She went shopping with a friend on her lunch hour. She found the skirt on clearance, a pleated plaid mini unlike anything in her wardrobe. She held it up for appraisal.
“Where would you wear that?” the friend asked, instead of coming right out and saying it was far too short.
“I don’t know. Nowhere, really. I just think it’s cute.” And it was $9.96, practically free. She bought it.
At home that night, she slipped out of her suit coat, skirt, and heels. It was a stay-home night: jeans and a tee would be about right. She dug out denims and tossed them on the bed, then sat there and pulled on some plain white ankle socks.
She was starting to unbutton her white dress blouse when she heard the front door. “Oh, I’ll show him my new skirt,” she thought, and reached for the bag.
His first glimpse of her was in the bedroom, where in a white blouse, a kilt of barely more than bun length, and anklets, she was bent over a dresser drawer.
Twenty years fell away in a heartbeat. Junior year of high school, first day. The new transfer student. Her uniform kilt far too short for the rules (the staff would promptly see to that).
Bending at the waist to put something on the floor of her locker.
White panties taut across what had theretofore been only a rumor of a dream of a mystery.
The image branded on his mind, fuel for every session alone in the bathroom all that year.
Senior year. Spring. Asking her to the Prom while his three closest friends peeked around the corner at them, making side bets on whether or not he could speak to her at all.
She lay on her back, sweat-soaked, breathing hard. Hair was stuck to her face and neck and shoulders. The bed was a soggy wreck.
She was dazed, and in-a-good-way sore in certain places, and happy.
“What got into you?” she asked.
“I know what got into you,” he replied with an exagerated wiggle of the eyebrows.
“No, really.”
“Oh…” he said. “I was just thinking about… love at first sight.”
— Frenulum
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