This choice: You head over to the dresser, to rip open the top drawer. • Go Back...Chapter #6You head over to the dresser, to rip it open. by: Mr. George   Your hand trembles as you yank open the drawer. The contents are mundane, but alien and terrifying too. The panties are expected, but the variety and the number make you wonder. Not ready to explore further, you close the drawer, and rest your hands on the top as the room seems to spin around you. Taking deep calming breaths, you hold them as long as possible. But your thoughts race, even as you steady your breathing.
Not sure, you like being such a girly girl. You pause, and try and take in this world, and your place in it. She was fine to admire from the other side of the glass, but to walk in ... those shoes, is a little scary. Scattered on the floor, you spot a shambles of sports shoes. With a sickening recall, you think back to the wardrobe. The non-girly item hanging there. The cheerleader outfit, the short skirt, already making you wish it were longer.
Belatedly, you check yourself out. Your bust still as obvious in your tight top, doesn't feel as distracting from the inside. As you concentrate, the discomfort rises, becoming clear. The straps at your shoulders, the relentless weight, and the feeling that you want to tug at it, or just rip it off is hard to resist.
Realising these are her? your? relaxing clothes, you take in the full ensemble. It's quite sporty, the leggings are skin tight, and flattering to your eyes. Running your hand over the soft fabric. You wonder if leggings is the right word, they feel sturdier. Yoga pants springs to mind, as a word, you don't quite recognise, but sounds vaguely right.
Your hands brush over the waist, exploring to be sure, it's not a one-piece thing. Is it a leotard, or a catsuit? And if there's a difference between them.
But the touch of soft flesh, as you taut tummy comes in contact with your bare hand. Patting your stomach, you admire it's firmness. Not muscular, but more than sporty. The elasticity of the top is confirmed, as you recoil at the discovery of a belly button piercing. The top, slamming your hand back down, to pat the embedded ring.
The patterning, the style all draw attention to your slender waist. Although the dart disappearing between your peachy arse cheeks feels like too much of an invitation.
"We're ready to go now." a voice calls up. A feminine voice, it doesn't sound quite right. But you hear the impatience that reminds you of your dad. Well, mum, here... for the moment.
"Coming." you answer. Your own voice sounding bubbly and freakishly girly to your ears. You dismiss the other clothes, each feeling more girly, than what you're already wearing. Checking your reflection, you already see your made-up face. The glint from your ears, peeking through what feels like a mane of hair. You confirm the presence of two tiny piercings in your ears.
"We're leaving. Now..." It snaps you out of your reverie, and you abandon the safety of your bedroom. Surely, your family will be just as safe, and probably more interesting too.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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