If you've read "The Birthday Suit Club, The Beginning" you know how this all started. If not, then here is a brief recap.
I was severely burned, including my face, as a child which lead to me becoming very reclusive as a teenager. My sister, Gail, decided that I needed to have more social contacts. She caught me trying to overhear her telling a friend of hers about a recent episode where in she flashed her boobies and decided that this was an opportunity she could use. She made a bargain with me to have some of her girlfriends from college come over and tell me their exposure stories in exchange for me letting them into my home.
This may not sound like much to you, but if you can try to imagine the looks of disgust or pity or revolt I've endured since the fire, you may be able to appreciate what it takes for a teenage boy to risk that kind of rejection from girls.
On my part I agreed with two conditions; one that the lights be kept low to minimize the risk of the girls' reactions, and two that I be allowed to write these stories down. Gail agreed provided I ensured that the girls' identities be concealed. I accepted her condition. I record these stories and I try to write them in the girl's own words.
So here is Cheryl's story.
This happened in my senior year of high school. I had been asked to the senior prom, but there was no way I could afford a prom dress. You see money was tight in my family since my mom had died without any life insurance. About a month before the prom I had a flash of inspiration.
The time for the prom was quickly approaching and I desperately wanted to go. I had a part time job after school and on Saturdays, but most of that money went to help Dad with the expenses of raising four kids by himself.
In addition my boss's birthday was coming up and I really wanted to get him something special, but as you know special usually means expensive.
To give you a little background, my job was at a pawn shop helping the owner with clean-up and record keeping and such. He was a delightful, elderly man, named Abraham Gold.
After I had worked for him a few months I came to realized that Mr. Gold didn't need to be running his shop. There were little clues that I noticed that made me decide that he had all the money he wanted or needed. He was very thrifty, like he always brought his lunch in a brown bag every single day. He often told me that running the business was probably what keep him alive. His wife had died years earlier and his kids were all grown and living some distance away. I think the fact that my Dad was also a widower was the main reason Mr. Gold had decided to hire me.
I mean his business really didn't do enough business in the evenings to justify my being there and he could have taken care of the disarray from Saturday on Sunday if he wanted. However I'm sure Mr. Gold realized that things were difficult for my family financially.
One of the great things about Mr. Gold was that if I told him about any problem I was having he wouldn't try to solve it for me, rather he would ask me questions until usually I figured it out for myself.
It was good training for my two situations. Despite the fact that Mr. Gold seemed to consider himself some kind of old family adviser for me, he never missed a chance to tease me whenever he noticed someone in the store trying to sneak a peek down my blouse whenever they thought I wouldn't notice it. This peeking was probably because I have no difficulty pushing out the front of a shirt and I like scoop neck blouses.
As a matter of fact as the time I worked at his store had gone
by I caught on that he enjoyed the thought that someone else might get a look at my breasts more than if he got a look himself. A kind of surrogate voyeur if there is such a thing.
It was when he teased me that I had deliberately allowed a customer to sneak a peek down my blouse as I cleaning the front of the glass counter that my plan to solve both problems was conceived. By the way I hadn't even noticed the customer's efforts.
I reviewed my plan over the following week. I decided it would work. My only concern would be if I could keep my courage up long enough to finish it.
Tuesday evenings were always our slowest of the week and fortunately that day was also Mr. Gold's birthday. I put my plan in action. The first part was that instead of my usual outfit, I wore a sweatsuit with his favorite college's logo on it.
I was still getting my courage up at 7 o'clock when Mr. Gold announced that he was going to close early in honor of his birthday. You see, the shop's normal hours were till 8PM weekdays and 6PM on Saturdays. It was do or die time.
I told him that he had one more customer. He looked around the store and since there was just him and me, saw no one. In a puzzled voice he asked who. Me, I told him. Still puzzled, he asked what I meant. I told him that I wanted to sell my sweatshirt. He laughed and said that he guess he could offer two dollars for it. Done, I said and pulled it over my head and tossed it on the counter in front of where he was standing. To say the least, he was surprised, but he pulled two dollars out of the register and put them on the counter.
Moving quickly before I could chicken out, I asked how much he thought my sweat pants were worth. He quickly answered three bucks. Done, I said again and slid them down off my legs and tossed them on the counter on top of the sweatshirt. He added three singles to the first two.
The place where I was standing was an open area about halfway down the counter which ran down the full length of the store from the sidewalk end to the wall that divided the business part from the offices. There were only two things between me and the front door. One was a shoulder high rack of golf equipment that stood about five foot tall and was turned at a 45 degree angle. The other was a similar, but slightly longer rack of used DVDs and CDs which was located between me and golf rack.
Now the game was getting serious. I knew if I wanted to be sure that this was to work I had to do it when the chance of someone walking in was still possible. That's why the front door was still unlocked.
Taking a deep breathe I asked what he was willing to give me for my jogging shorts. Mr. Gold was quick on the uptake. He realized what I was doing and because I had told him about the dress that his friend who owned the dress shop down the street was holding for me, he knew how much money I needed. And he decided to prolong the game.
