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A Day at the Market
Easter. I’ve been going at things much to hard and
need a break, and I’m happy to accept an invitation
from my friend Kim, who’s studying medicine in the
City of Jam, Jute and Journalism - that’s Dundee,
Scotland for any non Brits reading this. I crash out on
the floor of her bedsit, sleep late, take in the scenery,
go shopping. Sounds boring? After the way I’ve been
living it’s heaven!
Kim is a genuinely ‘good’ girl. Kinda prim. Not a
virgin, but her current boyfriend, George, is only her
third lover ever. I think she feels a bit guilty about
having sex with him. He’s the type that’ll disapprove
of a girl who goes to bed with him, but not feel the
least bit of guilt about what he’s doing to her. Pratt!
Also, my dear respectable friend Kim happens to be
twenty years old, tall, blonde and utterly gorgeous.
She doesn’t realise this. Me, I relax, slop about in my
old clothes. Why compete? I could prance about
stark naked in this girl’s company and nobody would
spare me a second or even a first glance.
George brings along the odd pal to make a foursome,
but nothing develops. His friends aren’t my type.
Also, to be honest, it’s the wrong time of the month.
Polite kisses are all I want or get. I think George
disapproves of girls that kiss on the first date. Double
So I’m quite glad when Kim and I go to an open air
market without male escorts. She seems happier and
somehow friskier. Quite sexily dressed, unusual for
her, in a mid thigh denim skirt, not a bum hugger,
wouldn’t look short at all on me, but on a girl with
legs the length of Kim’s it’s spectacular! I consider
her a traffic hazard. Also, she’s in white knee length
boots and not wearing pantyhose. I suspect my friend
is enjoying an innocent little flaunt away from
George’s eagle eye. And why not?
I find a country inn that does vegetarian food, and
wash it down with club sodas. Kim has two pints of
lager, again not her usual style. But then, I’m driving
and she can indulge.
‘Let’s go to the car boot sale,’ she says.
‘Car boot. Auto trunk. You really should learn
English, Michelle. It’s a sort of big outdoor second
hand market about ten miles down the Perth road.’
Big it is. On an open field beside an airdrome. Miles
from anywhere. Hundreds of autos. I queue for at
least half an hour to park. Interesting collection of
junk though. I’ve got to bend down a lot to look at
things and begin to think jeans would’ve been wiser
than a skirt, then watch my lovely companion crouch
ever so modestly, taking care with her hemline, and
realise nobody’s looking at me. We spend a long time
going round the stalls, but have still seen less than half
‘Michelle,’ says Kim, ‘better find a loo.’
I agree with her. We follow a sign, then try not to
throw up. Thousands of people in the middle of the
country, and there’s two choked, foul, portable johns
to cope with them.
‘Find a quiet spot and crouch,’ I advise her.
‘What quiet spot?’ She’s right. The place is real
busy, folks everywhere, no quiet corners at all. I
notice guys standing by the fences, backs to the
crowd. There’s the occasional woman crouching
unobtrusively in the same area. Too much liquid with
your lunch just ain’t advisable, it seems.
‘Over by the fence,’ I suggest.
‘What, drop my panties in public?!’ she is horrified.
‘We’ll have to go back to the car and leave, see if we
can find somewhere along the road.’
‘There’s nowhere for miles, and the queue to leave is
as slow as the queue to go in. No way you’ll make it,
and I don’t want puddles on my auto seat. Go to the
parking lot and crouch between the autos.’
‘OK, only one other alternative. Go in your panties.’
‘What, you mean deliberately wet my knickers?! No
‘Fine, in that case I’m fresh out of ideas.’
‘But... my skirt would get wet.’
‘Not if you’re careful. You wearing nylon
‘Ideal. Open your legs a bit, pee steadily, you won’t
catch your skirt and your panties won’t even get all
that wet. Choose your moment and nobody will
‘I.... No, Michelle, I couldn’t do that. I’ll just have to
‘Up to you. You know more about bladder rupture
than I do.’
‘You seem to know about going in your knickers.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ I admit calmly. ‘Sorry,
I’m not into pain.’
‘Ooooh, when was the last time you did it?’
‘About five minutes ago.’
‘What!?’ she gasps. ‘You mean you... Deliberately...
‘When you were bending down to look at that vase,
and everyone else in range was looking at you.’
‘Oh.’ I see her digest the information, then there’s a
‘Look,’ says someone. Over the airdrome an airplane
disgorges a half dozen brightly colored parachutes.
Everyone looks up. From beside me I hear a discrete
splashing sound, and turn to see my lovely companion
stepping carefully away from a puddle on the grass.
She squeezes her thighs together, smiles shyly at me.
I wink back.
Now my friend is friskier than ever, stepping
delicately like a two legged Bambi, wiggling her cute
bum, the very picture of a woman who’s gone in her
panties and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We
find a clothes stall selling cheap, skimpy underwear,
and I buy myself a pair of filmy, flame red knickers
with a black lace trim. Kim who, as far as I know,
only ever wears white, does the same.
Things are quieter now. We go back to my auto. I
open the passenger door wide, she checks there’s
nobody behind her, a wiggle of her bum, a quick pull,
and her wet lingerie is on the ground. I find a plastic
bag in the trunk for the damp item as she sits on the
passenger seat and pulls on her new panties. I open
the driver’s door and perform the same operation. As
we drive back my friend isn’t talking much, but she
doesn’t have to. If ever I’ve seen a woman in a state
of sexual arousal...
George is back at the bedsit, and Kim greets him with
an enthusiasm which surprises him. I reflect on how
surprised he’d be to learn what made her so randy.
Suddenly I realise she’s not the only one. George has
brought a friend who seems different from the usual
creeps. Kinda dishy. Also, my period ended this