Indecision

Have you ever wanted to do something but hesitated because you didn't want to disappoint someone or maybe get in trouble? That was me for the next few days. I still wanted to get a closer look at the oval in Mom's bra, but wasn't sure I should. I certainly knew that a boy shouldn't be handling a bra - unless he was helping his mother with the wash - although how I knew that I couldn't tell you. It's one of those things that you soak in through your pores as you grow up.

Certainly nobody had taken me aside and said explicitly that boys didn't mess with bras, their mother's or anyone else's for that matter. Well, at least not at ten years old. A few years later I would learn that messing with a girl's bra - at least while she was wearing it - was both a goal and something you didn't talk about. Mixed messages, depending on who was sending the message.

So it came to pass that in the middle of the week I noticed that Mom had left a bra on the top of the basket in the laundry room. I dithered, decided that Mom was out in the back yard and wouldn't notice, so I picked it up. I was destined to be disappointed, though. Instead of making a natural ellipse, the straps were sewn at an angle that made the back of the bra look more like a trapezoid. Big deal, so I put it back.

A little while later, Jasper and the gang ended up at the local swimming pool on a warm day. As I sat for a while just enjoying the sun, I realized that the girl's swimming suits were just fancy bras that they wore without any clothes to hide them. Suddenly I was able to actually study how the bra was made. To my surprise, the backs of the bras (or bikini tops, if you like) had a whole bunch of different ways they were made. Naturally, I liked the ones that had a nice ellipse shape with the straps flowing from the band, but there were some that were just strings tying in the back and around the neck, some with all kinds of little straps crisscrossing, some with that trapezoid shape, some with lace, some with those little hooks to hold them together and some that didn't.

Naturally, Sam caught me looking at girls and gave me grief about it, so I stopped looking and started swimming; but even as I was swimming I was thinking about bras. What would it be like to wear a bra?

Naturally, I had to find out.

Naturally, after I had decided I wanted to find out what wearing a bra would feel like I didn't get the chance.

When I got home from the pool, Mom was there so I wasn't going to be investigating the laundry hamper that evening. Nor would I be able to for quite some time as Mom was home several days in a row.

Then I had play-dates (Don't you detest that word? It seems to mean mostly free babysitting.) A week later she was gone on Sunday for a few hours, but since we did the laundry on Saturday there was nothing in the basket for me to investigate. It was over two weeks before the stars aligned and I was home alone and there was a bra in the hamper. As soon as I was sure I was alone I tried it on.

Talk about your disappointment! I was ten years old, fer cryin' out loud, and skinny at that! Mom was much bigger than me, it just didn't fit. I tried sort of folding the cups together in front and looking in the mirror to see my back, but all I got was a neckache.

It wasn't too much longer after my unsuccessful experiment that school started and I didn't have too much time to think about bras, as least bras on me. I did find I was pretty much aware of bras on girls, which should come as no surprise, but it was more the bra that interested me, not the girl.

Along with my fascination with bras came a gradual fascination with the clothes girls wore. At school, the girls mostly wore the same things as we boys wore - jeans and T-shirts - but they sure looked different on the girls. The girls - at least some of them - had breasts and hips, we didn't. Then there were things like the cheerleaders wore - very short skirts and panties that you could see half the time. The head cheerleader's panties were a heck of a lot more interesting than the quarterback's ass, no matter how well muscled the guy was. Besides, the cheerleaders wore bras, not any quarterback I had ever seen.

When it came to dressing up, the girls had it all over us boys. Bright colors, clothing with a suppleness that no lousy suit could match. Girls flowed, guys chafed under neckties. I was jealous. Most of the time I was content with my lot, but every so often I longed to be able to find out what the girls felt like. As far as I could see, there was no way for me to find out, so I just kept being the same old me.

That all changed a couple of years later.

Time Cures Many Problems

Nothing much happened for quite some time. Really, there wasn't much in my life that was all that exciting or worth reporting. I had friends that were both boys and girls, none of this boys do XY and girls do XX business made any sense to me, even if the girls got to dress better. Maybe it was being raised by a single mother. You know the cant - no male influence, lack of role models, the collapse of Society.

That's pure BS and I don't buy it. I had some very good role models. My mother, of course, but there were men like Jasper's dad, my uncle, some of my teachers and Coach Reiter at Saturday morning baseball. But there were plenty of women, too, like Jasper's Mom and some of Mom's friends. You'd have to be seriously mired in sexist crap to say I didn't have any role models growing up.

That said, my early interest in bras was still there under the surface. It had sort of broadened to a general interest in girl's clothes and girls in general. So few girls of my acquaintance wore skirts that when I saw one it attracted me.

I wondered why only girls wore skirts when there were loads of pictures in history class of men in robes and tunics from way back when. Wasn't it obvious that a tunic was just a dress by another name?

But I went with the flow and kept such musings to myself. About the only time they surfaced was when Mom hung her bras up to dry in the laundry room and I got a good look at them. Whenever that happened I still wanted to know what it would be like to wear a bra. Problem was, my body wasn't cooperating. I was still the smallest boy in my class. Puberty had landed very lightly on me. I had hair on my legs and privates, but not very much. My voice had hardly changed, it was maybe a little deeper, but I still sang alto in music class. I had stalled out at five foot seven. Mom was still noticeably larger than I was.

Actually, I was almost fifteen before chance took hold of my frustrated bra fascination. Or maybe I should say Ryan Mondalmi took hold of it. He also took hold of Caitlyn Brumby's gym bag.

By this time I had confirmed my mother's prediction that I might have an interest removing a bra from a girl. Mom had recently given me a much more detailed description about sex. We were both a little bit embarrassed to do it, but as a good parent she was not going to let me plod on in ignorance and get myself - or some girl - in trouble.

A pretty confused and nebulous interest, to be sure, but there was something about the curves that the bras supported that did funny things to my insides, and Caitlyn had curves to spare. I certainly had enough boy in me to appreciate such things, but I was starting to realize that I had more than a little girl in me. It was confusing, but aren't all teenagers supposed to be confused?

It was a fine Saturday morning in early spring. I was on the ball field at the sports complex with a bunch of other guys, waiting for our parents to pick us up. I did enjoy baseball, but I wasn't good enough to play on the school team. The sports complex near us had a baseball program that emphasized the fun aspect rather than the win-at-all-costs that some school programs had. That was fine with me, I wasn't too much of a jock; I just liked baseball.

Since I lived close enough to walk I was just hanging out with the guys for the fun of it. We were wondering where Ryan had gone when he sauntered up carrying not one, but two, gym bags. Completely out of character for the macho Ryan, one of them was pink.

"Hey Ryan!" hollered Otávio, you gonna play in both leagues now?"

"Nah. They won't let you play wearing both a jockstrap and a bra."

"That's so unfair! Sex discrimination, that's what it is."

"Hey, I have a great deal of discrimination when it comes to sex, I'll have you know."

"So do the girls, which is why you ain't had no sex."

"Even with the way he fills out his jockstrap?"

"Maybe, but he sure ain't gonna be filling no bra, bro."

"He ain't got no bra to fill."

"Ah, my fine lads," smiled Ryan, "that's where you're wrong."

"Where'd you get a bra?"

"He shoplifted it. No girl is going to let him have hers."

"When I get done with them the don't have any choice."

"That can get you a long time in the can, asshole. Rape is no joking matter."

"Who said anything about rape? You guys have dirty minds."

"Not dirty enough to imagine you wearing a bra."

"Gross!"

"I don't intend to wear a bra, doofus, but I do have one in my possession. Caitlyn left her gym bag and I picked it up. Wanna see Caitlyn's bra, boys?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Sure he would!"

"She'll have your ass, Ryan."

"Maybe we can trade? I sure wouldn't mind having her ass."

"Would your jockstrap still fit if you had her ass?"

"In my hands, you asshole."

"And what are you going to do with her asshole?"

"Ain't her asshole I'm interested in. You some kind of pervert?"

"And pawing Caitlyn's bra doesn't make you a pervert?"

"It makes me a jock, unlike some of you wimps."

So saying he opened the zipper and started digging. With a shout of triumph he pulled out a blue bra and dangled it from his fingers.

"Not bad, eh?" he asked smugly. He started waving it around like a flag.

"What size is it?"

"How would I know?"

"Look at the tag, dummy."

"Jeez - they write small on these things… Is that 34D."

"Thirty-four? You'll never get that thing around you."

"Ain't going to be filling those cups, either."

"Who cares about the cups, it's how she fills them that interests me."

"Good luck with that."

"Hey, what about the panties? Do they match?"

"Let me look… Don't see nothing else blue in here. Wait a minute - white panties. Shit, they feel slippery."

"Probably Rayon or Nylon," I told him.

"How the hell would you know that?

"I do laundry at home. You need to know what fabric you're washing so you don't wreck your clothes."

"Well, la-te-da! You'll make a fine housewife someday."

"Better put that stuff back in the bag, I see your father coming up the drive."

He hastily stuffed the unmentionables back in the gym bag and set it down before getting in the car. A few minutes later I was the last one standing, so I picked up Caitlyn's gym bag and took it with me so I could give it back to her.

I could also take a close look at her bra.

 

Yeah, right. I had been wanting to try a bra for two years and never found the chance. Then one fell right into my lap - figuratively speaking - and I was pretty sure that Caitlyn and I were pretty close to the same size, at least if you didn't consider that she had real breasts and I didn't. The only problem was my mother had pretty sharp eyes.

Not that she would need x-ray vision to spot a pink gym bag along with my own green one.

"You starting a bag collection?" she asked when I got home.

"Nah. Caitlyn left her bag behind so I grabbed it to get it back to her."

"That was thoughtful."

If she only knew!

"I figured that someone would swipe it if it got left behind."

"I wouldn't doubt that for a minute. Where does this Caitlyn live?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know her that well."

"So how are you going to get it back to her if you don't know where she lives?"

"I figured I'd bring it with me to school on Monday."

"And leave the poor girl wondering if her clothes have been stolen?"

"Well…"

"So who do you know that would know her phone number?"

"Wow! My Mom is a Sherlock Holmes."

"No way. I would never smoke one of those silly pipes and I'd look really stupid in that hat he wears."

"Maybe a sombrero with a pineapple sticking out of it?"

"Kid - don't even think of becoming a milliner."

"What the heck is a milliner?"

"A person who makes hats. Good taste is an absolute requirement."

"You don't wear hats much, anyway."

"You noticed. My son is aware of his surroundings."

"Like the sarcastic mother in the room with me?"

"Yup. You think of someone you can call?"

"I could try Chip. His sister hangs out with Caitlyn's gang."

"Give it a go then."

 

Trying to track down Caitlyn was not an easy task, especially as I was looking at her gym bag all the time I was doing it. Maybe x-ray vision would have come in handy as it was obvious I was not going to be able to open it up until I was alone.

So I talked to Chip, who gave me grief about wanting to talk to his sister Leila. Then I talked to Leila who was very suspicious of the guy she barely knew wanting the address of her girlfriend. Such a suspicious world we live in! So I told her I had Caitlyn's gym bag and suspicion turned to outright accusation.

"You dirty rotten scumbag! Why did you steal my bestie's clothes? I ought…"

"Whoa! Wait a minute! I didn't steal her clothes, I want to return them for cryin' in the sink!"

"As if. Steal her things and then try to make like you're the good guy!"

"Well screw you, then. If you're going to be that way then she can wait until school on Monday and I'll leave them in the office. You have a nasty mind, Leila!"

So I hung up on her and grumped my way to the kitchen, telling Mom what had happened.

"Well, you tried, that's the important thing. I guess she'll have to wait until Monday. How about setting the table and I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes.

So I set the table, still grumpy about how Leila treated me for trying to be a nice guy. Mom jollied me out of my mood while we ate, so when we finished the dishes we settled down to watch a movie together. We haven't been able to do that much lately as we both have been pretty busy - me with schoolwork and mom with work and the occasional date.

It still seems weird to have a Mom who is dating. Sure, Dad left a long time ago so I suppose she deserves someone to enjoy life with. We had just gotten to the exciting part when the doorbell rang. That didn't happen too often, so I went and answered it while Mom paused the movie.

"Caitlyn!" I cried when I opened the door. I was trying to get ahold of you but Leila was being a bitch. Oops!'

I didn't see her mother standing there at first.

"Oh, hi Mrs Brumby."

"Mom, this is Lucas, the one Leila says found my gym bag."

Gee - she didn't sound mad.

"I did, it's up in my room for safekeeping. Please come in."

"Thanks."

So we did the introduction thing again with Mom and I took Caitlin upstairs to return her bag while Mom and Mrs Brumby talked.

"Your mom isn't going to freak about you being alone with a girl in your bedroom?"

"I don't know. You're the first girl I've had in my bedroom unless you count my three-year-old niece."

"No 'hands visible and feet on the floor' stuff?"

"I think she's be more worried about missing clothing or stuff like that. You aren't planning to become a stripper in the next ten minutes, are you?

"You should be so lucky."

"I think we ought to know each other a little bit better before we think about things like that. Besides, we came up here to give you your gym bag back."

"Yeah. Just how did you end up with my bag?"

"Uh, someone else said he found it."

"Which is bullshit. He stole it from in front of Coach Barros' office while she was talking to me. No way I just lost it."

"I'm not surprised considering who had it."

"You're trying to be nice and not naming names. I know it was that bastard Ryan Mondalmi who swiped it. One of my girlfriends saw him with it."

"Jeez - I know he's a macho idiot, but I didn't think he would take a girl's stuff."

"He didn't…?" She kind of ran out of words.

"Yeah, he did."

"What did he do with my stuff?"

"Uh, well he… kinda took out some of your… well…" My turn to run out of words.

"He actually handled my bra, didn't he?"

"And your panties."

"Gross! Yuccch!"

"I know. If its any comfort, he's been known to use other guy's jockstraps as a slingshot."

"I'm never going to wear that bra again. Give me my bag!"

So I did and she opened it up and took out her bra. With a look of disgust she wadded it up and tossed it in my garbage can. Her panties quickly followed.

"My Mom says bras are pretty expensive. You sure you want to do that?"

"I'm never going to wear a bra that that slime Ryan was handling. It would feel like his ugly paws were holding on to my breasts every time I put it on. No way!"

"Gross! If you're sure, then we better go back downstairs or our folks will wonder what we're doing in my bedroom."

"When we get to know each other better then we'll see what happens. I'll give you my mobile number."

"Cool!"

And that's how I got my very own bra.