Note to the reader: The characters in this story will be recognizable to readers of a certain comic strip. In that regard, this is actually a fan fiction story, my first in ages. I had a fun time writing it, and a miserable time trying to get everything right in the edit. I know I messed up a bunch of important details, sorry. Hope you enjoy it anyway.
Faye was 16 years old. She'd started wearing a bra in 6th grade, had been so excited at first, getting boobs before most other girls in her class. But the excitement slowly waned, giving way to uncertainty, and then disappointment as her noobs (her sister Katie called them that) refused to grow. Now in 11th grade, she was a frustrating 32AA, the smallest of all her friends. It didn't help that she was 5'1" tall and weighed only 92 lbs. Of course she had no noobs: she wore size zero-zero jeans.
"Mom!" she complained stridently one morning. "Where are my... ?" She fumed, digging through her top drawer. Where were her stupid bras? If that stupid Timmy was effing with her again...
She looked at the floor and her various pieces of bedroom furniture. No bras lying around. Were they all in the wash, she wondered? Not like she had a huge selection, maybe a dozen total. They couldn't all be dirty. Could they?
Miffed, she stomped into her closet and checked the floor. No bras there, either. She never used the hamper her mother insisted she use, but she checked it anyway, and guess what?
"Well fuck! What are you doing in there?" She reached in and snatched up the handful of bras. And blinked in confusion. These weren't hers. They were all too big ... size 36C, she read off the labels.
God, what she wouldn't give to actually wear these bras! She laughed, chagrined. Where were hers?
"Mom?" No answer to her yell. She stomped to her bedroom door and hollered at her mother again. Still no answer. She went through her bedroom door--and screamed.
She was outside, in the middle of the street, completely naked with no clothes on. (Yes, I know it's redundant, saying she was naked with no clothes on, but I'm the one writing this story and I feel like saying it, so there.) She panic-danced, screaming and spinning in circles and covering herself convulsively as any naked 16 year old would. She bolted for her front door, still wailing.
Shut up! her head screamed at her. Do you want everyone on the whole planet looking at you? Because that's what her screaming would insure, that everyone within earshot would stop what they were doing and gawp at the scrawny 16 year old with no clothes on. But no one was looking. Not that Faye knew any better. She was too panic-stricken for coherent thought or insightful observation.
She tore up her sidewalk at breakneck speed, skinning her toes on the rough cement and jamming, almost breaking her big toe stumbling up the steps. She rebounded off the door, and then tried to wrench it open. Incredibly, the door was unlocked, but she forgot it opened inward, and struggled with it stupidly for ten seconds before memory set in. By then, she was pretty much hyperventilating and on the verge of passing out.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned nauseously. She bent double for a moment, and then hugged herself tight, and then sat down clumsily on the stoop before she collapsed. Only then did she notice--well, half-notice--that no one was watching her. This was all she remembered upon awakening.
How long was she out, she wondered dully. She sat up, knowing she had awoken with her legs spread wide, showing anyone looking her girly parts. Not that anyone seemed to have seen. There was no one around, it looked like. That troubled her almost as much as being naked with her legs spread wide.
She stumbled to her feet, still dangerously nauseous, afraid of throwing up. This was something out of a nightmare, she thought. In fact, she'd dreamed this scenario dozens of times since starting puberty and wondered now if she weren't actually dreaming. If so, it hurt like crazy, considering her toes. How had she skinned them so badly just running up the walk? And why was she standing here naked, in front of the whole effing neighborhood? Get your ass inside, she told herself. Instead, she stayed where she was, looking up and down the street.
"What is going on?" she muttered.
She took a step down, when common sense ordered retreat into the house for some clothes. And where were her clothes, anyway? Before storming through her bedroom door, she'd been in her pale green tank top and jammie bottoms. Now she was naked outside on her front stoop. How did that jibe? And where was her mother?
"Mom?" she asked unsteadily. She had better sit down again she thought, head spinning sickeningly. She did, keeping her knees locked together this time. It did no good; upon waking from this second wooze-out, she again found her legs apart. Then she did something totally arbitrary and horrifying.
Fighting the impulse with every neuron in her head, Faye stumbled down the three steps to the walk, lurched down it and halfway into the street, laid down on her back and spread her legs. Wailing in despair, she spread them far apart as she possibly could, and then used her fingertips to expose her insides. She held this pose a full two minutes, crying hysterically. Then she flipped onto her stomach and pushed her behind into the air, spreading herself with her index fingers and thumbs, showing the entire world her pink insides. Her knees were now skinned up worse than her toes.
"Mommy!" she wailed desperately. "Please let me go!"
Her mother had nothing to do with this, of course--only the devil. Or some devilish bastard who'd seized control of her mind and body somehow. She might be insane, imagining all this in a padded room somewhere, clad in a straightjacket. She'd rather that, than what she was doing to herself on this black pavement.
"Please?" she begged, destitute. "Please stop?"
Whoever it was, let her go.
She staggered erect, stumbled back to the front steps and collapsed. She didn't care that her legs were wide open again. Like it really effing mattered, made a stupid difference after that. She sobbed, trying to silence her sobs. She laid back and looked at the blue sky way above. She woozed out again.
"Faye Simmons? Do you have any intention of getting out of bed this morning?" It was her mother, calling from downstairs.
Faye looked groggily at the clock, discovered it was 6:06 a.m. She was still in bed, under the covers, clad in her green jammie's. What the eff was happening?
She sat bolt upright, checking her knees. They were unblemished, same as her toes. She checked the palms of her hands, her shoulders and elbows, everything skinned up by the rough pavement. She even checked her boobs, yanking out the front of her top. Nothing amiss.
It was a dream then, an effing nightmare. She struggled out of bed, disjointed and nauseous. She peeled the top off over her head, unaware why. The door was closed and Timmy was in the shower, she thought. At least the water was running. She glanced at the door and then tossed her top on the floor.
Effing prick. Wouldn't he just love to see her topless, she thought. Wouldn't he love to catch her topless with the hickey on her boob. She looked down at it, blinking. Then she squeaked, "What?"
Whirling, she eyed herself bug-eyed in the mirror. She had four hickeys on her boobs, not one. Overnight, someone had added a second bite to the underside of her left breast, and two more to her right, staggered slightly apart. She gaped, pop-eyed and horrified.
She looked at her bed. She looked at her door. She looked at the window, which was stupidly open. The blinds were, at least. She was topless with hickeys on her boobs in full view of the Nicholson's house, she realized. Not that anyone was watching. Not with the blinds closed over there. Wait--did she just detect a movement in the blinds?
Startled, she reflexively spun around and covered up, forearms over her chest. Never had she worried about windows during the daytime. She dressed and undressed in front of it without a thought. Now she thought about it intensely.
Could someone see her nude? In the daytime, she wondered? She never did it at night. Did she?
She looked back over her shoulder. Had she really seen that window slat move? She was pretty sure she had. She was pretty sure the slat was still cockeyed, in fact.
If he's got binoculars, he's looking at my bare back right now, she thought. Maybe I should put my tank top back on, she thought. And maybe I should just wiggle out of my pajama bottoms and show you my skinny bare bottom, she thought, acidly.
The hickey was Jon's. He'd put it there Saturday night at the party at Nona's house.
Nona's? That wasn't right. The party was at Angela's house, not Nona's. Why had she thought that? It had been a year--almost a year--since she had done more than say Hi to Nona in school.
She furrowed her brow. What was Nona's last name, anyway? Did she even know? How could you be BFF's with someone and not know her last name? Not that they were BFF's anymore. Nona didn't even talk to Hil.
Oh, crap, she thought: Hil.
She was BFF with Hil--until Saturday night at least, before she let Jon push up her shirt, unsnap her bra, and attack her little noobies. Her nipples were still sensitive from being sucked on so hard, and fingered so much. Jon just loved her little...
.... There is more of this story ...