Vivian was our baby-sitter. Quite a nice young woman. She was eighteen or nineteen, a blue eyed blonde of Scandinavian background. Don't let this mislead you into thinking she was Brunhilde or something similar. Instead of being a tall, buxom, girl she was petite, five foot six at most, with a nice little b-cup. She was a little scatter-brained at times but good with the children.
This particular evening my wife and I were going out to dinner and a show. No particular reason. We just decided to go out. OK, I'll admit that Barbara decided that we were going to go out for dinner and a show. I wasn't actually asked for my opinion.
Vivian showed up in plenty of time and went off to play with the kids. I'd stood back and admired the way her bottom swished back and forth as she walked, wishing I could see her legs. She had very nice legs. However, it was not to be. Vivian was wearing a gypsy skirt. You know the type, long and flowing, with lots of material, reaching right down to the ankles. No leg watching with that on, even when she went running up the stairs. To go with the skirt she had a similar style blouse with lots of flounces on it. The blouse was semi-transparent and I was quite sure that if it hadn't been for those flounces I'd have had a nice view of a b-cup boob, since I was sure she didn't have a bra on. As it was I could only see the sides glimmering through the blouse.
As I'm sure you can guess I was ready to go long before my wife. I'd started leaning on her to get ready while we still had plenty of time but it was still going to be a fairly close thing. While she finished primping I was just prowling around downstairs. I'd have grabbed a snack but didn't want to spoil my appetite for the restaurant meal. It would be an insult to a superlative cook not to properly appreciate his offering.
I was prowling past the bottom of the staircase when there was a squeal from the top of the staircase. A small figure came hurtling down the stairs, giggling and calling, "Save me, Daddy."
Vivian came charging down the stairs after the runaway, also laughing. That is, she started to come charging down the stairs. She slipped part way down, landing on her bottom, and sort of slithering the rest of the way down. She slithered faster than her skirt which rode up, giving me a fine view of those lovely legs of hers. It's amazing that a short young lady can appear to have such long shapely legs.
My daughter shouted something that sounded like "Whoops," darted out from behind me and back up the stairs while Vivian was trying to sort herself out.
I was looking thoughtfully at Vivian, admiring her legs. Admiring more than that as her skirt had ridden up almost to waist level. Bunched the way it was I could probably see more of Vivian's legs and other parts than she could, the bunched cloth blocking her view. Fortunate for me, unfortunate for her, as I'm damn sure she would have acted a lot faster to cover herself up if she'd known what was on display.
"Troubles?" I asked.
Vivian was still laughing. "Little monster," she said cheerfully. "We were playing tag and she knows she wasn't supposed to run downstairs. She cheated."
"That's life," I told her. "It's always the sweet, innocent, ones that do you in. Um, just as a matter of curiosity, do you realise that you forgot to wear panties today?"
She blinked, trying to take in what I said. Then the words filtered through to her consciousness and she reacted as though stuck with a pin. She gave a squawk, hastily pushing her skirt down and covering her legs. A pity. Maybe I should have waited a while before making that observation.
She stared at me, red-face, for a moment, before saying, with great indignation, "Oh, you liar. Don't do that to me. I did no such thing."
I smiled, held out a hand, and helped her to her feet. Her skirt had an elastic waistband. I hooked one finger over the side and pulled it out and slightly down.
"Look for yourself," I told her, being a gentleman and not looking myself.
She glanced down, her face regaining its blush, and slid a hand down inside her skirt, apparently needing a physical inspection to make sure. She snatched her hand out quickly, also snatching her skirt out of my grasp.
"I don't know how that could possibly happen," she said in a half-wail.
I did. A trifle scatter-brained, as I said. She probably had her skirt and panties on her bed and put the skirt on first. After making sure it hung right she just totally overlooked the fact that her panties were still lying on the bed and went traipsing happily away.
"Don't worry about it," I told her. "No-one is going to notice. Apart from me. You looked totally charming."
She gave me a nasty look.
"If you'll excuse me I have to get back to the children," she said.
"Off you go," I encouraged her. "Your little secret will remain our little secret. Until we get back from the show, that is."
"You're going to tell Barbara?" she asked indignantly.
"Not as such, but she'll probably notice when I lift up your dress and screw you rotten. You know how it is. Going commando makes you fair game."
"You'll do no such thing," she gasped.
