This is the story of me and one of my high school girlfriends (that is, of course, girls-who-are-friends… nothing more, that would be weird!). Her name was - and still is - Charlotte, though everyone called her Lottie, and mine is Emma. We weren't best friends per se, but we were fairly close in our core group of around 5.

This whole adventure took place over the course of a few months in senior year (so we were both 18, no need for anyone to get freaky about it).

For some added context as to our personalities I don't want to just shoehorn in as exposition, I'll lay it out here. Lottie was quite quiet, subdued, though would perk up occasionally with the funniest shit you had ever heard. Came from a prim and proper family, they weren't rich or anything but liked to be seen as serious professional people so I think that's where she got that from. All the teachers loved her that's for sure, but she wasn't ‘nerdy’ either. She had friends, hobbies, just was always a bit mysterious. Maybe it was just me who thought that lol, who knows.

I was more of a punky rebel type, though looking back it was mostly just an outfit I wore to seem cool and edgy and so people didn't expect much of me; a mask I donned so I could play as confident. Lottie saw through that though, she would peek through the cracks in my veneer with knowing pokes and comments occasionally, either at my insecurity or my looking at other girls just a little too closely - to which I would usually bite back with an insult (the lady doth protest too much).

Anywho, on with the story.

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It had started with a skirt.

Pink plaid that covered Lottie's ass, but exposed so much long leg that I found my eyes stuck to it (and them) all day.

"Is there something on my ass, Em?" She had finally said, fixing her hair in her locker mirror.

I should have averted my gaze. I should have shrugged it off with an apology, or complimented the fit or the color. Something normal. Something straight. Instead, I locked eyes with her in the mirror and said, "You trying to get written up for dress code with that? Drop a pencil and you'll flash everyone your panties."

"Except I haven't, so," Lottie closed her locker and wheeled around to stare me down, closing the door with her back, "Are you watching me hoping for a peek?"

I bit my lip, and thought well enough to shrug it off then, "Nothing I haven't seen in the locker room, right?"

“So you admit you look?”, Lottie walked closer, docs squeaking on the tile floor, and nudged me with her hip slightly. 

"If you can guess what color they are, I'll let you look for as long as you want," she said in a hushed voice.

I felt the color drain from my face. It felt like my armpits pissed themselves, and oh god, did I have deodorant in my locker?

Lottie smiled innocently and led me to class by the pinkie. We did have Trig together next after all.

I just sat there, knee jiggling as my mind raced. Lottie was just fucking with me, right? She didn't actually mean that. She wouldn't just-

"Emma, could you complete the formula on the board?", the middle-aged, monotone-voiced teacher would drone at me, so rudely interrupting my fevered mind.

Fuck you, no I couldn't.

I got up, a mess of nerves and sweat, when I heard some bitchy cheerleader girl whisper “Jeez, someone's on speed today…” - I couldn't even tell her to get fucked, because I was already on thin ice in this class. I looked to the teacher for mercy and found none.

Thing is, I actually knew how to fill out the formula. My brain was just too busy bouncing off my skull. I turned around, heart pounding in my ears. I just needed to concentrate.

And that's when I saw it, well, them. Lottie sitting, heels dug into the ground and legs spread, airing out a pale green pair of panties. I looked, and then looked up, as Lottie crossed her legs, and I knew - I fucking knew, because we watched Basic Instinct TOGETHER that this was part of the game.

I filled out the formula, almost anticlimactically after all that.

"Thank you, Emma."

I walked wobbly-legged back to my chair and grabbed a scrap of paper. I always folded my notes into ninja stars because, one, ninja stars were cool as fuck, and two, they were less likely to be confiscated as notes.

And, if anyone saw this note they'd find nothing inconspicuous about the single word written on it:

‘Green?’

Which is what led to me sitting on my knees, skirt's edge over my head as I stared. They were just panties. Yeah, pretty ones. All pale green and soft with a little bow beneath the waistband.

Lottie kept shifting her weight on her hips, and I felt my own breath coming in rough and ragged as I noticed the growing dark spot in the front. I looked up at Lottie, finding her eyes almost completely blown out, and that wrecked me more than anything else.

The bell rang and we jerked apart. Lottie laying her skirt flat and me feeling like I'd been kicked in the head by a horse.

And so it went, on days when Lottie wore skirts (which she did with increasing frequency) the game was on. And, somehow, even when I got it wrong, Lottie would prove my incorrect answer with a little flash, like pretending to scratch her thigh and moving the hem just enough to show that it was a white with flowers day and not a plain blue day.

Before long though was graduation and the last summer vacation before college. We didn't see each other daily anymore, but thankfully for us Alexander Graham Bell had just the invention for the occasion.

“So, what's your guess?”, Lottie softly asked one night as I nestled the phone in my collar while making a late-night snack for myself. 

I'd lick my lips before answering, "Well, it's a Thursday, which usually means blue. But, it's nearly midnight and therefore Friday, which means patterned white."

"You think I'm really following the same pattern I did in school?", Lottie fired back.

I almost cut a finger off in my distraction and decided that food can wait, and so turned off the pot, moved it to another element and washed my hands.

"I think you wouldn't ask me unless you thought I had a chance of winning", I parried.

"What makes you think I want you to win?", Lottie unconfidently replied, a little breathless.

"Because you're fucking touching yourself while you make me guess, Lottie," I snarled back.

The strangled moan from the other side was the real answer I wanted. I stormed to my room, slamming the door (and thanking God for us switching to a cordless phone). I had to lean against the wall, whimpering against the receiver. Lottie's answering whimper was almost too much. I looked around frantically, finding my pillow as an ill, but apparent substitute. I mounted it, feeling some of the pressure on my clit abating with the slow friction of grinding down on it.

"So, what color are they?" I said shakily, feeling some semblance of control coming back to me with the vice grip I had on my covers.

"What?" Lottie gasped, "Oh fuck, purple."

I groaned, seeing it in my mind's eye. Lottie writhing against the sheets, dark purple wet spot perfect enough to kiss.

"Why did you start playing this game with me, Lottie?" I growled, wanting so bad that my whole body shook.

"Because I was hoping that if I gave you an open net you'd take the initiative to score."

"Soccer metaphors, really?"

"Chickening out when a girl shows you her vag, really?" Lottie snarled and I found all of the hair on my body sticking up. She's butter. She's bubbling acid. Her atoms are so charged that they're changing up. Switching electrons out. Making my whole body unstable with each thrust against my pillow.

“Well fuck, Lott, just sit on my face next time if I'm being too much of a dumbass to get it."

Lottie gave a strangled moan and it's so sweet.

Both white knuckling the sheets hard enough to pull them loose from the bed, and I thought about it being Lottie’s hand instead. Of looking into those mysterious eyes and breathing the same breath, tasting the same taste.

It came to me faster than my orgasm.

“Fuck, I NEED you.”