On And Underneath

You hear tank top. You hear shorts. You think.

That's nothing special.

But an outfit is more than the sum of it's parts and while the parts of this were nothing to write home about individually, together they painted quite the picture.

The picture of me.

Grey tank top, loose enough that it hangs off my body formless when I'm wearing it. Billowing out over me but also, at the same time, so open with such large holes at the neck and arms that you could catch a glimpse of the tight body beneath it.

See the black sports bra I was wearing, the one that pressed and contained my breasts and made them seem somehow more impossibly round than they already were. Beneath it the tightness of my ribs and even a hint of my flat tummy, my slim waist.

All emphasized by the shorts I picked. Jeans artfully torn, and actually rightly torn in this case since Emily had made them herself, with little white strands whisping down from the hem of them and kissing the tops of her thighs.

The shorts were tight enough that they encased and held the globes of my ass, drawing the eye to them. Somehow, impossibly, they drew attention both to my ass and to the long length of my legs which were smooth and soft and just lightly sunkissed by my time passed in fields at home.

And one might notice more. They might notice the way I artfully tousled my pixie cut to make it look like little effort was put into it. Might notice the blush of light pink lipstick that I wore to try to draw attention to my eyes or the mirrored purple aviators that I wore on my face. Or the bright orange chucks that I had on my feet, with little socks hidden in so it looked like I was barefoot in them.

But what no one would notice was what lay beneath the shorts I was wearing, what was hidden and just for me.

Pressed tight against my sex and between my thighs I'd changed the option at the last minute. Originally a plain pair of white panties, those hadn't felt right when I'd slipped them on.

I guess because I was trying, really trying here. Trying to embrace my femininity rather than deny it and trying to find who she was and the outfit went some way towards it, but maybe not far enough.

It just felt wrong and it just felt like I ought to reach for more. And when my eyes fell on the pair of panties I'd originally set aside as being too much, I knew just at a glance that they were just enough instead.

I had pulled them up, rubbing them between thumb and finger. Feeling the softness of them and the pattern within the lace.

Red. Lacy. Slight.

Almost flimsy, barely enough fabric to even be considered an item of clothing at all. But when I felt them sliding up my thighs, kissing the skin of me, I knew it was right. And when they settled over my sex and the back between the cheeks of my ass I knew it was all too perfect.

A lacy red thong. All for me.

Because it was for me. Because it was hidden. Because no one would see it beneath the shorts and yet it felt like it belonged to me. My own little secret bit of femininity.

My own little fantasy.

It felt right, like I was giving this a real shot and god I wanted to give it a real chance. It felt like I was finding myself.

And looking in the mirror it felt like I was looking at myself, maybe for the first time.

Only one change needed. Only one piece left.

For a limited time you can join my Patreon for only $2 and get access to over a month's worth of new pages of My Second Chance as well as SEVEN FULL STORIES with a new one every month! Join here: https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert