La Reine des Culottes

This neighbor of mine hung her panties and bras out to dry like she wanted everyone in the courtyard to notice. Nothing plain or cheap—soft lace and delicate stockings only. Every elevator ride had me picturing what she wore underneath, imagining the warm skin and the wet spot between her thighs. She probably thought I was some weirdo, but I was just obsessed. One afternoon a pair of pink satin panties showed up on the palm tree like a dare. I grabbed them quick so the branches wouldn’t tear them up and my girlfriend wouldn’t find them first. Hands sweating like always when I’m nervous, I knocked on her door. She saw her panties, laughed, and leaned forward so her dress slipped and her small tits flashed. I bent in, nose sliding between warm skin that smelled like butter and lavender, thinking, “What the hell am I doing?” right before my tongue got brave.