I stand in the dorm laundry room. My hamper grasped in my hand, and my heart pounds. It’s late—past eleven on a Thursday—and the place is empty.
I chose this hour on purpose. Fewer witnesses. Less chance anyone will see my clothes and underwear. I know it’s a silly concern to have, considering where I am, but I’m neurotic at the best of times.
I set the hamper down and opened the nearest washer. The door swings out, and my breath catches.
Inside, to my surprise, are bras and panties. Not one or two stray pieces, either. A pale pink lace bra, soft blue cotton panties with tiny bows, a black satin set with delicate scalloped edges, a white bra with little embroidered flowers along the cups, etc. They’re soaked. And the faint scent of lavender detergent enters my nostrils. My mouth goes dry.
I know I can’t take them. I won’t. That line is simple in my head. But my fingers move anyway. They tremble as I reach in, and lift the edge of a sky-blue pair. The fabric is cool and slick against my fingertips. I trace the tiny satin bow at the front, then slide my thumb along the elastic waistband. My sweatpants suddenly feel tight.
Another bra—cream with thin straps and a little heart charm between the cups. I turn it over in my hands, studying the way the underwire curves, imagining how it would sit against skin. The hair at the back of my neck stands up. I’m hard now, embarrassingly so, and I shift my stance to hide it even though no one else is here.
Or so I think.
“Why are you touching my underwear?”
The voice is calm, curious, not angry. I spin so fast I nearly drop the bra. A girl is standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, head tilted. I was so absorbed in what I was doing; I didn’t hear her come in. Her dark hair is in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a pale yellow t-shirt, and a pair of grey pyjama pants.
She’s cute. Really cute. And right now, she’s watching me hold her wet lingerie like it’s a sacred artifact.
I fumble the bra back into the machine. “S-sorry. I didn’t—I would not steal them, I swear. I just… opened it and they were there and I—”
Her eyebrows lift, but the hard line of her mouth softens. She steps closer, hands sliding to her hips. “You’ve never seen a girl in just her underwear before, have you?”
I shake my head, cheeks burning. It feels like admitting I’ve never ridden a bike. “How can you tell, just from that?”
She giggles, not cruelly, but more like she’s amused. “Dude, you’re handling my bra like you’ve even seen one before.”
She then studies me for a second, and smiles—small, knowing, kind of mischievous. “So, do you want to? I’m Nikki, by the way.”
My brain stalls. “Hi, Nikki. I’m Adam. And… yes. Please.”
She casually nods, like we’ve just agreed on pizza toppings, and grabs the bottom of her t-shirt. And in one smooth motion, she pulls it almost completely off. Stopping just under her armpits.
I feel myself growing excited. White. Nikki is wearing a simple white T-shirt bra. Thin straps, a little worn at the edges, and the faintest shadow of her nipples visible through the cotton. Her pillowy soft breasts are small, gentle slopes that fit perfectly inside the cups. If I have to guess, she’s maybe a B or a C cup.
This is my first actual glimpse at cleavage. Nothing dramatic, nothing exaggerated—just real.
I stare. I can’t help it. My eyes trace the way the fabric cups her boobs, the tiny bow at the centre, the slight stretch where the elastic has given up trying to be tight. My heart slams against my ribs.
Nikki laughs, soft and easy-going. “I’ve had this bra forever. I love it to death.” She winks. “And I can tell it interests you, too.”
I manage a sheepish grin. “Yeah. It… does.”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t give me much support anymore,” she says, glancing down at herself. “So I only wear it on laundry days.” Another giggle. “I can’t exactly walk around the dorm without a bra on, right?” She lets her shirt drop back down, covering herself again.
I nod dumbly. Her logic makes perfect sense. I don’t want anyone else seeing her like that either, and I’ve known her for ninety seconds.
“Earth to Adam,” she teases. “You didn’t hear me, did you?”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She waves off his apology. “It’s all good. I just asked if you wanted to wait for our stuff together. In my room.” She pauses, then adds with a slow grin, “Since we’ll both be coming back here, anyway.”
I nod so fast I’m surprised my head doesn’t fall off.
But, despite my growing excitement, I can’t help but wonder something. “Why are you being so nice, Nikki? You walked in on me playing with your stuff… and instead of getting justifiably upset with me, you flash your bra-clad breasts. And now, you invite me to your room.”
Nikki shrugs her shoulders. “I was a little startled, no question. But the way you were stammering when I caught you, you just seemed… I don’t know, sweet and innocent,” She smiles, “You don’t strike me as a weirdo. Actually, you’re kind of cute.”
A few minutes later, our clothes have been sorted—mine in the washer, hers moved to the dryer—and she’s leading me down the hall. Her ponytail swings with each step. At her door, she pauses, key in the lock, and turns to face me. That sly smile is back.
“You know, if you play your cards right,” she says, voice low, “I’ll let you get under my bra.”
