Back in the days before girls wore bikepants under their skirts, panty-flashing was an occupational hazard in school. Most women from my generation have at least a hundred stories on that particular subject. In my case, of course, it seemed completely unavoidable.

My older sister and I studied gymnastics at Ridgewick Youth Center. In the space of only a few brief years, we'd become quite adept in the more sophisticated exercises, having qualified for the district finals.

During the week, we practiced our moves in the school playground. Whenever we learnt a new trick at gym class, we'd demonstrate it to our friends over the lunch break. Our repertoire included a dazzling array of cartwheels, handstands, step-overs and flip-flops – all in perfect synchronization - and all with our full-cut panties on clear display.

Lydia was slightly more advanced than I: she could go up into a flawlessly controlled handstand, scissor her legs apart, and walk around in a circle for close on a minute. Her skirt used to hang over her head, revealing her lacy floral prints to everyone in the vicinity.

I'd sometimes follow up with a triple step-over, displaying my pastel-colored underwear at the height of each turn. The sight of all those uncovered knickers never failed to bring a round of applause from our audience. Sometimes our friends would join in, though we'd usually end up in jumbled heap of arms and legs after the first try.

When we weren't turning somersaults on the school green, my classmates and I used to hang out on the jungle gym, where advanced acrobatic skills were optional. Most days you could see us dangling by ours knees, skirts flipped halfway over our heads. It was even worse if one of us wore a dress, because the longer you stayed topsy-turvy, the further your frock would creep down.

I remember one time my dress was turned completely inside out, dangling by a thread from my shoulders. One of my friends actually pulled it off for a joke; I had to chase her half way across the playground in nothing but my silky white girlie-pants. It was so embarrassing, I was relentlessly teased about it for about six weeks running.

Naturally, it didn't take us long to notice that there were always a few guys lurking about in the background, hiding in the bushes and hoping the rumors they'd heard turned out to be true. Evidently, they were running a bet to see who could 'score' the most points whenever we turned handsprings or clambered over the bars.

They should have known better than to match wits with us. Girls are genetically endowed with telepathic insights unknown to modern science - even tranzies like myself. Lydia was particularly adept at sensing the Male Gaze, and at the first sign of trouble, we'd both flip right-side up, smoothing down our tunics and frustrating their efforts at the last possible moment.

After a while, it developed into a vaguely obsessive game where the boys would try to sneak up and catch us with our panties on show. The lengths they went through just to gain a peek up our skirts were amazing. We saw them scaling walls, shuffling over ledges and even swinging across rooftops at one point. It's hard to say whether it was adolescent curiosity or sheer insanity, but after a while, both Lydia and I decided to play on their weaknesses.

Our initial target was a sullen mob of fifth year boys hanging around beneath the peppercorn trees. A permanent fixture on the edge of The Girl Zone, they loitered about day after day, almost praying for the barest hint of panty. They'd become utterly obsessed with what lay beneath my hemline, and I began to tease them every chance I got.

First, I'd wait until most of them were looking the other way, then flip my skirt up at the back, revealing my white cotton panties for a fraction of a second. They'd all suddenly turn to look, but by then it was too late, and I'd pretend nothing happened. It used to drive them crazy - they'd spend the entire lunch hour trying to catch a peek, but I was simply too fast for them.

Lydia was even more brazen, practically daring them to grab an eyeful. Her favorite trick was to walk past with a group of her friends, then casually turn a slow-motion cartwheel, placing her shiny nylon panties on open exhibition.

A minor scuffle would erupt within the boys' camp as they stumbled over one another, not quite sure what they'd just seen. Some of them would call out in frankly astounded voices, begging us to do it again. We never did, of course.

Not until they were looking elsewhere, anyway :)