Suzanne pulled the suitcase from under the bed. She had been meaning to go through it for some time. It wasn't locked but the catches were a little stuck before they snapped open.
She smiled as she lifted out her old school blazer. Here were all her school things, including the uniform; books, framed photographs, reports and certificates; a sporting trophy or two. The case had come with her when she got married, and somehow never got emptied.
Mike seemed to have kept a good deal of stuff for which they would never find a use; all sorts of books and toys that he thought their own children might like, but they had two girls under ten, and neither seemed interested in model railways or military history. Perhaps there was something worth keeping in here.
She found a grey pleated skirt under the blazer, and held it up. How could she ever have worn such a thing? There was a tie, a hat and a scarf, with one or two bits and pieces. She looked at the skirt again. "I bet I could still fit into that," she thought.
Moments later she had whipped off her top and pyjama bottoms, and stood in front of the bedroom mirror, wearing only the skirt. With her tongue to her lip she sucked her tummy in as she strained the zip at one side and fastened the top button. There.
She turned in front of the mirror and admired the effect. The pleats swished as she leaned a shoulder to look at her long legs and pretty pert backside. When she last wore the skirt she hated its length and tried, as often as she could, to keep it hitched up, but now she was taller it looked scandalously short. Much shorter than anything she wore these days, even though she had great legs.
"That is so 1980s," a voice came from the door.
Suzanne squealed, and grabbed her top to cover her naked breasts.
"Too late, I saw them," her husband grinned mischievously.
"Mike, you startled me."
"You want me to knock in our own bedroom?"
"My mind was elsewhere, it's funny," she shook her head. "For a moment I felt like you were my little brother or something."
"Thanks a lot. I think I'm right about the skirt, though."
"I was just going through this case." Suzanne pulled on her top, but left the skirt.
"Hey, is this your school things?" Mike turned the case.
"Leave it alone, there's nothing to see."
"Can I read your diary?"
"I don't think I kept one."
"Love letters from boyfriends?"
"Nope."
He rooted hopefully. "Gym knickers?"
She slapped his back. "Nothing whatever to interest you."
Mike pulled out a framed photograph. "And who is this studious girl?
She snatched it from him. "I hate that picture."
"You look kind of big."
"Yes, well, I was carrying some puppy fat."
"What kind of puppy, a Great Dane?"
"Shut up." She smacked his arm.
"Old English sheepdog."
"Get out."
"Airedale?"
She pushed him towards the door. "Out!"
Mike worked at the computer in his study. Everybody knew not to disturb him in there. A knock came at the door.
"Come in," he called over his shoulder.
After a few seconds the knock came again.
"It's open?"
He stopped typing. The girls were with their grandmother, so it must be Suzanne. Perhaps she had her hands full? But then, he realised as he went to answer, she wouldn't be able to knock. He swung open the door.
Suzanne stood in the hall, fully dressed in the school uniform. She wore the grey skirt and blazer with crest; a white blouse with a tie; and white knee socks with black shoes. Her hair was tied in bunches on each side, and a straw boater completed the look. Mike laughed. That's why he loved her; she was always doing crazy stuff like this.
"OK, I was wrong. That fits you perfectly."
She kept a straight face but didn't answer.
"My Suzanne. You're adorable."
"Please, sir," she spoke in a shy thin voice. "My name is Suzy."
Suzy? She hated to be called that; she said it made her feel about fifteen. Only her mother still used it.
"Miss Bolton sent me here, and told me to give you this."
She handed him a folded piece of paper. Mike looked bemused. It appeared to be a page torn from an exercise book. Suzanne had written something in neat tidy script. She waited expectantly. Mike read the note.
"Headmaster," it began, "I am sending Suzy Atkinson to your office-" that was her maiden name, nice touch, "-because she refuses to behave. She constantly disrupts the class and requires disipline. - Miss Bolton (History Senior)"
Mike nodded sagely. "You misspelled discipline."
"Oh, please, sir," Suzanne lisped slightly. "Miss Bolton wrote the note."
"Then I shall see her about it. Well, er, Suzy, you'd better come in."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The would-be schoolgirl brushed shyly past. Mike looked out into the hall as if he expected it to be a school corridor lined with classrooms. What the heck, he didn't have much to do this afternoon. He shut the door firmly.
Suzy stood with her hands clasped demurely in front, twisting one foot as she looked about the office with clear apprehension.
"Now then," Mike took his seat at the desk. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about?"
"It's not fair, sir. All the boys keep looking at me."
"And why would they do that?"
She hung her head shyly. "I don't know."
"There must be a reason."
Suzy sighed, and rolled her eyes. "They want to see my chests."
"Your chests? Oh," Mike cleared his throat. "I see."
Suzy thrust her breasts proudly. They pushed open the front of her blazer and strained against the blouse. Mike couldn't tell if she was wearing a bra.
"They say mine are the biggest in the class. Caroline Evans says hers are, but I've seen her in the changing rooms and she stuffs her brassiere with tissue. Mine are real," she said fiercely. "See?"
She pushed her breasts closer. Mike felt himself flush. Somehow he wanted to look away.
"Yes, that's very nice, Suzy. Um, you're standing a little close."
"Go on," Suzanne said in her little girly voice. "Touch them. Then you'll see that Caroline Evans is a liar."
"No, no, I believe you. You can, er, put them away."
Suzanne stood and looked at him, and then leaned over. "Mike," she said in her own voice. "I'm 34-years-old for chrissakes, we've been married for ten years. Now fondle my friggin' tits."
Mike was a bit disconcerted. The uniform seemed to cast a spell, its purpose as much as to say "Keep Off", the uniform defining the wearer like a policeman or soldier, and he certainly had no interest in schoolgirls. Yet he felt a guilty rush as he cupped his hands under his wife's breasts, as if he were touching the forbidden.
He jiggled them comfortably and felt their weight. She was wearing a bra after all, in plain cotton like one worn for training or sports. He tentatively thumbed the nipples, and felt them stiffen.
"Ooh, no, Mr. Lane." Suzy backed away. "My mummy says I must never let a man do that to my chests."
