I had finished the first assignment the temp agency had given me. It was only one day a week, 8.00 'til 2.00, filling in while someone was on a course for a month, but at least I was going onto another job straight away.
While standing at the stop waiting for a bus that would take me to it my mobile rang. It was Heather, my flat mate, asking how I had got on, which was real sweet of her. The traffic was noisy so I walked away from the road to shelter at the side of a building. I crossed a large grill to get into a corner - although concentrating on the call I hardly realised it.
The sound of my shoes on the metal roused interest from inside as a window opened and faces appeared below. I saw them well enough, standing just to the side of the grill, but as I was still speaking to my friend I thought it best to ignore them. It was all too apparent that they were not ignoring me, though...
The faces belonged to two young men, in their late teens, clearly taking the opportunity to look up my skirt. I felt confused and embarrassed; I didn't want to let my friend on the phone become aware of my predicament but I could not get further away from the prying eyes. Still pretending I had not seen them I pressed myself into the corner as far as I could. I was pretty sure they were getting quite a good show of leg but little else, so I contented myself with the thought that my modesty was intact!
Then of course the bus came. My options seemed limited... to remonstrate, telling the guys to shut their window so I could get back across the grill without them looking? Miss the bus and wait until they got bored? Or what I decided to do in the seconds I had to think. Somehow the thought of not acknowledge the leering faces was better than trying to persuade them not to look up my skirt – I would be quite ashamed as a 28 year old to plead with youngsters 10/11years my junior - and I certainly could not hang around to miss only my second job. So I ended the call and walked briskly back across the grill, keeping my legs together as much as I could and holding my skirt close.
It was only two or three steps but it seemed as though I had to do the 100 metres sprint. As I did so wolf whistles and cheers greeted the sight below. I pretended not to hear as my face flushed and I hurried on.
Once on the bus I pretended my red face was as a result of running to catch it but, try as I might, I could not erase the incident from my mind for the rest of the day. I had been made to feel vulnerable by two teens all for seeing nothing more than my legs – less than I would have been happy to show off at the beach. It was more intrusive than that but I was intrigued that the possibility of seeing my knickers had captivated my voyeurers.
Once I got home I took a mirror from my bedroom wall and stood over it trying to find out what they had seen. My skirt was just above the knee and my knickers were black so even with my feet further apart than they had been above the grill I was not able to make out much at the top of my legs. All that fretting for so little I told myself and a part of me was disappointed. It was almost that the embarrassment I had felt so acutely had not been worthwhile.
I told Heather about what had been happening during our phone conversation earlier in the day.
"It's just like when few girlfriends and I had a boat trip,” she told me. “The tide was out and the only way on board was down a ladder. It was a sweltering day so everyone was in dresses or skirts and my friends were getting into a state because of the crew below. It was a lot of fuss; the men were grinning all over their faces so I told the girls it would only take 20 seconds and climbed on to the ladder, shouting ‘enjoy!’ as I started going down. That way I had the control and my confidence disarmed them.”
“So did the others follow you?” I asked.
“Only when I told the guys that they had had their eyeful and now they had to keep looking down – and they did. See, I took command of the situation; no squirming, no being intimidated.
"Bet you couldn't go back there and flash your panties at them."
"No, you're probably right – I couldn't!" I replied, already trying to steel myself.
Week 2
I dressed in the same skirt as I had for the job last week, but this time with white panties underneath. I stood over the mirror again and, yes, they were more visible and the curve of my buttocks quite discernable. As I headed for town I told myself alternately that I was going to go through with it and then that I was just playing with the idea. I certainly hadn't told Heather of my plan/dilemma, in fact last week's incident hadn't been mentioned again.
Intermittently I thought about standing right over the grill with the eyes of the students looking up at me; if I summoned the conviction that I was in control I felt quite sexy about it. So at 2.00 I said goodbye to the other office girls and first headed for the ladies. There I fantasised about showing myself off, rubbed my crotch through my clothes enough to feel aroused.
Then I set off for the bus stop, except I was really heading for the grill. This time I took more notice of the building it was next to; it was a college and the side nearest the stop housed the gym. I marched right up to it as I knew that if I allowed myself to doubt I would be scared away. Just for a moment I hesitated right in front of the metal bars that I knew would alert anyone below. Fleetingly I thought it may not be the same lads inside... it didn't matter, I was different.
My shoes rattled the grill, the window squeaked open and this time three pairs of eyes peered up. I kept my legs as open as I dared, which may not have been far but felt like doing the splits. Looking down I recognised two of the faces from before and I am sure they recognised me. I thought of running off as quickly as I could but willed myself to stay.
Suddenly I thought not about what I looked like to those below but to those on the street; I imagined I would appear rather abnormal. Last week I had been on the phone and that somehow seemed more natural. So I got my mobile out and rang Heather: it didn't occur to me that I could just pretend to talk to someone.
"Hi, Heather. Guess where I am?"
"No, not yet. Remember I told you about having to walk over a grill and you said 'bet you couldn't go back'? Well, that's where I am!"
"I sure am... in white knickers so they can see better."
"I'm not making it up! Listen..." I held the phone over the grill in the hope she would be able to hear the wolf whistles and calls of "get 'em off!"
"Did you get that?... I am here!"
We talked for a few moments until I saw the no 24 working its way through the traffic.
"The bus is coming now, got to go."
With some elation I dropped the phone back in my bag, bent down slightly and called out "Bye, boys!" before striding towards the stop. I felt proud, strong and sexy.
Heather laughed, half from disbelief, half from amusement after we both got home.
"You've got more bottle than I thought!" was her assessment.
She thought that was the end of it but the whole thing was still nagging at me and I often thought about the nerves I had had, the will power it had taken to stay standing over the grill knowing I was deliberately allowing people to look between my legs, the possibility that others would work out what I was doing, the thrill it had given me.
When Heather was out I spent an hour stood over the mirror looking for the best combination of skirt or dress and panties, to see if I could have made a better display, though not intending to carry it out. The best mix was a light summary dress and a white thong with hold up stockings. I tried it with suspenders but they were too obvious under the dress. I began to regret that I had not done this 'research' before and slowly realised that I was going to have to do it again if I was going to get the thing out of my head.
Week 3
I got quite excited dressing for work the following Tuesday. The dress and stockings, let alone a thong were quite different to what I had turned up in before. The dress was slightly too light for the weather and colleagues did comment on my more feminine appearance but formed the impression that I must be meeting someone after work. At 2.00 I headed for the loos again; I pulled my dress around my waist this time and rubbed myself through the thong, thinking of the eyes that would soon be seeing what none of my colleagues had. When I was sufficiently aroused off I headed again.
I almost marched to the grill and without hesitation strode onto it; immediately the window opened. The two young men who had seen me the first time were there but the third was different to last time and I became aware that there were more behind them pressing closer to get a look.
Cries of “she's here,” and “get a look at that!” greeted me.
As before I got my phone out but only pretended to have a conversation this time. If I had rung Heather she would have thought I was taking this too far and there was no one else I could possibly have called. So I ran a commentary on what was happening instead.
"There are three college students below looking up my dress and they are calling to others behind them about what they can see. Things like, 'she's wearing stockings,’ 'you can see her arse', 'I'm telling you it's a fucking g-string!' Oh, there's no need for that language!"
I giggled into the mouth piece after each phrase I recounted; somehow the fact they were getting excited about me was quite amusing. They were round my little finger!
"I'm going to close my legs to tease them," I told my imaginary friend.
"Now they are groaning and asking me to show them my bum again! They are saying 'open your legs,’ 'please let us see more.’ Well, seeing as they asked so nicely..."
I shifted my foot one, two and then three bars to the right, the widest I dared (I would have opened them wider than that, but was concerned what I would have looked like to passers by). My move was greeted by cheers and more whistles!
"They are in the palm of my hand."
It was then that I was aware of a flash of light; at first I thought it was sun reflecting off a car but it happened again. There was no mistaking the flash of a camera that illuminated my dress from inside and would have alerted anyone who happened to glance my way what was going on. Immediately I got off the grill, wall side. The prospect of photos of my arse being passed round the college, or even put on the internet filled my mind. Like the first time, though, I was now trapped and the only way to my bus, nearly due, was back over it.
I had to decide to either just walk back across risking further flashes, in more ways than one, or attempted to negotiate my way out of the situation.
