Caught in the breeze

They both messaged her that evening offering slightly confused apologies, which only made her feel worse. They just didn’t get what was wrong… but then neither did she, really. She just knew something about the way society glared at her felt unfair and unjust. Why did she have to be judged so specifically just because she was a girl? Why did even questioning that make everyone think she had to be some hyped-up, always angry lesbian?

The next day was a boating day. The one saturday a month where both Stacy and Mark were in total agreement as to the extra lameness of their other friend… but supported him anyway. It was the official meeting of the model boat club, of which Peter was a very respected member. A whole morning of sitting around the park’s small lake watching old men and spotty kids bumping their laboriously crafted, everlasting virginities into each other. The two of them lay in the sunshine eating ice creams and flicking small stones at any small yachts that strayed too near.

Eventually Mark just couldn’t resist any longer bringing up the previous day’s events

“Sorry if we upset you yesterday Stace… It just really came out of left field ya know…”

Stacy grunted, concentrating more on fighting an endless battle against the dreaded ice-cream drip.

“It was pretty cool though… you walking off without your knickers… That took all the balls you definitely don’t have, for sure!”

The boy smirked over at her, his cone long gone by now. However he had just reminded her of something.

“Oh shit! I didn’t even think about it! Have you still got them? Those are one of my favourite pairs!”

The smirk extended, in a worryingly conniving fashion.

“Oh, we rock-paper-scissored for those… Peter’s idea won out in the end. I think you’ll be happy to know. Ah, here he comes now…”

Sure enough, free’d at last from the usual gaggle of club-goers asking for model-making advice, their third wheel came trotting round the corner of the lake. While gracefully ahead of him slid a magnificently ornate galleon, cutting through the water with pride. Say what you would about the nature of his hobby, there was no denying the impressive skill that went into Peter’s various creations. Though she’d seen it plenty of times before, Stacy could not deny the overblown toy was a masterpiece… made only more so by it’s latest addition. For, there, tied to the top of it’s tallest mast and flapping freely in the breeze, was a very familiar piece of slightly-lacy cotton. She laughed aloud to see he had even re-painted the bow to read a whole new moniker for the vessel: The SS Shadowpussy.

“I wanted to go for ‘HMS Pussystrangler’” remarked Mark. “But I guess one pun’s as good as the other…”

Stacy clapped her hands with sordid glee, she couldn’t believe the quiet boy had done such a thing. No wonder the old men of the club had been glaring at her even more than usual. It wasn’t like any other female turned up to their little meetings. It gave her a creepy little joy to think of them all pretending not to stare as her underwear sailed by at eye level, attached to the one ship that put all theirs to shame. She rushed forward to congratulate Peter on a stroke of genius in bad taste humor, exactly her favourite kind. All awkwardness now forgiven. Of course, in all her cheering she completely failed to watch her less-than frozen snack, earning a sudden and shivering surprise when a large lump of white goop dropped into her cleavage. She was pretty sure a whole generation of teenage boatbuilders hit puberty at the same time watching her try to fish that out next to her own flapping panties. Somehow that thought excited her too, in ways she didn’t like to dwell on.