Running Upstairs

Sonya, who of course sat square in the center of the room, perked up. She saw the panties and waved the guy to hand them over. Obediently, as all guys were to her, they passed the panties. Sonya looked them over. She patted them flat on her desk. Now, the entire class was looking at my panties in the full light of day. Everyone paid attention to Sonya. Once she was satisfied how flat they were, she wrote on them. She took her dainty time to make sure that all the swirls and lines of her writing were neat and had that upbeat feel to them. She raised the panties up and stretched hem wide for everyone to see.

There was an arrow the place between my butt cheeks: "Love ass licking. Will pay $1 to anyone."

She handed my panties to her friend. The friend got her coloring pens out. The next five minutes, she spent drawing on my panties. The entire class was curious to see what would come up next. The teacher had very little attention left. The drawing actually looked very pretty. It looked like an elaborate tattoo with the initials blown into large proportions: "Anya's Pussy."

Everyone wanted to take a look at it. A boy wrote his phone number on it. The words "slut" and "whore" found their way onto her panties as well. At the end of class, someone left the panties on the desk. I found them. I took them.

I still don't know how to feel about this. The strangest thing was that the whole thing blew over. I never got a reputation as a slut. It was entertainment for one school day. Two months later, we left school for good. I still have the panties. They have turned more into a nostalgic memory of my classmates. We are probably all so different now. That all-engulfing importance that existed back then is an old story. I look at the handwriting and remember my classmates. Every detail of those panties is stuck on my mind and flashes back at random moments.