SOUTHERN EXPOSURE (part 1)
Copyright Kristy Leigh 2003. All rights reserved.
Jess Taylor ambled swiftly up the driveway, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he approached the front door. He was a boy on a tight schedule; his Aunt would arrive home at five, dinner would be on the table no later than six. That left him less than three hours of free play; three hours of simple, childish joy through in the late September sunshine, three hours on the swings and slides and monkey-bars down at O'Connell Park.
Heart pounding with excitement, Jess let himself into the house, dropping his backpack in the hallway. Aunt Cathy would probably give him grief over that later, but he was in too much of a hurry to consider the consequences. Heading towards the staircase, he unzipped his jacket and bolted up the steps two at a time. It was 3.15 in the afternoon; the day wasn't getting any longer. Lisa and Debbie would already be waiting for him down at O'Connell's.
Leaving his jacket hanging over the banister, he scrambled into his bedroom, hurriedly pulling his t-shirt over his head. Six hours a day in the school from hell, surrounded by creeps, cretins and bullies. He couldn't wait to get changed, kick off his school clothes and slip into something more comfortable - so to speak.
Pausing in the middle of the room, Jess climbed out of his jeans and walked over to the closet, a petite, twelve-year old boy with long blond hair and pale blue eyes. His soft, effeminate features lent him a lush, girlish appearance, the illusion further enhanced by his rounded, curvaceous shape. Exceedingly pretty, he was often mistaken for a girl at first glance. Strange to say, this was something Jess didn't mind at all.
Jess, you see, was a very special boy.
He opened the closet door and started sorting through the racks and hangers. One side of the space was full of boy's clothing - pants, shirts, gym socks, boxer shorts and runners. Jess didn't spare it a second glance. Boy's stuff. Ugly, scruffy things, he'd never had much use for them. He certainly never wore them once he got home from school. The moment he stepped in through the front door, Jess was free to shed his male identity as a snake sloughs its skin. He could be his real self.
Jessica.
The right side of the closet was lined with cutesy little girl's things: skirts, vests, tank tops; printed floral blouses with puffy sleeves, drop-waisted sunfrocks with outrageously frilled hemlines. They were all gifts from his Aunt Catherine; stock-taking specials from her downtown kidswear store. Strangely enough, Aunt Cathy had always been surprisingly tolerant of Jessie's feminine preferences. She even went out of her way to encourage his cross-gendered behaviour. Jessie suspected it had something to do with her not liking men.
Jessie reached into the closet and removed a pastel pink sun-dress, a delicate cotton whisp decorated with tiny rosebuds around the neck line. Sheer, loose and almost unbearably cute, it was one of his all-time favourites. Aunt Cathy had helped him pick it out for his last birthday. It had been one size too big at the time, but he'd grown into it over the past nine months.
Laying the frock out on his bed, Jess walked over to his chest of drawers and took out a pair of pristine white panties - flimsy cotton briefs with a dainty rose trim encircling the legs and waistline. Jessie's pulse began to race as he stepped carefully into the underpants and drew them slowly up his thighs. Easing the pants into position with a loud, elastic snap, he went back to the bed and pulled the sundress over his head.
And, in the blink of an eye, a boy became a girl.
Smoothing the cool fabric against her tummy, Jessie turned to look in the mirror, smiling at what she saw. The boy she been a few minutes before had disappeared without a trace. Jess Taylor had vanished the instant she'd kicked off the jeans. No - that was wrong. Jess Taylor had never really existed in the first place. He was just a mask she wore during school hours. A mask, a name, and nothing more (quoth the raven ...).
Giggling a child's innocent laughter, Jessica spun around several times to make the skirt twirl. The dress flared up in a pink arabesque, then floated lightly back into place. The hem barely reached down past the tops of her thighs; the cotton was so thin that her underpants were clearly visible through the gauzy fabric. She posed in the mirror, admiring the line of the frock, the shape of her long, tapering legs. Moistening her lips in anticipation, she whirled around once more, allowing the dress to sail up past her belly button this time.
Having completed the dress-twirling ritual, she retrieved a pair of socks from the drawer and sat down on the bed to pull them on, one tiny foot at a time. They were the kind with a lacy white frill decorating the band. Worn up to the ankle, they looked achingly sweet. Aunt Cathy had bought them for her during a recent shopping expedition.
(Jessie had fallen in love with them at first glance, putting them on right there in the Stocking Shop. When they got home, Aunt Cathrine had taken her shoes off and proceeded to tickle her feet for half an hour - frilly little girl-socks and all. Jessie had no idea why Cathy had tortured her so mercilessly, but she secretly hoped her Aunt would do it again one night soon)
Jessica stood up, glancing at the clock. It was 3.25; time to go. Her friends would be wondering where she was. Stepping into her pink Barbie runners, she grabbed a black hair-band on her way out and tapped off down the hall. She descended the stairs at a gallop, binding her hair back in a long, golden ponytail. Not a second to lose now, she'd have to sprint all the way to the park. As she noted earlier, Debs and Lisa wouldn't wait forever.
And neither would the boys.
Autumn in Ridgewick was known locally as "The Breezy Season," two chilly months of clouds, mistrals and dancing leaves. The winds blowing in off the Bucknell River held a promise of snow this time of year, whispering through the trees like the breath of winter. The days were usually mild, but temperatures dropped rapidly toward the end of the day. Jessie's bare legs were buzzing with gooseflesh by the time she reached O'Connell Park. She held her dress down against the invading breeze with one hand, well aware that good little girls don't show off their underwear if they can possibly avoid it.
Which was why she worked so hard at showing them off accidentally.
Fortunately, the Breezy Season had given her plenty of opportunities. She could always count on an errant gust to lift her skirt an inch or two everytime she stepped out the front door. The trick was making it look unintentional. No easy feat, considering how much she loved the Southern Exposure, but she'd gained a lot of experience squealing in embarrassment over the past few months. Not even her two little girlfriends could tell how much she was enjoying herself.
Speaking of whom, Lisa and Debbie were waiting precisely where she'd expected to find them. O'Connell Park was actually a football oval on the outskirts of Ridgewick; the River lay just beyond a slight rise. There was a small playground on the other side of the playing field; Jessie could see her friends rocking sedately back and forth on the swings.
Both girls were wearing baggy jeans, Eminem sweat shirts and Dodgers baseball caps, their ponytails pulled through the backstrap. As long as she'd known them, Jessie had never seen either wearing a dress. Shorts, yes, knee-pants sometimes, but never anything even vaguely resembling a skirt. Neither were tomboys so far as Jessie could tell. They just liked dressing homeboy.
Well, to each their own, as Aunt Cathy often said.
Jessie cut across the oval, where an exceedingly violent game of football was in full swing. She knew many of the boys by sight now; most of them went to St Patrick's over on Lincoln Road. Lanky Irish lads with chestnut hair and about six zillion freckles. The majority were Jessie's age, though she'd noticed a few older guys chasing the ball lately; kids from St Paddy's ninth grade, she judged. Seemed to be more every week.
She skirted around the game, ignoring the football-guys' covert glances, and headed towards the playground. Her friends were still seated on the swings, idly dragging their feet through the turf. Noting her approach, Debbie called her name and raised a hand in greeting. Jessica waved back, careful to retain her grip on the wayward skirt. There was a low chain-link fence dividing the oval from the playground. The opening was on the far side of the park, and Jessie had no intention of walking half a mile to use it.
"Hi," Lisa called from the swings, "didn't think you were coming".
"Got out of school late", Jessie replied, setting a hand on the fence-rail. The back of her frock filled up like a sail as she climbed over, although she managed to preserve her modesty (well ... sort of) by clamping down on her drifting hemline. Quite a trick, considering how short her dress was. Had to be careful; these wintry updraughts loved to catch you unawares.
Clearing the fence, she walked over to the swings and took her place between her two friends. All three began swinging in unison, gradually increasing their velocity. Overhead, the endless blue sky seemed to revolve above them.
"Hey," Debbie said, looking over at her pretty blond friend, "you in dutch with your teacher?"
"No, we had dance practice after school." Jessie straightened her legs, pointing her feet towards the sky. Her dress began a steady hike along her thighs, inching its way up to her panties.
"You take DANCE class?" Lisa asked incredulously, as if this was some momentous revelation.
"Yeah, every Thursday afternoon", Jessie replied, arching her back for greater height, "my Aunt Cathy says I have to go. Says it's important." Another inch, two. The rush of air around her thighs was utterly delicious. A burst of warm pleasure hit her bloodstream like adrenalin. She licked her lips, fighting a desire to look down to see how far her hemline had climbed.
"Why?" Lisa, again.
"She says girls ought to know how to dance," Jessie shrugged. Faster now, her pony tail trailing out behind. The dress had crept up nearly three inches, making her bare legs look impossibly long and slender. A sense of exhilaration filled her veins.
"So, what are you learning?" Debbie wanted to know.
"A lot of things," Jessie answered, "tap, modern jazz. Some Latin stuff too." Her skirt slid one final, teasing inch to the top of her thighs. The hem was now quivering at the very edge of her panties. Jessie closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. Any moment now: she could almost feel the wind gathering strength at the tip of her underpants.
"What - you mean like SALSA?" Lisa inquired, eyes bulging.
"Yeah. We dance to Ricky Martin sometimes." The front of Jessie's skirt began to rise, just the barest fluttering of pink cotton. She shivered with anticipation. The suspense was unbearable: her underwear was about to go on display. Her dress was going to blow up around her hips, every boy in the park was going to see her panties. It was unavoidable, inescapable. A foregone conclusion.
"Rick Martin is wayyyyy cute!" Lisa exclaimed, eyes glittering with pleasure, "hey, do you get to wear like a FLAMINGO costume or anything?" That was how she said it - in italics and capitals.
"No, we just practice in whatever we're wearing," Jessie explained, soaring ever higher. Her tummy seemed to be swarming with butterflies, her heart pounded in her chest like a triphammer. The tip of her dress flickered once, twice, settled - then flickered again. The capricious Autumn winds played around her thighs, probing and teasing with icy, tickling fingers. She clung to the swing-chains with both hands, waiting for the inevitable.
"Do you have to put on a show?" Debbie asked, prompting Jessie to smile despite herself.
"At the end of the year, maybe," she affirmed, soaring off into the wild blue yonder, "we have a school concert around Christmas." A cold thrill ran the length of Jessie's spine: her skirt was dancing a fraction of an inch above her thighs, but the lace trim of her panties remained just out of sight. Dear God, when was it going to happen?!
"We're having a school concert in SEPTEMBER," Lisa cut in, running off at the mouth like a country housewife, "DEBBIE'S going to be in it, she'll be doing this routine with her GYM club - you know she does GYMNASTICS, don't you Jess?" She looked over at her friend, eyebrows raised expectantly. Jessie opened her mouth to answer -
and the front of her dress ballooned up like a big pink bubble.
A frigid gust of air blasted up her thighs, inflating her skirt and chilling her belly. So abrupt, so unexpected, so breathtakingly cold. Jessie gasped with shock, watching her dress bulge and ripple literally right before her eyes. The hem flew up past her waist, offering the world an utterly heart-stopping view of her underpants.
Vaguely aware that Lisa was still prattling on about the school concert, Jessica streaked forward on the swing, her panties fully visible clear up to her belly button. The breath caught at the back of Jessie's throat, her cheeks were flushed with excitement. This had never happened before, not in all the months she'd been hanging out here with her friends. Embarrassed beyond words, she stared directly ahead, hiding her rapture behind a mask of child-like indifference.
Out on the oval, star quarterback Robbie McEwan mysteriously fumbled a pass even his decrepit old grandmother could have brought home. Diving heroically after the ball, he was instantly stampeded by five of the opposition. Their attention inexplicably diverted, they slammed into one another at a break-neck pace, yelping in pain and surprise. Similar collisions were later reported all across the field.
Over on the swings, Jessie shifted her position to catch the Autumn slipstream, seemingly oblivious of the show she was putting on. She couldn't let on in front of the girls, couldn't betray the slightest sign of the delight she felt. Fortunately, neither of her friends appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary. Lisa babbled on and on about the school concert, Debbie was busy watching the football-guys crack skulls for no apparent reason. The big pink bubble continued to swell, revealing more of Jessie's virginal white panties.
Blood roaring in her ears, Jessica Taylor swung in a great, looping arc, biting her lip to hold down her giggles. The wind was still picking up, threatening to peel her dress off completely. The tension was intolerable! She wanted to squeal, kick her legs, scream with laughter. Her nervous system was flooded with pure, liquid ecstasy.
The bubble finally popped.
Jessie's billowing dress collapsed in on itself, the front turning inside-out for good measure. The wind pasted the skirt against her torso, leaving her panties completely uncovered. Hair flailing in the gale, Jess fought an impulse to lower her hemline to a more demure position. She felt as if every boy in Ridgewick was staring at her underwear.
"Hey," Debbie said, interrupting Lisa's monologue, "did you see what just happened out there?" She pointed to the centre of the park, where half a dozen of St Paddy's finest were picking themselves off the ground, Robbie McEwan amongst them. A mischievous smile touched Jessie's lips. She knew precisely what had happened.
"No, I didn't see anything," Lisa replied, wondering what her friend was actually talking about. All she saw were a bunch of Neanderthals chasing each other 'round the oval, same as always.
"That's because you were shooting your mouth off again," Debbie observed. Turning her feet towards the ground, she gently applied the brakes, slowing her momentum by degrees.
"Well, who cares what the boys are doing anyway?" Lisa demanded crossly, stung by Debra's wry little comment. She was also in a state of gradual deceleration, her runners gouging miniature furrows into the grass.
"Nobody," Debbie replied mildly. Dropping her speed to a safe Kamikaze nosedive, she leapt off her swing in a perfect two point dismount. "Wanna climb the monkey bars?" she asked, changing the subject.
"OK," Lisa agreed, falling to earth rather less gracefully than her gymnastically trained companion, "you in, Jess?"
Jessica stepped down from her swing, primly adjusting her dress. Her hands shook imperceptibly as she smoothed out the rumpled fabric. She felt giddy, out of breath. A faint crimson blush tinted her pretty face. She'd never shown so much panty in her life. Nothing more than a flash of lace around the bottom, even on the windiest days. Today, every inch of her chaste white knickers had gone on public exhibition. Every stitch, every lace, every frill, right down the little red tag on the waistband. Nothing had been left to the imagination.
Climb the monkey bars? Jessie thought, quietly smiling to herself.
Just try to stop me!
NEXT: The Monkey Bars.
Email me on kristyleigh2001@hotmail.com if you'd like to read more.