Lynn stepped outside, her eyes blinking in the bright morning light, her heart pounding with anticipation. Sandy followed close behind, shutting the door and making sure it was locked.
"This is it!" she thought. "Here we go!"
With the excitement usually felt on one's first airplane ride as the plane starts rolling down the runway, she started on the short walk to the bus stop.
She felt so different now. So exposed. She imagined that all the neighbors were peering out their windows, calling in whispers to others to come and see. She might just as well have been naked.
She was far from naked, covered instead from shoulder to ankle with shiny, dark blue nylon. She glanced down at her legs and saw with dread and delight how the sunlight sparkled on the smooth jersey. With every step she took the soft folds of fabric billowed and swirled around her calves, the sunlight playing across its surface in shimmering waves of iridescence.
Sandra's outfit was more of the same. Her black leotard glistened and sparkled where it showed above the gray cotton tank top she wore over it, as did her matching silver-gray wrap skirt. The leotard was heavy and tight, so tight she wondered how Sandra could breath. The skirt was soft and shiny, and swirled around her thighs in a shimmering cascade of motion. Having Sandra there beside her gave her strength, but she wasn't sure it was enough to allow her to go through with it.
The swap had worked perfectly. She had left home a little early, dressed in casual jeans and a tee shirt, with her new outfit tucked inside a gym bag. When she got to Sandra's house she changed. Sandra's mom worked at Pearl Harbor, and her father was a construction foreman, so they both left for work early. The two of them had had the house to themselves.
Their first class wasn't until nine-thirty, but she had promised to meet Ginger before that. They had sat around Sandra's living room for an hour, talking about boys. Sandra loved to talk about boys. Between the sight of the two of them dressed as they were and the boy talk, she couldn't take her mind off of the wildly sexy events taking place in her life. Her ordeal on Friday. The shopping trip. Her time at home Saturday night. Carol's party on Sunday. And the fact that she would be with Ginger again in an hour. Several times she almost got the courage to tell Sandra about Carol's party, but just when she was about to say something she held back.
They were out on the road now, walking along the edge of the pavement, carefully avoiding the muddy grass up on the shoulder. Her outfit was rubbing her everywhere, and it felt very nice, but she felt more exposed than ever. The high platform shoes Ginger had picked out for her were proving to be a challenge. She could sense that they made her walk with a gently swaying gait that added to her already sexy appearance, but every bump in the asphalt caused her to wobble precariously.
She thought about the neighbors peering out their windows. People passing by in cars. She imagined that somewhere close by there were men watching them, men like Carol's boyfriend, Steve, who would see what they wore and lust after them because of it. Men who would go home that night and make love to their wives or their fists thinking of them, the unknown sexy vamps they had seen for an instant that morning.
She recalled the sight of Steve playing with Nancy dressed in the same outfit she wore now. How she had writhed and moaned as he tickled her. That gleam in his eyes, was it delight, or something more cruel? She knew what Nancy must have felt, from the first tickling game they had played, the one she had lost. And Friday night, Ginger with those ice cold fingers. And before that, the silk scarves, and that time on the table. She shuddered at the memories. She would give anything to meet a guy like Steve, someone to play with, to explore every facet of human sensuality. A guy who loved her instead of just taking her as a trophy, the way she thought Steve loved Carol.
She couldn't believe that she had actually fondled Nancy's cunt. Now the thought seemed strangely foreign, but at the time she had felt so matter-of-fact about it. Why had she done it? Had it been pity? Was she just trying to give Nancy the relief she so desperately wanted, to end her torment? Or had she seen Nancy the way Steve did, as a victim? Perhaps the wine had played a part in it.
She knew how intense rubbing a woman's clit that way could be. It was as if the shear nylon mesh made all the nerve endings stand up, like a comb in your hair, exposing them all the more to the rubbing of the layer above. When she did it to herself her clit sometimes felt like it was on fire. The last few minutes, just before the peak, were often so intense that she buried her face in her pillow and screamed. That she found the pain so pleasurable had always puzzled her, yet she did it that way again and again. Wasn't that why she had done it, had insisted that Nancy wear the panties too? Yes, she admitted to herself, she had taken great delight in watching her suffer that way. Her screams had sent chills down her spine. She had longed to be in her place, and wanted to be now. She had never had that done to her by a man, and she wondered if she ever would.