My name is Patsy Barrett. I am the 43-year-old wife of Connor Barrett. My best friend is Trixie Fuller, my next-door neighbor. I have long blonde hair and blue eyes and a very large bosom that too often attracts attention. I am modest in my dress, but somehow I keep ending up naked in public. It embarrasses me, but my friends and family find it funny. Like the other day...
Trixie came over to my house, her usual playful smile replaced with a serious expression. She was dressed in a sharp suit, looking like she meant business.
"I'm going to the bank for a loan," Trixie said. "And I was wondering if you would come along."
"Of course, bestie," I said without hesitation.
I rummaged through my closet, searching for something appropriate to wear to a bank. I needed confidence, so I wore my nicest bra and panties. They were a gift from my husband. Really just wisps of lace, but they were expensive and they made me feel fancy. Now I just had to cover them.
My eyes fell upon the only formal dress I owned -- a fit and flare number that used to hug my curves perfectly. But as I slipped it on, while the skirt was loose and flowy I realized with dismay that it had become tight around my chest. I wondered if my bosom had possibly gotten even bigger.
I stretched the dress closed over my ample bosom but struggled to button it. Each button threatened to pop open under their pressure.
I called out to Trixie in frustration. "Hey bestie, does this dress look okay? It feels like it's about ready to burst."
"Spin around so I can see how it fits everywhere," she said.
Taking her suggestion literally, I spun around. I spun too quickly causing the skirt of the dress to swirl up, revealing my lacy panties underneath.
Trixie's eyes widened briefly before she regained her composure. She surveyed me from head to toe and then gave me an approving nod.
"You look perfect," she said with a mischievous grin.
We arrived at the bank, and as we walked through the doors Trixie had lost her playful demeanor again. I noticed how serious everyone there seemed.
We were directed to sit at a desk in the middle of the bank. The account manager sat across from us, looking all business-like and professional. Trixie's face looked professional as well. I put on my most polite smile and tried not to giggle.
The manager started explaining various banking terms that went right over my head. Words like "collateral" and "interest rates." I glanced at Trixie, hoping she could make sense of this jargon-filled conversation. She was always so smart when it came to numbers and finance stuff. Trixie nodded attentively, soaking in every word.
I, on the other hand, felt like I was drowning in a sea of financial jargon. My attention drifted away from the conversation. I read the nameplate, "Mr. Morgan", looked at paper and folders on his desk,, and I found myself staring at a painting on the wall instead. It was an abstract piece with vibrant colors that seemed to mock my lack of understanding.
But then, amidst the confusion, I caught a word that sounded familiar: appraisal. Ah ha! Finally, something I could grasp onto. Eager to contribute and show that I wasn't completely useless in this situation, I stood up abruptly.
"Wait just a minute!" I exclaimed, interrupting the account manager, Mr. Morgan, mid-sentence. "Are you talking about appraisals? Like evaluating someone's worth?"
Mr. Morgan looked taken aback by my sudden interruption and nodded cautiously. Trixie shot me a disapproving glance but didn't say anything.
"Well then," I said confidently, feeling like I had something valuable to contribute. "I'm ready to be appraised!"
All eyes turned towards me - Trixie's filled with shock, Mr. Morgan's filled with disbelief. But there was no turning back now; I had already committed to this ridiculous display of enthusiasm.
With an air of confidence that bordered on absurdity, I twirled around just as I had done for Trixie earlier. I forgot my impromptu performance would have consequences just like it had before.
As my skirt swirled up into the air, it revealed more than just my knowledge gap in finance - it showcased my lacy panties for everyone to see. A collective gasp echoed through the room as embarrassment washed over me.
When I get embarrassed, I giggle. I can't help it. Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my face as giggles turned into full-blown laughter.
Mr. Morgan stared at me with wide-eyed astonishment, his professional facade momentarily shattered by my unexpected display. Trixie looked at me with disappointment in her eyes. Guilt washed over me as their reactions sank in; here Trixie was trying to secure a loan while I made a fool out of myself.
Determined to prove that I could be serious when needed and salvage whatever dignity I had left, I quickly sat back down, wiped away the tears of laughter and composed myself.
Mr. Morgan cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing the conversation, ignoring my embarrassing mishap.
As the conversation resumed, I straightened my skirt to cover my knees, hoping to regain some semblance of propriety despite the memory of my bare legs and lacy panties still fresh in everyone's minds.
As Mr. Morgan droned on, I leaned forward slightly to brush off a speck of dirt from my shoe. And then it happened - the top two buttons popped off and landed with a soft thud on the floor.
I blushed furiously but remained silent, desperately hoping no one had noticed. My heart raced as I bent over to pick up the two fallen buttons from the floor. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, another button decided it had enough and popped off too.
Trying not to panic, I reached for that rogue button, only for three more to follow suit. In mere seconds, my once neatly buttoned-up dress was now open to the waist. Panic washed over me as I realized that not only was my sheer lace bra on full display, but so were my breasts underneath.
A blush crept up from my chest to my cheeks, but I remained quiet, hoping desperately that maybe if I didn't draw attention to it, no one would notice. However, it quickly became apparent that everyone had indeed noticed. Whispers filled the air with amusement and disbelief.
Mr. Morgan's eyebrows raised in surprise, his professional facade cracking momentarily before he regained his composure. He glanced down at his notes while discreetly stealing glances at my exposed cleavage. It was clear that he had indeed noticed my predicament.
Trixie shot me an exasperated glance mixed with sympathy. She knew better than anyone how these absurd situations just seemed to happen to me.
I wanted nothing more than to put my hands over my exposed breasts and shield them from prying eyes. But I worried that drawing attention to them might make matters worse. In an attempt at dignity (or whatever dignity I had left), I opted for nonchalance instead.
I took a deep breath and straightened up, hands firmly at my sides. I tried to look like this was normal, which unfortunately for me it often is.
