Description

It started with Katie’s Official No-Underwear Dare and with
the impossibility of keeping a secret, especially when it has to
do with sex.
We all go to a private high school, you understand. It’s
really a very good school and at least it’s coed — I’d go crazy
in an all-girl school — but that’s balanced out by the stupid
uniforms we have to wear. I mean, we all groan about homework
and everything, but I like most of my teachers (most of the time)
and we also know that most of us are headed for top colleges
after we graduate next year, so the complaints are mostly just
for the record.
There’s also a strenuous athletic program in which all
students are required to participate. Mens sana in corpore sano,
and all that. Most of my close friends and I are on the girls’
varsity swimming team, and I also run track and play field
hockey.
I enjoy my classes and the sports I’m in — but those
uniforms! Scratchy pleated wool skirts in unimaginative blue
plaid, a white blouse with a plain collar, and black shoes
(preferably loafers) with dark socks. The boys wear dark slacks
and shoes, white shirts, and blue plaid ties to match our
skirts. (Somewhere in Scotland, there’s a tartan factory that’s
gotten rich off schools like mine.)
I guess the uniform thing is okay when you’re in, like,
Third Grade, but when you hit sixteen you begin to feel pretty
silly-looking. There’s one variable you can play with to some
extent, though: The length of your skirt. Take Katie, for
instance. At barely sixteen, she’s five-ten, with gorgeous long
legs. Being model-slender, her tits aren’t very big, so she
likes to show off her legs. She’s four inches taller than me but
waistband-to-hem her skirts are the same length as mine.
The more understanding teachers, men and women both, just
kind of smile when they see how short some of the girls wear
their skirts. That is, you can’t actually turn the stupid thing
into a micro-mini, but you can still show a lot of thigh.
The whole point of this hemline competition, of course, is
to tease the boys (and some of the younger teachers, I have to
admit). And don’t they know it! Guys have been trying to flip up
my skirt for years. I don’t really think much about it any more.
It’s pretty harmless and if the boy’s cute I might even let him
get away with it. It really bothers some girls, though, mostly
the shyer or prissier ones, and some of them even wear spandex
shorts under the plaid. I think that’s kind of paranoid, myself.
The boys don’t often try to “flip” Katie. She’s tall enough
and muscular enough from swimming and hockey to really clock any
guy who annoys her. But she always has boyfriends and there are
other guys she flirts with in class and at lunch just for fun, so
she’s very popular. In fact, she had kind of a crush on
Mr. Robbins last year in sophomore English and sat in the front
row all semester, giving him peeks up her skirt. He kept
looking, too, and it was hard to keep from laughing. Katie does
that kind of thing a lot.

One day when the fall term was nearly over, Katie wore a
skirt on which she had hiked the hem to the max — only a couple
of thin inches below her crotch. She hadn’t been on campus ten
minutes before a couple of the gang, including me, grabbed her
and yanked her into the powder room.
“Katie, you *can’t* wear that skirt!” I began.
“You’ll get suspended from school!” Jan chimed in.
“Expelled!” This from Annie.
“Arrested!” Jan again.
…and on and on. Katie’s only reaction was a superior
smile. “You’re all wrong. I dug out the Rule Book and it says
*nothing* about how much leg you can show. Only the minimum
length of the skirt itself.” We’d each received a copy of the
school’s official “Rules of Public and Private Deportment”
booklet when we started Sixth Grade and it was still the school
bible.
“But, Katie, they were thinking about *average*-sized girls,
you know that!” Jan was becoming exasperated. She worries about
everyone and everything. Worse than having your mother at
school, sometimes.
“It isn’t what they were thinking that counts, it’s what
they put down on paper. If I’m taller than they planned for, too
bad.” Did I mention Katie’s planning on going to law school?
Naturally, I was walking down the hall with Katie on the way
to First Period when Mr. Turner, the vice-principal, popped out
of his glass-walled office, eyes glued to the backs of her
thighs. Mr. Turner’s not a bad guy, really, for the school
Enforcer. He bends the rules a lot of the time, especially with
students who just mess up and are sorry for it. But he can be
tough as nails with the occasional serious discipline problem.
Of course, with what this school costs the parents, *those* kids
don’t last long here.
“Miss Morris, would you step into my office for a moment,
please? Rebecca, you can go on to class.” Katie raised an
eyebrow, flashed me a ‘don’t worry’ smile, and preceded
Mr. Turner through the door he was holding open for her. We had
plenty of time to get to First Period, so I loitered around the
water fountain for a few minutes. The explosion I was half
expecting never came, though.
Less than five minutes had passed when Katie came sweeping
out of the vice-principal’s office grinning ear-to-ear.
Mr. Turner, standing behind her with his hand on the door handle,
shook his head in bemusement.
“I had the rule already underlined in red in the book,” she
whispered. “If I’d smarted off, he would have got me for that.
But I was polite and respectful. I said he couldn’t change the
rules the Board had adopted, not if he was going to maintain his
image of playing fair. He said I was `testing the elasticity of
the system’, and to watch myself,” she added with a giggle.
Yeah, Katie was going to be a lawyer, all right. Maybe a
politician, too.
First Period was Mrs. Hooper for Economics. Katie sat
toward the back where Hooper couldn’t see her and slouched down
in her seat. She spent an amused fifty minutes opening and
closing her legs while all around her the boys kept dropping pens
and pencils and taking an unusually long time picking them up.
I asked Katie once how she could do such things. Didn’t she
have any shame? She seemed honestly bewildered. “What do I have
to be ashamed about? It’s not like I was charging for sex or
something. I’m not even giving it away for free. I just like to
flirt and so do the boys I flirt with. They know I’m teasing
them and that it’s all a game. I mean, they *know* I’m not some
kind of slut, Rebecca. I’m not an easy lay and you know it. In
fact, I’m still a virgin, just like you. But I’m certainly not
ashamed of my body — and you’re *way* too up-tight!” I finally
had to apologize. Katie was just being Katie.
She was also probably right about me being up-tight. I
wished I *wasn’t* so easily embarrassed. I’m just one of those
girls who blushes bright red when I see the cover of PLAYBOY on
the newsstand. I’ve made out with several boys and enjoyed it a
lot. But that was in private and in the dark, usually. Even the
one-piece swim suit I wear to the beach is only slightly less
conservative than our competition tank suits. But it still makes
me selfconscious because of its low scoop-back and high-cut legs.
I bought it in a fit of self-criticism after most of my friends
bought skimpy little bikinis, and it was too expensive not to
wear.
Second Period was Mr. Allenby’s American Lit class. The
girls all think he’s kind of a fox. He has this romantically
world-weary face even though he’s only about thirty, as if he’d
seen the whole world and wasn’t impressed. He keeps in really
good shape, too. The girls sometimes spend their lunch period in
the stands at the playing field, watching Allenby do his mid-day
wind sprints. And he’s single. So it’s no surprise Katie was
again sitting in the front row — just as she has in all her
English classes that are taught by men. She says it’s her
romantic soul. I think it’s hormones.
I’ve always made good grades in English, so I also sat in
Allenby’s front row. And I watched while Katie waved her knees
back and forth the whole period and Mr. Allenby kept stumbling
over Walt Whitman. Giggling in class would have been very
uncool, but it was a struggle. Some of the boys obviously knew
what Katie was up to and at least one was biting down on his
knuckle to keep from laughing out loud.
Those were the only two classes I had with Katie that term
but I heard things from other girls that afternoon. “Katie
flashed Mr. Hamill in Chemistry! Gave him a good look at her
underwear and everything!” Like that.
So I nabbed her again in the girls’ bathroom between Fifth
and Sixth Periods. Jan and Annie (having been corrupted by
Katie, I didn’t doubt) were trying to establish how short a
minimum- length skirt would be on themselves. They weren’t tall
enough, though, so it wouldn’t have been anything dramatic.
“Oh, Katie, how can a sixteen-year-old be so degenerate?” I
said in despair. (I despair a lot.)
“I’m not degenerate, Rebecca — I’m liberated,” she replied
indignantly. “And you sound like a preacher.”
Then Jan gave up, hurried into a stall, and slammed the
door. She tends to drink too much coke at lunch and she has the
smallest-capacity bladder in the school. “Katie,” she said
loudly over the partition, “I dug out the Rule Book and checked.
You’re right, the skirt thing is pretty vague. But *I* wouldn’t
get that kind of attention; I’m only five-two.” Jan talks
prudish sometimes but she envies Katie her bold and adventurous
spirit. So do most of us, for that matter, though we don’t like
to admit it.
Katie was touching up her eye liner as Jan opened the stall
door with a great sigh of relief that made the rest of us laugh.
Katie glanced around to make sure there was no one in the
bathroom she couldn’t trust. “I’ve been thinking about that, you
guys. I’m the only one having any fun around here. Anybody else
want to get into the game?”
Annie wandered over to listen. Katie looked at me
challengingly and I stopped brushing my hair and paid attention
as she dug out her annotated copy of the Rule Book.
“There’s something else it doesn’t say in here,” she
confided. “There’s not a word about having to wear underwear.”
“Katie!” Annie was horrified. She was one of the bikini
girls and she’s certainly no prude, but this was way too much
even for her. “It doesn’t say you shouldn’t jump off the
building, either! They left out lots of obvious things that no
sane person should have to be told.”
“Besides, they’d just get you on a general `public
disturbance’ rap,” Jan added practically as she came out of the
stall.
Katie’s eyes were twinkling. “Oh, I know that. But I was
just thinking: Wouldn’t it be fun to go without panties for just
one day? We could really freak out the boys. And a few of the
teachers, if we’re careful.”
I shook my head. “It’ll never work. For one thing, we’d
get caught and suspended. For another, we’re all too chicken. I
mean, *you* can get away with stuff like that. God know how, but
you always could. But *we* can’t.” Annie and Jan were nodding
in agreement.
“Okay. Then I’ll have to escalate this.”
Annie looked horrified again (she’s good at that) as she
realized what Katie was about to do. “No! Katie, don’t say it!
Don’t even think it! You’ll just spoil things and break up the
gang!”
“Nope — this is the next step, ladies. I’m calling an
Official Dare.”

Daring dated back to Fourth Grade, when “the gang” had a
slightly different makeup. Toni Hamilton was sort of the leader
back then. Her father had money and spent plenty of it on her,
to go places and buy things. She was never selfish about it and
always invited her girlfriends along. But Toni was also the
daredevil of the bunch and she dared us into doing all sorts of
things against our better judgment. Like padding our training
bras. And wrapping the oak trees in the Girl Scout leader’s
front yard in miles of toilet paper just before a big
thunderstorm.
After Toni’s father moved to another city the next year to
be president of some company, the group of us who hung out
together established the rules for Daring. It had to be
something major, preferably something no one in the gang had ever
done before. It couldn’t be illegal (no shoplifting contests,
for instance). And it couldn’t be physically hazardous. There
was also a general understanding that a proper Dare should focus
on growing up, on becoming adult women.
Originally, Toni would threaten to exclude from her next
shopping trip or outing anyone who refused a Dare that the others
accepted. She probably wouldn’t have carried through with her
threat because she was just too kindhearted to hurt one of her
buddies’ feelings, but we never found out because no one ever
refused her. Nor had anyone refused an Official Dare in six
years. It had become almost a holy duty to go along with the
gang on whatever escapade someone thought up and the others
agreed to.
It *was* exciting, I have to admit. And it was much easier
to do something you were nervous or shy about as part of a group
of girls rather than being alone. Now, standing there in the
girls’ bathroom, we all looked at each other, wondering if Katie
had gone too far. She seemed to realize the danger, too.
“Look, you guys, this is a necessity! None of you ever
takes chances any more. You’ve all had things too easy for far
too long. You have no sense of adventure. Jeez, you’d think I
was daring you to screw five guys by tomorrow night and produce a
teacupful of jism.” Katie seemed to have screwing on her mind
today. In that regard, she wasn’t any different, really, from
any of the rest of us on practically *any* given day. And maybe
she was right.
“Katie… what exactly would this entail? And for how
long?” Everyone’s attention locked on me and my tall friend was
obviously relieved.
“Hmmm. I’ll make it easy: No panties or underwear of any
kind between arrival at school and departure in the afternoon.
Uh — none of you are about to have your periods, are you?”
Glances at each other and shakes of the head. “Good. We’ll do
it this Friday — and nobody stays out sick that day unless you
really are. And everyone has to prove to anyone else in the
group — on demand — that they really are bare-assed, right?”
I grinned. “Naturally. But no one has to say *anything*
about this to anyone else.”
“Naturally. This is a *private* public thing.” She grinned
back and glanced around. Jan seemed doubtful but tempted. Then
she began whispering to Annie, who was the most stubborn and
(relatively) the most conservative of the group.
I nudged Katie. “What about Mary Ruth? She has to be part
of this. It’s going to frighten the pee out of her, but she’ll
never forgive us if she gets left out.”
“Yeah. We’ll catch her after Sixth Period before she leaves
school.”
“You know, if any of the boys find out, we’re all going to
be `flipped,’” Jan pointed out.
“Well, it’ll just have to be up to each one of us how much
the boys *do* find out, won’t it?” Katie was reckless enough
that by the end of Friday everyone in the school would know what
*her* ass looked like, I thought. But there was a certain boy in
my Sociology class who might also be in for a surprise…. A boy
whose attention I’d been trying to get for several months.

Katie had a red Miata, a birthday present from her father
for being in the top two percent of her class academically. She
liked to race madly around in it and she was always willing to
give lifts to her friends, so I was riding to school with her
most days. (My father could easily have afforded a sports car
for me, but it went against his Calvinist principles, so I drove
a beat-up old sedan that I’d saved up for for two years.)
When we climbed into the low seats, Katie scooted forward
and her red bikinis were instantly revealed — a brighter shade
than her car, even. I looked at her flaming crotch and then at
her face. The realization had just struck me.
“You’re going panty-less in *that* skirt, aren’t you?”
A slow, innocent smile appeared as she rocketed out of the
lot. “Why would you think that, Rebecca? Why would I take such
a risk?”
“Why, indeed?” I replied with a sigh and closed my eyes so I
wouldn’t have to watch the other cars trying to stay out of her
way.

Friday morning, Katie and I both removed our panties in the
car and locked them in the glove compartment. Then the five of
us met in the restroom before class for show-and-tell. Jan was
wearing a longer skirt than usual, but Annie and Mary Ruth and I
had made no changes; our skirts stopped at mid-thigh, as always.
Katie, of course, wore her ultrashort “troublemaker” skirt, which
surprised no one.
Katie motioned us into a circle and counted down from three.
At “Blast off!” we all raised our skirts high to demonstrate our
nakedness. Oddly, we all stood there for half a minute, plaid
wool gathered around our waists, and studied each others’
genitals. Jan was a natural blonde and her pubic hair was fine
and sparse against her tan, exposing the top of her slit. Annie
was the opposite, with thick, very black hair and a porcelain
complexion; her dark, curly patch was neatly trimmed and groomed.
Mary Ruth cocked her hip and grinned as we all stared at her
crotch: She’d gone radical and shaved her pussy completely. That
little-girl touch, combined with her natural earthiness, was
especially sexy. Katie’s narrow hips made the rectangular lawn
above her slit even more prominent. She also has a clit that
just won’t stay indoors and we could see it peeking out between
the folds. I don’t think of my own “safe haven” as unusual at
all — I don’t even trim it very much — but I decided I could
hold my own in this crowd. I wondered if I was already blushing,
just by reflex.
Katie lowered her skirt, which concealed her goodies with
maybe an inch to spare. “Well, ladies — and today I use the
term loosely — let’s go out there and see what happens!”
In Hooper’s Economics class, Katie sat in the very last row,
chair pushed up against the wall. Glancing back at her
unobtrusively, I saw that she had hooked a heel over the chair
rung so one knee was several inches higher than the other. When
she spread her legs even a little bit, it was pretty obvious what
she wasn’t wearing. Instead of the usual gleeful smirks, the
boys around her all seemed stunned. They whispered urgently to
each other and craned their necks and licked their lips. Katie
pretended to ignore them, a faint smile the only indication that
she knew what sort of spectacle she was providing.
I saw one of the boys pass her a note. She glanced toward
the front of the room, then read the note and tried
unsuccessfully to smother a grin. Nonchalantly, she shifted
position until her kneecaps were aimed straight at the
note-passer. Then, as I goggled at her insane nerve, she spread
her knees a foot apart for a long count of ten. Her target
stared openmouthed and I wondered if his erection would keep him
trapped in his seat when the bell rang.
A girl nearby turned her head at the strange, restless
throat-clearing in the back of the room and did a double-take.
She stared as hard as the boys, more intrigued than horrified, it
seemed. I didn’t really know her, but she had a reputation for
taking long showers in gym and for wandering nearly naked around
the locker room, chatting with her classmates while they were
changing. We kind of wondered about her sometimes, but I doubted
she was going to blow the whistle.
Strangely, I hadn’t felt much different without panties
until that moment. Then, suddenly, I was very aware of the wool
tickling my butt and of the increasing moistness between my legs.
I fantasized about hiking my skirt up and burying a finger or
two, and wondered if I would make it to the end of the day
without a public orgasm.
In the front row of Mr. Allenby’s class, Katie was more
careful, keeping her knees level and parting them only a little,
and only when Allenby was looking directly at her. The light was
so good and her skirt so short, I knew he had a clear view right
up her fallopian tubes.
He usually stayed in one spot, leaning on the lectern as he
talked, but this morning he abruptly decided to ramble. Maybe
Katie’s uncovered twat was too much for him. When he paused in
front of my seat, at what he probably thought was the “safe” end
of the front row, I took a chance without even thinking.
Scooting my hips forward in an unaccustomed slouch, I raised one
knee and spread my thighs. Allenby looked up my skirt,
hesitated, and stared me in the eye with a very confused
expression. I winked at him but never cracked a smile. The poor
man sat back against his desk and looked faint. He finally made
it back to the lectern, where he studied the lighting fixtures as
he talked for the rest of the period.
Katie and I giggled in the hall after class. “I can’t
believe you did that, Rebecca!”
“I’ve been hanging around you too long!”
“So, tell: What did your first flash feel like?”
“Well, kind of sexy,” I admitted. “And I felt kind of
powerful.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too. Of course, if you flash the
wrong person at the wrong time, you could get into a bad
situation, kid.”
“I’ll just have to be careful, then.” I looked around but
no one was eavesdropping. “It’s really strange. I don’t think
panties make that much physical difference… but I’m more aware
of myself right now than usual, that’s for sure. It must be
psychological.”
She gave me a look. “Don’t overanalyze, Rebecca. This is
supposed to be a thrill thing. Just enjoy it.”
“Oh, I am, I am!” She giggled again at my expression.

=====================
THE DARE
by Michael K. Smith
Section A
-30-
n class?”
“Yeah, sure did. I haven’t checked yet, but since I was
painting with crimson at the time, my box probably looks like a
baboon’s.”
Annie spoke up. “Guys, there’s one thing all of us forgot
about: Gym.”
Jan looked startled and muttered, “oh, shit.” That hadn’t
occurred to me, either. How to explain the lack of underwear in
the locker room? Annie was the only one of us with morning P.E.
“So, how did you handle it?” I wanted to know.
“Oh, I just pulled my gym shorts up and *then* took off my
skirt. I’ve noticed a few of the `bashful flowers’ doing that,
so nobody paid any attention.”
“I don’t think I’ll bother to hide it,” Katie said
thoughtfully. Naturally. But she didn’t have Gym until last
period anyway and sometimes didn’t shower until she got home
because she liked to be first out of the parking lot. So it
probably wouldn’t matter.
Jan’s morning had been less eventful, except that she’d had
to make more trips to the bathroom than usual. She’d gotten so
horny just *imagining* people knew she wasn’t wearing panties,
she’d had to jack off twice. Mary Ruth’s bare and cavernous cunt
had caused her some additional concern. In Home Ec, she’d
actually stuffed three cotton balls into herself, she was
dripping so much from arousal.