Stealing My Mother’s Underwear
“I used to steal my stepmother’s bras and wear them even though they were too big. I had no tits, but I liked to pretend.”
In middle school, I stole a pair of underwear from my stepmother’s room. At the time I thought they were sexy, but now, thinking back, they were ugly and disgusting, stained with poop and old period blood. They had this stupid tan and brown zebra pattern and there was way too much fabric in the front, making them ride your belly button. I tried them on in my room, but they were too big, so I decided to give them to this boy I liked at school. I was trying to impress him, you see. I had them bunched up in hand so you couldn’t see what I had, and I walked up to him and his two friends in the hallway, put out my hand, and said, “This is for you.” I released the panties, and it took him a second before a look of horror came over his face. He yelled, “Ew!” and flung them on the ground. I just stood there while his two friends laughed at me and he walked away. I was trying to decide whether I should pick the panties up and replace them, in case my mom noticed they were gone. But I just left them there and she never noticed. I wonder what happened to those panties… Maybe the janitor enjoyed them more than Robert did.
When I was thirteen, I got my bellybutton pierced for my birthday. I waited for the scabbing and the goo to clear up so I could try to impress Robert again. After a few weeks, I walked up to Robert in the hallway again, lifted my shirt, and said, “Look!” When I looked down, I realized there was a long, curly black hair coming out of my belly button. It looked like the longest dog hair I’d ever seen. I completely forgot about Robert standing there and wondered aloud, “What the hell is that?” As I tried to fish the hair out of my belly button. When I looked up, he was gone. I haven’t had any belly button hair incidents since.
People were always making fun of me for my thongs. I pulled them halfway up my back so people could see them because I was such a weird slut. They were always too big because they don’t make thongs in baby prostitute sizes. My friends would sleep over and ask me why I had so many fat girl thongs. Once, my friend Chelsea asked me, “What’s wrong with your thong?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s really ugly.”
“Not it’s not. It’s sexy.”
“That is not sexy. It looks really bad.”
Still I was determined to wear them, and to wear them the same way. The first thong I got was white, and I thought I was so hot. I wasn’t, of course, because it was huge and covered in poop stains that wouldn’t come out. Yet I still wore that thong. I wore it again and again feeling so sexy when I actually looked like a poopy baby. Maybe that’s why Robert never loved me.