We had a colder than normal Autumn followed by a Winter that loudly complained that global warming was a lie. This was followed by Spring, a balmy, lying spring, that was simply a continuation of that blasted Winter. At the very end of Spring the weather worked out what season it was and the sun came out and shone happily down on all and sundry. I don't know about the all and sundry but I was delighted to greet a warm sun after months of a half-hearted sun running with a low thermostat.
We had several warm days, indicating that a hot summer was on the way, something I very much approved of. I can't stand the cold but heat? That's another matter entirely. Too hot? No such thing. Hullo swimming pool.
I was currently working part-time, earning some spending money over the holidays. If I could arrange it I might even be able to keep the job once I was back at school, as I was considered to be a good employee. I'd just have to be able to arrange my shifts to match my time at school.
On the current day, a Wednesday, I'd had an early shift and was now free for the rest of the day. I headed home, deciding to change into clothes more suited to the current weather and go for a run.
Once I got home and started digging out my running clothes I found that the past six months or so had brought about a number of changes. For a start, I'd turned eighteen and my bust had grown about two sizes. I'd never had all that much in the way of superstructure but now I had a real bust, one that required a bra at all times. Changes, plural. My old bras were too small, even the running bra I owned being reluctant to stretch enough to keep me contained. Not a real problem as a tight top would help. That's when I found the effects of the other changes. Either my summer type clothes had all shrunk or I'd grown in more places than just my bust.
Nothing I tried on fit me properly, if I could get the stupid things on at all. I could see where my part-time money would be going, and rather urgently. I managed to pull up some running shorts and, oh my god. They looked as though they'd been painted on, and whoever did the painting didn't use very thick paint. No way was I wearing those out of the house. I mean, looking at my crotch and you could tell if I shaved or not, the answer plainly being not.
A quick trip to the bathroom changed the answer to a yes and the shorts didn't look quite so bad. Still pretty bad though. I managed to pull on a stretch top that contained the girls and then a t-shirt over that to make me look a little more respectable. Fishing through my things I found a wrap-around tie-on skirt which I proceeded to wrap around myself and tie on. The skirt was shorter than I remembered but it hid those shorts and made me look a lot more respectable. A pair of sneakers and I was ready to go.
I didn't get far. As far as the kitchen, to be exact. My mother was just disconnecting as I walked in.
"Angela, just the girl I wanted."
"It's nice to be needed," I admitted, "but your tone is suspicious."
"I have no idea what you mean. You know Mrs Briggs, well she had a minor accident. Tripped going down some stairs and hit her head. She required three stitches and the doctors are keeping her in hospital overnight as they think she's concussed."
"That's unfortunate," I admitted. "Anything I can do to help, let me know."
"I knew you'd say that so I volunteered you to go around and babysit for a couple of hours. Mr Briggs wants to go and sit with his wife for an hour or so but he can't take the baby with him to the hospital. I assured him that you'd be only too willing to help out in this situation."
Stupid me. I should always make sure no help is required before offering any. As it was I was now stuck. I couldn't back out without making my mother look bad and making myself look mean.
"Not a problem," I said, managing not to sigh. "Um, when does Mr Briggs want me there?"
"Right now. The baby is about due to go down for a nap so if you nip over now the baby will be asleep and Mr Briggs will be ready to leave. He might even be back before the baby wakes up."
And pigs might fly, but I'd manage.
I grabbed my bike and rode around to the Briggs' house. (I gotta get me a car.) I knocked on the door and Mr Briggs dragged me inside, looking relieved.
"Mikey has just nodded off," he said happily. "He should sleep for a good two hours. If he wakes up there's a bottle in the fridge. Nappies are on the change table. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
He took a step back and was about to turn and go when his eyes ran over me. He looked slightly startled and his eyes went over me again, slightly slower this time. Was he checking me out? Yes, he was. He was definitely checking me out. A little thrill of excitement ran down my spine. I don't care what anyone says. Knowing a man is checking you out gives you a naughty thrill each time. You might not be going to do anything about it but knowing someone finds you attractive is always a plus.
Anyway, he nodded to me and shot through. I quietly went to the nursery and checked Mikey from the doorway. Zonked out and peaceful. Turning to go back to the front room I spotted myself in the mirror and it was my turn to take a second look. While riding my bike my skirt had ridden up, and not returned to where it belonged after I dismounted. My skirt was high enough that those tight shorts could be seen, and damned if they didn't seem to be highlighting my crotch. Face blushing I pushed them down to a more demure position.
I settled down to do some online window shopping, making a note of a few things I might like to get. I certainly wasn't going to buy anything online. I wanted to try things on first to see how they really looked. Having a model pose with a dress was nothing like me posing with the same dress. I made a list of the items I wanted, wincing when I considered the total cost. I'd be leaning on my father to buy his daughter some summer outfits, offering my hard-earned to help with the cost. My father tended to be more generous if I was willing to spend my own hard-earned.
An hour or so later Mr Briggs returned. He was whistling softly as he entered, seeming pleased.
"How's Mrs Briggs?" I asked.
"Resting comfortably," he said happily. "They tossed me out so she could get an early night. They say she should be right to come home tomorrow."
As he spoke his eyes had wandered over me again. He was checking me out, I just knew it, and that little flicker of excitement flared again. Stopping to consider Mr Briggs as a man I guess you could say he was a tasty specimen. He was big and solid, attributes that benefited a construction worker. He was also fit, not having a paunch yet, but packed solid with muscle. Having him look at me and admire my figure was definitely thrill-worthy.
Seeing his eyes were wandering over me yet again I hastily checked my skirt, blushing slightly when I found it had ridden up somewhat. I promptly pushed it back down where it belonged.
"Don't do that," said Mr Briggs and while I was wondering what he meant he reached over and gave the bow on my tie-on skirt a tug. It promptly came undone and fell to the floor, leaving my shorts on indecent display.
"Why'd you do that?" I demanded, reaching for the skirt.
Before I could tie it back in place Mr Briggs twitched it out of my grasp and tossed it onto the nearby coffee table.
"Because I prefer looking at you like this," he said. "Much more interesting scenery."
"Well you can't," I snapped blushing, reaching for the skirt again.
"I already am," he pointed out, stopping me from reaching. "I've seen bathing costumes that showed less. Actually, you're covered, in theory, but I think those shorts are just a little tight."
I was blushing by then, embarrassed and very much aware of just what he was looking at.
"I know they're tight," I said, still speaking snappily. "That's why I was wearing the skirt. I've outgrown most of my summer supply of clothes. I intend to go shopping very soon. Now stop looking at me."
"Don't want to. What I want is for you to take those shorts off. They set your figure off very nicely and I want to see if the real thing matches the silhouette."
Was he kidding? Take off my shorts? No way.
"No way am I taking my shorts off," I said quickly, speaking very firmly.
"Well, one of us is, so it might as well be you. I won't mind if you insist that I do it."
"Not happening. What do you think I am?"
"An innocent who made a mistake and is about to be taken advantage of," he said with a grin.
I was now what you might call nervously excited. Nervous because he might try to take my shorts down and excited for the same reason. What would it be like to have a man looking at me while I was half-naked? I gave a helpless little shudder, hoping he didn't notice. Then I was slapping at his hands.
"Hey, I said no," I protested, feeling my shorts making the journey south. My slapping at his hands made no difference. Perhaps I should have made a fist and dotted him on the nose. I was also irritated to see that my shorts came down a lot easier than they pulled up.
He knelt down and jerked on my ankle. It was either grab him to balance myself or find myself suddenly sitting. I grabbed him and he took my shorts right off, taking them over my feet one at a time. He then tossed them onto the coffee table next to my skirt. I glanced at them and got a shock. My panties were tangled with the shorts, meaning I was totally naked from the waist down.
"You rotten..." I yelled. "Get out of the way while I get dressed again."
"Not yet," he said, urging me to stand up straight, taking a step back so he could see me properly. "Every bit as fine as I thought you'd be."
"Oh, wow, lucky me," I hissed. "I want to get dressed.
"In a minute," he said. "First things first, and all that."
