shadow's 100th Post is a Story of Panties (only slightly NSFW) (2389 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.99 on 52 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by shadow (View user info) at 2009-03-05 19:37:16 EST
I reenter school with money in hand, for a change. A lot of things have changed, now I think about it; but one thing has not: Universities are full of tasty co-ed.
My first class is set in a cavernous studio. The ceiling is ridiculously high with one whole wall covered in enormous windows to let in the natural light. The seats are short squat benches; little more than a plank of worn wood bolted to a steel rectangle with an easel mounted on one end. The floor is concrete, also worn and dented with thousands upon thousands of footfalls; the mark of all those who came before. I settle in near the back, so as not to obstruct views with my over-large architectural piece, and prepare for the lecture. Five minutes in, I notice a problem; I can't hear a damn word the professor is saying.
I would like to blame the yawning room, resonating with the echoes of students filing into their seats; I would like to blame the soft-spoken Polish gent who fails to raise his voice to the rafters. These are excuses. The truth is, I cannot concentrate because of her thong.
The girl directly in front of me straddles her bench and sets up her work; abstract cityscape. She keeps her coat on because the chill in the air is doubled by the steel and stone in the room. Puffy white sleeves striped in pink over blue jeans just a half-size too small. Short brown hair in curls above her shoulders. She leans forward, as you must to access your work, and reveals the small of her back just above the jeans, just below her coat. A tiny blue tattoo of a tiara on the right hip. A pale fleshy-pink thong stretching up from her round eighteen-year-old ass below.
I cannot stop staring at it.
The further she leans into her piece, the more I see. The deeper her concentration, the weaker mine. She skooches herself back, dragging denim slightly as she goes until I can see all but the little pink button of her bum. Her thong is not a g-string but a line-less fashion piece; the sort one wears with a slippery dress or a clingy set of trousers. It hardly has a defining feature to it, save for the fact that the pink hue is only a few shades darker than her own pink skin. A stripe of soft fabric separating two perfect little lobes of flesh.
Tuesday, pink thong. Thursday, black with white dots; a little triangle on top between the cheeks. Tuesday again, pale green thong with soft fringes from the strings. Thursday, bright blue thong, like the sapphire skies of September.
I try, I do, to keep my eyes on my page. I make exacting measurements and leave faint lines of perspective to the vanishing points, but it's all very slow going. My piece has begun to morph around my environment, and this has me concerned. A thick obelisk has sprung up in the center, drawing any viewer's eye directly to it. The columns in the foreground swell and thrust up to the roofs of the temples. I must find other places to lay my eyes...
The girl to my right has lovely brown skin, raven-black hair and a faint Bangladeshi accent. Soft brown eyes, small delicate fingers, sunshine-yellow thong...
Crap.
The girl to my left is a ginger. Coppery hair, very tall, very thin, very pale. Blue eyes like dyed topaz sparkle when she looks to the window for inspiration. A smattering of freckles over her nose and down to her black lace thong.
What the hell.
And suddenly, with my pencil impossibly rigid in my hand, I have a flashback...
A long time ago in a galaxy far away, I was a Computer Science major. In those late days of my youth, I had no ambitions for a life less ordinary, I had only the vague hope of getting a job in order to get a house and... well, you get the idea. I was not an exceptionally well motivated student then, and I often dreaded my classes. One class in particular held a very specific distraction that would be, in time, my undoing.
The girl in the red thong...
Doctor Davis was a short and plump Indian woman who taught Calculus. She dressed each day in a sari, each one showing her wrinkled-yet-pillowy brown midriff. Mondays she wore the burgundy ensemble, the edges of the fabric trimmed in gold that had faded to a dull brassy color. Wednesdays she wore a green and blue number, one color bleeding into the other down the length of the pants topped in a matching long skirt. Fridays she wore pink, faded prom-princess pink with white embroidery that made her look quite like a caricature of Indian Barbie after a lifetime of nutritionless rice and long nights. She wore her hair in a coif, the dyed black locks pulled haphazardly around deep gray roots.
My ability to recall these details, as well as the way she smelled- of garlic and saffron and old ladies' perfume- should have been my first clue that Computer Science wasn't really for me. Nevertheless, I showed up for class everyday with pencil and paper in hand, prepared to learn from this strange Yoda-like creature draped in imported silk.
But then that sweet little girl had to sit in front of me.
Seats were never assigned though as you have probably noticed, people are innately territorial and if permitted, will sit in the same seat everyday. I always came to class just a few minutes behind the pack and took the only seat left. A seat that would have been incredibly desirable for any college-aged man; if only he knew what he would find there.
I don't know that I ever knew her name, but I will always remember her bum. Everyday she wore a tee shirt or sweater that just barely covered her midriff when standing, and pulled up to show her back when seated. Everyday she wore low-rise jeans that settled in the little crease between her slim belly and legs. Everyday she wore a g-string thong pulled up over her hipbones; a tiny ribbon of color guiding your eyes to the apple-firm curves of her backside. Straight jett black hair to the bottom of her ribs. Skin like cream, not even a freckle. And those red strings.
"shadow? Can you tell me how this graph will look?" breaking my gaze, I would follow the line of chalk from Dr. Davis's hand to the board. Holy fuck, is that an asymptote? Can I even spell asymptote?
"Uh..." I would invariably stammer, and shuffle through the papers on my desk as if two inches of blank notebook would suddenly cough up a solution. She would wait for a moment, until my face was thoroughly purpled, and then call on someone else.
I had never failed a class before...
I step outside to clear my thoughts, and shake off a few scraps of graphite. What on earth am I to do? I can't rightly complain that attractive barely-legal girls are flaunting their backsides to my distraction; I'll be the bane of every nineteen year old boy and pro-sex feminist on a campus of forty-thousand people! I can't walk down to the Dean's office and boycott bums! But I can't stop staring at the ones all around me. What's a girl to do?
And then, it hits me. There is only one solution...
I have to throw off the curve.
At the end of the day I return to my humble domicile, and take a peek into my panties drawer. I pull out the good stuff, the lacy, frilly, curve-huggers most girls only wear when they know they're getting laid. I have a decent collection; a few thongs in deep purple satin and black lace, two pairs of cheek-chillers with lace on the sides, two ruffled panties in both black and white, a pair with a suggestive white cartoon bunny running towards the cunny, a pair that is little more than two wide fluttering ribbons of blue, and a few with little ties. A fine arsenal with a few matching bras. I even have corsets; bronze, black and deep red trimmed in lace and garters.
On Thursday, the battle begins.
I stroll into class well early, a wide black portfolio of portraits and buildings by my side. I take a seat on a low drawing horse, the rectangular bench with a wide wood slat, and pull my belongings up to the front-most area of the studio, a spot in the middle nearest the professor. I sit, I wait.
A few minutes later the class begins to file in. They do as I have predicted and take their seats behind me and back to the walls. Some wear pajamas, some wear Prada. The boys wear baggy jeans and loose shirts, the girls wear everything off the hip. They are young, attractive, and carefree; and they have met their match.
I set up my piece, having fallen behind my classmates in progress, and begin work immediately. I lift my leg over the bench and draw it in smoothly, like a dancer. Now straddling the wood with hips pushed forward against the metal frame, I take off my scarf and grab a long freshly-sharpened pencil from my set. As my wool coat falls away three things become exposed; the fluttering blue thong peeking over my black jeans, the similarly trimmed bra strap of the matching garment on my shoulder, and the long, stiff 4B pencil that I'm holding between my lips.
I hear the softly satisfying sound of rulers and erasers clattering to the ground behind me.
I lean forward, grinding myself against the wooden bench to reach a particularly tricky corner of a pagoda. Slicing down the side of the page with my pencil, I feel the gentle breeze of an open door flirting with the hem of my shirt. Leaning back to steady my ruler, I am fully upright and erect, and my breasts stand at attention. I can't see their faces, but I can hear them shifting in their seats...
By the end of the three-hour studio session, I'm not just ahead, I've finished. My peers have not fared so well. I adjust myself so that my clothing actually covers what it is supposed to for a moment, and present the finished work to the good Professor. He smiles and nods, and tells me that I "don't see the world quite the way others do." I graciously thank him, and return to my seat.
The day is mine.
And so is, for that matter, the rest of the semester...
User Reviews
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2009-05-14 12:09:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Isn't it about time you posted something new that I can copy and pass off as my own work?
Submitted by beeltea (user info) at 2009-03-15 01:06:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i don't understand why your first 99 didn't focus on the same subject
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2009-03-10 16:34:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"I tell them if they will occupy themselves with the study of mathematics they will find in it the best remedy against the lusts of the flesh."
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2009-03-09 09:16:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2009-03-09 07:33:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"...would like to blame the yawning room"
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Very clever.
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2009-03-08 15:33:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2009-03-07 15:46:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Loved it
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-03-07 12:27:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2009-03-07 07:36:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Absolutely Excellent.
Submitted by Quint (user info) at 2009-03-06 17:55:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome story, hot picture.
In an unreltred story, Method's Mom was on Jay Leno: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEe8Vno9RUk
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-06 15:49:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2009-03-06 12:42:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2009-03-06 12:41:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I love you.
Seriously.
Submitted by AW4416 (user info) at 2009-03-06 10:58:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I really enjoyed this... well worth the read.
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-03-06 10:37:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2009-03-06 10:30:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
to quote "a christmas story"
"...the entire neighborhood was turned on..."
You rule the school.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2009-03-06 09:22:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fun read, nice picture, great imagery
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2009-03-06 08:54:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I fucking love you.
That's given me waaaay too much to think about for the afternoon. Wouldn't be so bad, except im trying not to kill anyone today.
Submitted by messmind (user info) at 2009-03-06 07:21:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Stay out of the light.It burns.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2009-03-06 07:10:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Exceptional. Too good for B@W
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:45:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fey, does your rating ban will stop you going through all my posts? :(
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:35:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
=)
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:29:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
streak schmeak, we know it's all about the hits :P
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:24:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ironically, it let that one through.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:24:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Uber apparently has decided I'm spamming you and won't let me rate anymore.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:20:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Hm. Apparently not.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:18:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think I'm done.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:17:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
What's a broken streak between friends*?
* friends in this case being defined as people who barely know each other, have barely spoken, where one party has a healthy and non-sexual admiration for the other.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:16:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
What's a few 0,1s in exchange for some heat, hm?
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:16:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Mea culpa.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:15:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ha!
And I fucked up.
Sorry.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:15:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
P.S You're good.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-06 06:14:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2009-03-05 23:34:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by cheerios (user info) at 2009-03-05 23:31:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Professional_Peon (user info) at 2009-03-05 22:55:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I love chicks in red thongs
wait...
I mean this made me wish I was a lesbian
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2009-03-05 22:53:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was phenomenal.
Submitted by Phallic_Cymbals (user info) at 2009-03-05 22:08:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This post caused me to masturbate like a young priest, which makes me wish I hadn't read it in the university library. Can't go back there for a while...
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2009-03-05 21:42:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah...well my calculus teacher was a dude...a sloven Romanian who, it seemed, bathed once a month, maybe. I couldn't understand a fucking word he said. This story's going nowhere. I'll spare you.
Submitted by melkorthedelerious (user info) at 2009-03-05 21:37:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Paragraph 27 had me convinced you were a pervert, then the surprise hit.
Well played.
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:53:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
u r gay
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:44:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
It flowed pretty much like poetry.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:23:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Ack! An opportunity missed!
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:20:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:57:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:50:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wait you're a chick?
a ghey chick?
*confuseded*
________________
Not ghey per se, but easily distracted by pretty things.
-----
Should have said you were a guy and REALLY blown his mind...and that the story is non-fiction.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:15:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
At a college football game once there was a girl sitting in the row in front of me whose thong was visible above her pants. White nylon with pink and white elastic trim like a string of little flowers. It was remarkable only because she had put it on with her waist through a leg opening and the crotch over one hip. Hilarious. How do you not know you have your underwear on sideways?
Submitted by beeltea (user info) at 2009-03-05 20:01:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yes! This is what we need more of around here.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:57:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:50:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wait you're a chick?
a ghey chick?
*confuseded*
________________
Not ghey per se, but easily distracted by pretty things.
I am aiming to attain a career using the organ between my ears so that when the assets move south, as they invariably do, I'll still be worth every penny because I'm GOOD.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:50:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
lovely piece, shadow.
i'd +3 it if i could.
in my work, there are is a staggeringly HUGE number of women whose success banks on their ability to showcase pieces and parts that i find very distracting.
while the cerebral, logical, thinking side of me is a little annoyed seeing ample, barely covered breasts and firm round bottoms enjoying successes that i come to only through an awful lot of very hard work and dedication, the other, much more fun, side of me is simply appreciative of (and thoroughly distracted by at times) the scenery.
politicians are such horndogs.
luckily my brain will be around and sound for a long time and their tits will start trying to high five their knees while new, younger, perkier breasts take over where they failed.
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:50:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wait you're a chick?
a ghey chick?
*confuseded*
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:47:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You should have taken the invitation.
They all wanted your tounge up the crack of their respective bums, obv.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:41:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You're telling me! I almost didn't post at all... distractions.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-05 19:40:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm going to be honest, this initial rating is based only on the attachment.
i'll finish reading and change it if necessary... but i grade on a weighted scale and those stockings carry an awful lot of weight.