kind of held off, not caring to dilute her other sentiments. She's not ashamed of wanking: if she had a proper sex-life, she expects that would take care of it, but she doesn't.

Further back, there's a damp spot on the gusset, and her heart is beating faster. She pulls the panties to her knees, and runs a finger frictionlessly along the deep groove of her vulva. The arousal-heated region cools with exposure to the bedroom air. Clarissa dips into the copious ooze of hot slime from her vagina, and spreads it lubriciously, rendering succulent her fleshy flaps and crinkles (so peculiar to look at in the mirror.) Moving to her clit, with a slick fingertip she eases back the hood, and encouraged, the little nub peeps out. She shudders, squeamishly sensitive to her touch. She rolls off her knickers, discarding them twisted on the floor. She fancies she can feel her tiny erection protruding. She crosses her ankles and wriggles, and decides to take off her remaining clothes.

She puffs out her chest, and takes heart: her problematic breasts aren't floppy really - they're quite firm! She massages them, tweaking at the nipples, which harden, excited. She pinches experimentally. With more pressure the pain grows piercing. With release, the thrill makes her eyes water! She does it several times, to each, with exhilarating effect. Stimulated, she returns a hand between her legs, and rubs with purpose, finding a rhythm, comfortable and fast, and her spirits soar. Then a climax rushes towards her, like the mouth of a tunnel appearing out of nowhere to swallow up a thundering locomotive. She holds still, pulsating in the enveloping heat until it passes over. What's got into her is so good! Perhaps it will end in death! But she chuffs on. And of course the time comes that the pinnacle ascended is too high, the precipice too sheer for balance, and she tumbles. A thought persists alone, while all her others are atomised by the time bomb's explosion: "Oh my god I'm going to be noisy!!" *

Could you have a heart attack like this - when it's so overwhelming? I'm on the floor! I had to gag myself with a mouthful of pants - it was that or sound like being murdered! I must look ridiculous! Ooh... my nipples are sore. Why did I do that to them? I should wash, but I just want to crawl into bed. Poor maligned panties - they do have uses, whatever Julie says! Sometimes skanky slumber is the soundest...!

* On Saturday evening, Gordon, Julie, and Clarissa are going clubbing. Clarissa has made an effort, and she's nervous! She meets them at nine at their flat. *

We're in Julie's lounge. She's totally lovely and I'm trying to tell her, but she won't stop cooing over me! You can get your haircut at the college: you pay seven pounds, and an aspiring hairdresser gets to practice! It's a risk, but I struck lucky with a natural in her trade - Bethany - bubbly and talkative, with a good eye too, as it turned out. I let her do her own thing - trim and feather to her heart's content. We were equally pleased with the result, and she took photos for her course work. When I said I was going out, she wanted to do my makeup too, actually enthusing about my colouring: brunette hair, hazel eyes - complexion pale as death! So off she went - daring to boldly colour like I never have before! More photos (and another five quid!) for her. I wasn't myself as I knew me when I left! That has something to do with what I'm revealing now, taking off my vintage leather bomber (a bargain from a weekend break in Amsterdam: thank you, Mum!).

I went shopping, just looking for a top: I owned the cropped, flared, black denim jeans I'm wearing, the heeled Oxford lace-up booties (size 8 - oh dear), and the stocking socks to fill the gap. And now, Julie is looking at me like a startled goldfish! I've already named it 'burgundy bondage' for the colour, and the straps and laces! At first I thought it was lingerie, and for a smaller girl, to boot! I'm baring all my midriff, and a good deal of my bosom! We're talking an acre of chalk-white flesh...

Julie's shut her mouth, and she's calling to Gordon, who's in the kitchen preparing drinks to set us on our way. I'm thinking desperately to borrow something else. Gordon emerges, dressed to go, debonair in white shirt, waistcoat, and skinny black jeans.

"Look at Clarissa!" Julie says, "Did you ever see a creature more desirable?"

Gordon gives me the warm look he often does when we're working together.

"Well done, girlfriend!" he says. "You know, in another life..." He laughs.

Julie's seen I'm anxious. I'm looking into her eyes: she's shadowed and shaded with emerald and bronze, glossed her lips extra-kissable. Her hair's brushed out so fine and fair she looks ethereal. She's taller on strappy platform sandals. She's wearing silver satin shorts, and a loose-sleeved silky lilac blouse which bares one shoulder and clings where it touches her body. She's put her arm around my middle to encourage me, and her fingers are resting on skin. A tipsy, breathless feeling comes over me from nowhere. I tell her she's gorgeous, feeling shy for the sincerity.

* The venue is Gordon's choice: it's called 'The Gay Bar' after the song. *

It must be something about this time of evening: it's chokka block in the toilets, with women queueing, and vying for mirror space at the basins. Ahead of me, Julie goes first, and when she emerges we swop, while she infiltrates the preening throng to wash her hands. This night's been amazing so far: we've had a couple of drinks, and worked out with some hardcore raving - at first the three of us together, then Gordon went off to circulate - he seems to be well known here. There's a wonderful mix of people: some look quite straight, well others are flamboyant in fashion, and some quite ambiguous in gender! I've caught people eyeing me, and worry that my look doesn't fit. But Julie said, "I told you, you look like a model - they're wondering if you're someone famous!" I can't believe that, but I love her being so nice to me!

I've used the last of the loo roll guiltily (I hope the next occupant's got a tissue). I'm pulling up my clothes when I think of it: Julie's philosophy! I don't know if tonight she's practicing what she preaches, but what fun it would be to see her reaction if I told her I've got no pants on! But the trouble is I do, and the floor in this cubicle's wet and yukky! There's no way I can take my trousers off in here, is there...?

...But I've done it! I'm knickerless! I had to make like a stork, but I didn't take my jeans off. I thought it might be possible! Now someone's knocking, impatiently or urgently, so I flush and exit pronto, stuffing my redundant undies in my pocket. Washing my hands, I don't see Julie, so I figure she's gone back up. Climbing the stairs, a seam is rubbing personally. It feels indecent - and liberating too!

In the glare and shadows, I don't find her straight away, but she's by the dance floor, caught in UV light, her top translucent, her torso silhouetted. But a female figure, tall like me, in a skintight costume, jet-black and shiny, is paying her close attention, slender fingers trailing her uncovered shoulder! A mix of astonishing feelings wells up and propels me towards them. But Julie beckons eagerly when she sees me. The woman is older than we are - in her thirties I'd say - a seductive scary vampire in goth makeup! She dwells with her arched eyebrows on my chest, as if appraising me for her nefarious intentions! When I meet her eyes, she only winks playfully, then melts away on impossible stilettos.

"Clarissa! Where have you been? She kept calling me 'pretty little one!' I thought she was going to eat me up!"

"I'm feeling peckish, too." I realise what I've said, though she doesn't pick it up. All of a sudden I've got to open up to her.

"There's some tasty guys in here - have you noticed?" she says. "It's a shame that feminine charms may not do it for them!"

My heart is sinking. I know I'm going to burst my bubble - I can't help myself.

"Have you had many boyfriends?" I ask. I don't even know for certain, there's not someone now, somewhere!

"A few," she said. "A couple of fated holiday romances. Some short-lived hook-ups. In the end just sex, you know?"

I don't want to know! Something must show on my face. She's realised, and she's looking at me sympathetically.

"Oh Clarissa, you poor goose!" she's teases, "Has no-one ever loved you?"

I mustn't be pathetic.

"My mum and dad do, I guess, and even my brother maybe, if you pressed him." I try to smile.

Then she shocks me: I thought she'd noticed nothing.

"Clarissa, do you think you're gay?"

"Am I?" I have to let it out. "It's just, I mean - it's you!"

I look away. I might cry. I feel devastated.

But she takes my hand calmly. "Lets dance," she says, "you romantic!" She's consoling me. Julie rests her hands on my hips and lays her cheek against my shoulder, and I embrace her gently, feeling her warm damp skin through the thin material of her top, breathing the sharp scent of her shampooed hair. The beat is slow, and I can pretend. And we're friends. If that's all, it's still a lot.

Beside us, another couple's relationship is clear to see. The one sports a retro man's suit, with waistcoat and brogues, and hair slicked back and parted. There's something about a light build and luminous complexion: a boy that age would never have got in! The other's ribbons and ringlets are totally girlish, as is her party frock with lacy underskirt peeping. As we watch, roving hands are disturbing her skirts, revealing stocking tops and suspenders, and a curvacious bottom encased in satin frillies, which gets a lingering fondling! Julie giggles, and moves her hands to my bum. Then she's curiously prying in my pocket. Next thing, my underpants are dangling from her fist!

"Are these spare, then? Just in case?" Her eyes are sparkling with amusement.

"No!! I was going to tell you. I just took them off! You're right - it's good to be without!"

That song is fading, segueing into the next. She's looking at me, considering something. It's giving me butterflies, fluttering in my tummy.

"Clarissa, shall we go home?"

We fetch our jackets from the cloakroom. As we get to the door to the street Julie pauses, and gives me an inscrutable look. She's been holding them all this time. In front of bemused security, with a flourish, Julie drops my panties in the bin!

It's chilly, and we're walking quickly, heading towards her flat. Halfway there I stop us. "What are we doing?" I ask her. I can't think how to say what I mean.

"Going to bed together, goose? At least I hope so."

There's no audience this time. Our second kiss is a street light-lit conspiracy between us.

* At the flat they're alone. Gordon will likely make a night of it. Petunia is away for the weekend, which means her bedroom - and her double bed - are vacant. So following quick trips to the bathroom, that's where the girls go now. *

I've texted Mum so she knows I'm staying over with a friend. There's a table lamp on in the corner, and Julie's kneeling on the bed, undressed already while I'm struggling with laces - stood not in my knickers, because I haven't got any, have I?

"Won't she mind, your landlady, us in her bedroom - in her bed?"

"No. I mean, she won't know will she?" Then she exclaims, "A wet patch! There's another - I mean dried up ones!"

"You are dreadful!"

"I'm just being observant... I'd be worried if her sheets were pristine!"

"It's very perfumed in here."

"Petunia is ever fragrant. And Gordon also for that matter. Hey, don't I smell nice too? Get a move on - come and sniff me!"

Finally I've escaped my garment, and she welcomes me under the duvet. We're kneeling side by side, pretending to be enthralled with a tidemark on a pastel pink sheet. The giving surface sinks us together, hip to hip. In the hush beneath the tented bedding there's only the sound of our humid breathing. I go to kiss her again, and our noses collide like she's had the same idea. We work around that, and find each other's mouth. Nicely docked, everything's watery, tasting honey-sweet like the clichés, and I can feel my temperature rising. She puts her cupped hand under a breast, and lifts it curiously. She reads my areolae with the ticklish pads of her fingertips, and flips the nipples as if seeing what might happen. Something melts inside me! We've been tongue tangling all the while. When we come up for air, I kiss her neck, then her throat, and the soft swellings of her chest. Boldly, I pull at her nips with pursed lips: they're firm, and they get harder which must be arousal, and wonderfully she sighs, and snuggles closer! I trail her thigh with my fingers trembling, until in a dip I touch the fur which started all of this! Her breathing seems to catch deep in her throat. My heart is pounding. She moves a knee aside, and whispers in my ear:

"Just to let you know, goose. I think it's wet in there."

"Show me?" Emotion makes it come out croaky.

She rests her fingers on mine, and leads me to explore.

Fin

(Guys, here's a game. In the club's insalubrious loo, Clarissa took her panties off, but kept her jeans on all the time. It's not too hard to work out what to do. Break the ice at parties?)