Again I nervously tugged my skirt, swearing it had shortened another inch since I had joined the coffee shop queue.

My thighs felt exposed to the afternoon air and to the keen gaze of the older gent sitting.

Ordering, I checked if my skirt was covering my ass; it now barely did, the fabric magically dissolving around me.

I gasped, catching my reflection in the polished mirrored counter, the white lace crotch of my panties on display.

'Who else noticed?' the reflection answered, the old man.

I relaxed into a wiggle, noticing him raise his brow in appreciation.

Then I marched over.