Good stuff meant changing rooms, where I always felt trapped and vulnerable, afraid someone would yank the door or curtain open exposing me in my tack... underpants. Then I had to drag stuff on that who knew how many others had tried on before me -- talk about cootie-phobia!Then, when I got the frock on I had to display myself to the whole shop floor while people gawked and store clerks tsked about me being too tall or too skinny or both and then I had to retreat to the changing room in shame to. "We haven't got much time," Susan said. "Why don't we get naked?"She moved her hand away from me to the waist of her shorts and began to unbutton them. Before I could even move, she had released the button, pulled the zipper down, and was beginning to work the tight shorts and panties down over her hips. I watched in amazement as her slim hips came into view, followed by the dark patch of hair below her belly. When the shorts were out from under her fanny, she bent and raised her knees and. More

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