Time to walk the dog

Back in my room, I start to go through my drawers. Even though I know what I will find, its still a fascinating game to play, and a bit of a turn on to feel the different fabrics and colors and styles, new memories of buying and wearing each piece flooding my memory and pushing my “other days” memories into the background. Weird, but also pleasant. Its nice to be a pretty girl – woman, really, I remind myself – and although I have absolutely zero interest in men, I still want to dress nicely, to be attractive, because …

Because I want to find a girlfriend? I try to search my memory for traces of a boyfriend, but can’t recall one. I can’t even recall ever kissing one, for that matter. But I do have some memories coming back now, and I’m not kissing, or having sex, with men in them. I know the college I’m attending has a strong Phys Ed program, and a reputation for having a lot of lesbians, and it seems I’m one of them. Just as well, I think to myself. I’d hate to have to deal with a boyfriend in a few weeks.

Almost unconsciously, I dress myself so I can walk Buddy before the bazaar starts. Once it gets in gear, I’ll have to take him to the woods by a roundabout way, and on a leash. He hates that, so this will be his last good run until Monday. Leaving on the panties I slept in, I put on a plain white sports bra to start. Then, a pair of red gym shorts, short and form fitting – very ‘70s, I think to myself with a chuckle. Topped off with a sky blue t-shirt that clings to my breasts and waist, and a pair of tennis shoes and I’m ready to go …

In a matter of minutes, I’m in the woods behind the grove, flying down a trail, Buddy running ahead, and then waiting for me to catch up. He really does love these runs, and I’ll miss them when college starts. They’re also a good way for me to get in a quick morning run – a mile or so and back to the house for breakfast. Then I’ll get out the pad rolled up under my bed and do some exercises, and take a shower. Then I’ll really get dressed and … And what?

Call Chris? Do I dare? I may be pretty, but I sense I’m not the most courageous girl in the world. Chris (short for Christina) is a girl I went to high school with, and had a serious crush on. We moved in different social circles, though, and probably exchanged 10 words in four years, if that. Last week, though, I had bumped into her – literally, I almost knocked her down – at the grocery store, and we’d had a nice little chat, which ended with us exchanging phone numbers. Thinking about it, I pity Patty having to go through one more year of high school. Maybe I could call Chris and ask if she’d like to go to the bazaar … not as a date, because I think she’s totally straight, but you never know … she has that amazing body, with such great curves, and lovely big breasts and that wavy blond hair …

Buddy’s barking brings me back to reality, and I spend a good 45 minutes running with him, until we make our way back to our house. I’ve had a great run and am sweaty, gross, and loving it, while Buddy’s tongue hangs out of the side of his mouth and his tail swings back and forth in a happy blur.

Inside, I have a glass of water and head to my room for calisthenics. Crunches, leg lifts, planks, all the usual core tortures occupy me for a half hour, and I find myself flat on my back on the mat, feeling really good. Strong, fit, totally young. And anxious to explore this wondrous new body some more.

My hands glide over my torso, and I slip my t-shirt off, exposing my tummy, still slick with sweat. My hands eagerly explore, and I just start to pull my shorts down when there’s a knock on the door.