Copyright 2004 Frank Downey. All rights reserved. Any use other than personal archiving requires the permission of the author. Do not repost.

This story contains adult material. If this is illegal where you reside or if you are underage where you reside, begone.

Nuts. I must be nuts. Completely.

I woke up Wednesday morning and went to class. I barely paid any attention to my classes. When I got done for the day, I found myself going to the mall.

I left with three sets--red, black, and purple. The bras were lacey and frilly and the panties were similar. And as I walked out of the mall, I had to ask myself what the hell was I doing? I was almost on autopilot. It was like I wasn’t thinking--some part of me just decided that if I was going to be taking off outerclothing, the underwear had to be sexier.

What the hell was happening to me? I asked myself that as I got into the car and pulled my purchases out of the bag. I looked at this very frilly, very sexy, very not-me underwear and wondered why I was doing this.

And somewhere deep in my brain, I got an answer. Because I looked at this stuff and imagined Vinnie seeing me in it. And, yes, I got scared and anxious and shy...but I also got excited. Really excited.

And if you don’t think that didn’t confuse the hell out of me!

Was it Vinnie? Was it just him? My first instinct was no--after all, I didn’t even like him. But then I remembered that we’d actually gotten along well last night. And then I remembered that Vinnie...well, he’s kind of a hunk, OK? I might have thought he was a dumb goon--and I’d realized I was probably wrong about that--but there was nothing wrong with his looks.

Vinnie makes me excited?

God help me, that can’t be it. It’s got to be something else. I must be discovering my inner exhibitionist or something.

Look, it’s not like I’m completely naive. I have, you know, done myself. I know what excited is. But I never really transferred that feeling onto guys. A little--as I said, I’d made out a little bit--but I knew how my parents were. I knew I was on a short leash so I guess I never let my mind wander, knowning it was impossible.

It wasn’t impossible anymore. And my mind was wandering all over the place.

Damn. College is confusing!

Anyhow, I got back to the dorm. Callie was in the room. She saw the Victoria’s Secret bag and demanded to see. She cracked up laughing when she saw what I’d bought.

Oy. Good thing I wasn’t looking for support!

I went to supper, went back up to the room. And I almost chickened out. I almost kept the plain white stuff on. But I didn’t--I went with the red. And I almost took it right back off--that bra showed off a lot more than my Grannie bras! Yeah, it covered my nipples and most of my boob, but there was some severe leakage in the cleavage area. I’m no Dolly Parton, but I do have cleavage.

I wasn’t accustomed to displaying it. I was going to be displaying it with a vengeance very soon.

Mitch came down at seven, so up I went. Callie wished me good luck, and Mitch and I did a little "Pedro!" chant for good vibrations. Up I went. Vinnie welcomed me in, and had cokes and munchies again.

It was an hour before game time. Vinnie was good, he didn’t push or say a word. We sat there chatting, mostly about the series. We had ESPN on again, and I reacted with dismay to the reports that Schilling might not pitch again. "If he can’t pitch, we’re sunk."

"You’re sunk anyhow, Princess," he teased. We went on like that for a while, until it got to be about fifteen minutes until game time. Then I got quiet, thinking about what I was about to do.

Vinnie immediately picked up on it. "You’re nervous," he said. I gulped and nodded. He looked at me. "Princess, if it helps--I really am a gentleman. You don’t have anything to worry about. The bet says I get to get an eyeful--but that’s all I’m going to get, capice?" I giggled a little, and nodded. I forced my hands up to the top button on my blouse. "Wait a minute," Vinnie said. Then he got up, pulled down the shades, and locked the door.

"Thanks," I croaked.

He sat in his chair again, me on the couch. My hands went back to the top button. Luckily, he didn’t blatantly stare at me. I know he was looking, but he wasn’t blatant about it, not while I was unbuttoning the blouse.

I worked my way through the buttons, took a deep breath, and shrugged the blouse off. I cleared my throat. Vinnie turned to look. I swear, you could have heard my heart pounding from a mile away at that moment. My palms were sweaty. I was having trouble breathing.

It wasn’t all nerves, either.

Vinnie took a good long look, and I felt his eyes burning on me. Hell, I was so hot I felt like I had a fever or something. God.

"You’re beautiful, Princess," he croaked after a minute. "You really are." That helped the nervousness--but not anything else! Then he got this little crooked smile and said, "OK, I see I was wrong about the plain white Grannie bra."

"Only because I went shopping this afternoon," I admitted softly.

Vinnie blinked, and then cracked up laughing. "You’re all right, Princess. You’ve got more spunk than I gave you credit for."

I settled onto the couch, feeling mighty self-conscious. I wasn’t used to sitting in a room with a guy with just my bra on! But Vinnie started talking to me normally--though I noticed he kept sneaking looks--which did help.

The game started. Pedro got in trouble in the first inning but got out of it with only a single run scored against him. After that, he settled down.

Problem was, Jon Lieber was pitching like the second coming of Cy Young or something. The Red Sox couldn’t do a damn thing with him. They got one hit off of him and that was it for the first few innings.

Vinnie and I watched the game, and talked about it as it went on. And it was really weird--I was having this normal conversation about a baseball game, but I was also vividly aware that I wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was like my brain was split or something. Part of me paid attention to the game, and had no problem talking to Vinnie about it. But the other part of me kept screaming to myself, "You have no shirt on! He can see your bra! He can even see half your boobs!"

Vinnie was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Round about the fourth inning, he turned to me and said, "You’re still self-conscious, aren’t you?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted.

"You shouldn’t be. I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m even trying not to stare quite so much." I giggled at that one. "And you’ve been like this for an hour now. You should realize nothing bad is going to happen."

"I know it’s not."

"Then there’s no need to be self-conscious."

"It’s not that kind of self-conscious," I said.

"Oh? What kind is it?"

Well, I had boxed myself into a corner there, hadn’t I? Was I going to admit this? I wasn’t much of a liar, ever, about anything. I couldn’t even think of a plausible explanation. So, I sort of admitted it. "Well, it’s more of the, uh, squirmy kind."

He looked at me for a moment, then I could see realization in his eyes. Then he grinned. "Ah. I see," he said, still grinning. And he did see, I could tell. He knew exactly what I meant. And that gave him an enormous advantage over me, I then realized. I was turned on, and now he knew it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I waited. I waited for him to say something, for him to come over and sit next to me, for him to try something. I was expecting it. I wasn’t expecting him to say, "Hey, Princess, while you’re over there being squirmy, you’re missing a pretty good ball game."

My word, I could’ve kissed him--and not out of squirminess but out of gratitude. I had just pretty much told him that being half-naked in his room had awoken my hormones--and he changed the subject. He had a chuckle at my discomfort--and then moved on.

He had told me he was a gentleman, but I don’t think I really believed it until that moment.

I relaxed, and took his advice to heart. I watched the game. It really was a good ballgame, except for the Red Sox’ complete inability to hit. Pedro was scuffling a bit, but he got through the middle innings with no more damage than that first-inning run. He was keeping it close. With the lineup the Sox have, that should’ve been his job. One run in six innings, that should’ve been his job. Pedro was doing what he had to do--the bats weren’t.

Then, in the seventh, Pedro ran out of luck. He missed with a changeup to Olerud with a man on, and Olerud deposited into the seats. 3-0, Yankees.

That was the ballgame, and I knew it. Lieber was going to get them to the late-inning relievers, who were fantastic. The Sox did manage to get a run off of Tom Gordon, but Rivera came in and did his thing.

Vinnie started in with that "Who’s your Daddy?" chant they’d been chanting all night at Yankee Stadium. I had to laugh. I didn’t mind that chant, actually--it was funnier and more lighthearted than "Red Sox/Yankees Suck!" and Pedro did kind of ask for it.

"Actually, Pedro pitched well enough," I said. "The Yankees really weren’t Pedro’s Daddy today. Jon Lieber, however, was the Red Sox’ Daddy."

"True enough," Vinnie agreed. "Game over, Princess, you can put your shirt back on." I don’t know if I was relieved or disappointed, but I smiled and slipped my blouse back on.

"Freddie," he said--he actually used my name!--"I’ve got to say that I’m really enjoying watching these games with you. And not because I got a free show, either."

I had to laugh. He was really being sweet. Of course, I had to tease, too. "Well, yeah, you’re enjoying it because the Yankees are up two."

"Well, yeah, but I’d enjoy the Yankees being up two even if I were watching it with a bunch of chimpanzees. That goes without saying. But, no, I’m talking about the company. I misjudged you, Fred. I thought you were a porcelain doll. You know, pretty to look at but pretty useless and easily breakable. I was wrong, dead wrong."

"Well, so I was I," I told him. "I thought you were a big dumb neanderthal. I was wrong about that as well."

"Glad I cleared that up," he grinned. "Anyhow, I’m going to enjoy watching game three with you on Friday. And not just because you won’t be wearing any pants."

"Oh, Jesus," I said. "We have to win that game. I’ll be damned if I get completely naked before I even get a bra on you!"

"Uh-huh. Keep wishing. We’re going for the sweep now."

"Sure," I said. Then I got an impulse. I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. For what?"

"You know for what."

"I guess I do, Princess," he smiled. "See you Friday."

I was actually almost looking forward to it--even if I was going to have to sit there in my underwear! Honestly, I was more worried about the Sox than I was about my own predicament.

Unbelievable.