I was in my second year of University, studying for midterms in my bedroom upstairs. Mom was in Denver visiting Grandma. That left Frank, my stepfather, and me at home. So, it's Saturday night and he has some buddies over for poker and drinks. They're in the dining room swilling whiskey or bourbon and smoking fat stogies or whatever it is that frat brothers do when they're flying solo and free from the bondage of life. You know, that thing that men do when their wives aren't around. They howl at the moon like a pack of wolves and try to relive their youths.
Anyway, they're getting kind of loud and the music is thumping on the walls to the point that I can't focus anymore. I gotta fix that, right? I'm tired and thirsty and cranky and stressed; in short, a little bitchy. So I waltzed down the stairs from my bedroom into the living room, over to the stereo and give the volume nob a spin, then head for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of juice. I strut through the dining room, past three open-jawed middle-aged men and a glaring set of eyes from Frank. Into the kitchen, I go. I reached up into the cupboard to grab a glass for my juice. Then it's three paces across the kitchen, past the island to the fridge. I flung the door open with some authority and a blast of cold air rippled across my chest. I poured my juice and then slammed the fridge door shut again. I waltzed across the kitchen and then into the dining room right past the middle age frat brothers in the dining room again with my juice in hand and back up the stairs to my bedroom. I set my glass down on the nightstand and plunk my ass down on the bed then realize that I'm just in socks and a V-neck T-shirt.
I jumped off the bed so that I could give myself the once-over in the mirror that hung on my bedroom wall. Yup, I was sure a sight. Just the V-neck and ankle socks. I was naked otherwise; no bra, no panties, and an old, threadbare white T that barely covered my ass. I looked down and saw two pink nipples poking out. Now, when I say poking out, I mean poking. Not poking like poking out through a bra on a chilly day. I mean poking out like braless, fully erect nipples and the clearly visible outline of my pink areola. My T-shirt was sheer thin. You know, those worn-out t-shirts that should have made their way into the recycling bin a year or two before. They're like old friends that you don't have the heart to part with so you keep them long past their expiration date. It was like I had tried to cover a Playboy Cover Page with tracing paper. You could see the shape of each teacup-sized breast and the circular shape of each pink nipple as it transitioned from pink to the flesh tone of each breast. The V-neck was so stretched out and low that it hung to the bottom of my breast bone like one of those risqué gowns that movie stars wear to the Oscars for appearance and shock value. The hem hung down to just barely crotch level. I turned around to look at my ass. I did a few deliberate calisthenics moves to see the limits of coverage; I reached up, I bent down, I leaned over, I stood up; it covered the cheeks of my ass anyway, but if I leaned forward to about 45 degrees, you could see the crack of my ass from behind or my nipples from the front as the tracing paper garb billowed out like the spinnaker of a sailboat. I leaned forward at a 45-degree angle for a minute or so; looking down my top. Yup, I could see right the way down to my toes; my tits, my nipples, my pubic bone, and even the pink bows on my ankle socks. It was a clear view!
Oh geez, that's risqué! I giggled to myself. No wonder they were no objections when I turned down the music! They had their own private show, me prancing around like a half-naked Dorothy, "I'm off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz."
Honestly, it was quite unintentional. But then, what's done is done. Time is linear and you can't undo what you've done so I just giggled to myself and flopped onto my bed on my tummy and flipped my textbook back over. Two minutes later, up goes the music again. I just shook my head, rolled my eyes, plugged in some earbuds, and did my best to ignore it. I couldn't hear much but I could feel the thumping of the bass notes carried through the framework of the house. I could feel it and I could see the juice rippling in the glass that was on my nightstand.
About an hour later, my glass is empty and I'm pretty much spent so, I head down to the kitchen for a glass of water. Now, I know what you're thinking; and, yes I could have gotten a glass of water from the bathroom upstairs and no I didn't try to cover up. I've known these guys for years. There was Frank, who was my stepdad, and his buddies: Larry, Curly, and Moe or whatever the fuck their names were.
So I retraced my steps. I went down the stairs with my two pink headlamps leading the way. I caught them out of the corner of my eye; giving me the old once over as I came down the stairs. There were four sets of drunk and horny eyes peering up over their cards, running up and down my figure. They watched my tight quads flexing as I came down the stairs and my teacup breast swaying back and forth against my white V-neck T like two synchronized pendulums. I smiled politely, gave them a nod, and walked over to the stereo in the living room. I bent over, straight-legged, to 45 degrees, intentionally exceeding the safe limits of the lean angle with my back toward them. They got a full view of my ass and a little clam squished out between my cheeks. I made my way to the dining room and shuffled past them, putting on my best Mona Lisa smile, and into the kitchen with an empty glass in hand.
I stood beside the dishwasher and faced the dining room. I opened the door to the dishwasher and bent forward, straight-legged to 45 degrees and I put my empty glass on the bottom rack. I paused for a while to rearrange some dishes on the lower rack and then slid it back into place. I fiddle with the little soap door for a bit then stood up and closed the dishwasher. I couldn't feel the fabric of my t-shirt on my breasts any longer as they hung freely while I posed like a pinup girl for a downblouse photo op for the frat brothers in the dining room. I walked over to the cupboard, opened the door, and reached up to the top shelf, standing on the tippy toes of one leg like a ballerina in Swan Lake to get a clean glass. Then I thought, Nah, I wasn't finished playing my little game. I reached up high in the cupboard again and put my glass away and traded it for a cup.
I put the kettle on the stove, turned my back to the dining room, and leaned forward to 45 degrees, resting my elbows on the kitchen island with my ass sticking out. I plugged in my earbuds and loaded a classic pop tune onto my phone; 1992, Right Said Fred, I'm Too Sexy. I was bouncing my head up and down like a little bobblehead doll and wiggling my ass for the frat brothers. I was grooving for half a minute or so and then I felt a hand brush across my hip and then to the small of my back. It felt like the zap you get from static electricity. I straightened up with a start, yanked out one earbud, and spun around to see Larry standing there with a stupid smile on his face.
"What's up hun?" he said with a Cheshire grin on his face as he exhaled fumes of alcohol in my direction like an old diesel bus.
My first reaction was to slap him but then I thought; maybe that's not such a good idea, maybe I kind of crossed the line myself. I just casually leaned back against the kitchen island, crossed my feet in front of me, and looked shyly down again at my phone.
"Umm, well, I'm just waiting for the kettle and listening to some music," I said as I peeked up at him from under my brow like a schoolgirl.
"Oh yeah!" he said as he craned his neck to read the header of the soundtrack on my phone. "I'm too sexy?" he said with a chuckle. "Well, yes, you are! You are indeed too sexy."
He wasn't looking at my phone anymore. He was looking at my cleavage or my nipples, or something in that general direction. I couldn't be sure because they were both clearly visible but he was looking at my chest for sure. I slid over a little more against the island in an effort to retreat a little from him. Somehow, he saw it as an invitation to make himself more comfortable and he worked his way in beside me, putting one arm directly behind me, and craned his neck again to look over my shoulder at my phone. He wasn't though, not really. He was trying to look down my top again. He saw my tits when I put my glass in the dishwasher and he wanted another peek. He couldn't see much now, only cleavage and oh yes, my pink nipples through my tracing paper top. I kept looking down at my phone and glancing over at his crotch out of the corner of my eye. I could see a bulge in his pants. He wasn't trying to hide it either. His penis extended about six inches down his pant leg and lifted his dress slacks up about two inches. It looked like he had a garlic sausage stuffed in his pants. I looked back at my phone and then back at his crotch with clinical curiosity, wondering if he was circumcised or not. He leaned in a little further and bend down a bit until his cheek was next to mine. I could smell the bourbon on his breath as his nostrils blaster warm air down my top. My spinnaker top fluttered like a sail in irons for a moment and then settled softly against my breast as the bourbon breath squall abated.
