I remember shopping for pretty pink panties, and my eyes lit up when we reached the ladies’ undergarment section. Seeing all the bright colors and mature half-dressed mannequins always made me happy. First, I would run my hand along those mannequins. Next, I felt the lace as it wrapped around their plastic bodies. I always wondered how they knew their exact size. They all fit so well. The curve of their hips and the cup of their best perfectly covered breasts in the soft, smooth fabrics. My favorite was always the pretty pink panties. To me, they were everything; they alone stood above all the other garments. You can always find them in pink, regardless of style or material. Did you know pink always sells? It would be stupid not to have them.
I used to watch these other shoppers tower over the mannequins dressed in their different lingerie. I watched men and women run their hands along the lace and smooth fabric seams. I’d watch them sort through colors: red, blue, black, and nude. But they always went back to pink. Pink got picked up the most and held up to you. The pretty pink panties were taken to the dressing room to be tried on so you could see them on your skin. Adore how they looked and made you feel how they hugged your body. You could see the feet in the dressing room as they circled in the mirror, lifting their heels and turning around to view how the pretty pink panties wrapped around their ass.
I remember one time watching a man stroll through the aisle, picking different sets of panties up and setting them down. I wondered if he was shopping for his wife or a girlfriend. Maybe if he was, She must have been a bigger woman. Because the size he was getting was rather large. And then, first, I saw him hold up pretty pink panties. Against his pants and stretching them, seeing if they would fit. To my surprise, he took those panties into the dressing room, And I watched his legs become bare underneath the door. As tall slacks slide out of his dress shoes, you can see the hair on his legs just over the cuff of his sack. And then I saw the pink panties. as he stepped into each leg hole, gracefully sliding them pretty pink panties up.
I watched him for entirely too long as he went through different pairs of panties and I could tell by the angles of his feet that he was posing in the mirror. He seemed to be having a good time because he was there for quite a while. Finally, he was done in the fitting room and handed the nice lady at the counter a handful of garments. Next, he headed to the cash register to make his purchase. Lastly, I watched him as he laid the ladies’ garments down on the counter, and she scanned them—first the Black, next the blue, and lastly the red. Pink was gone.
Then, I looked back at the discarded pile over to the side. There is no pink there, either. How much time does he take to get his credit card out and make his purchase? Where had the pretty pink panties gone? Finally, he walked past me with this bag of purchases. As he passed, he shifted his shirt a little, and I could see a flash of pink lace riding his hip just underneath his shirt. That dirty shoplifting slut, I thought, and I watched him walk out of the store.
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