Subject: Story: "A Favor for
Cynthia"
From: Oilbuckle@aol.com
Date: 1997/09/06
by Gordon X. Oilbuckle
Cynthia Benedetto slammed the ball with her bat, and watched it fly into the distance. Tossing away her bat, she raced around the bases with her dress flying, as the rest of the sixth-graders cheered and the seventh-graders fumed.
"Now who's going to get the ball?" asked Porky Judson, glaring through the fence at the undeveloped lot next to our school. Officially, a home run like the one Cynthia had hit, or anything else resulting in a piece of school equipment going over the fence, was to be reported to the school authorities, upon which a faculty member would be sent to retrieve said piece of equipment some time within the next week. Unofficially-especially during a hotly contested event like the annual baseball game between the sixth-graders and the seventh-graders... it was the responsibility of whoever had sent it over the fence.
"I'll get it!" Cynthia replied coolly. She tucked her dress into the legs of her underpants and began to climb the fence. It took less than a minute to reach the top of the fence, but close to a minute as she tried to negotiate the barbed wire on top without the billowing folds of her dress getting caught. But at length she vaulted over and disappeared into the woods.
"That all comes of letting a girl play!" sneered Porky.
"Because she hit your pitch?" I retorted. Porky glared at me, as if to question why I'd even been allowed in the game at all. Truth to tell, the sixth grade that year was short of competent baseball players, and I myself... at ten a year younger than most of the rest of the grade, and not that great a player... had been included only at Cynthia's urging. Cynthia herself, the only girl on either team, had qualified on sheer determination and ability, and the reluctance of an already-disadvantaged team to ignore anyone who could help them win. And, thanks to Cynthia, they'd tied it.
Cynthia had recovered the ball and was now preparing to climb the fence again. Staring upward at the barbed wire with its treacherous spikes, she seemed to be contemplating the situation, and then with a sigh of resignation, made her decision. She suddenly gathered her dress around her, lifted it high, and tucked it into the waist of her panties, all the way around. Then she started her climb.
"I see London, I see France! I see Cynthia's.." began Bob Taylor, but a glare from Tim Sherman, our team captain, cut him short. Cynthia reached the top, crouched there for a moment, and then swung herself over and down. Quickly pulling her dress out again, she strode forward and presented the ball to Porky, the seventh-grade pitcher.
The sixth-graders (even Bob) and even a few of the seventh-graders burst into applause, as Jay Bowdoin, the next sixth-grade batter, moved up to the plate. Cynthia looked around to make sure nobody was watching her except me, then walked to the fence where she'd left her purse, and picked it up. Gesturing to me to follow, she strode toward the school building.
"Why are you going in, Cynthia?" I asked in utter confusion once we were inside the school. "We've still got five minutes of recess left!"
"Nobody'll notice us now." she replied enigmatically. "Neither of us will be up to bat again this recess. And I need a big favor from you."
She'd reached the door to the girls' restroom by then, and opened it. I naturally stepped back, assuming she wanted me to wait outside for her, but to me utter amazement she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside after her.
"Cynthia, what are you doing!" I protested. "This is the girls' room! I can't come in here!"
"Doesn't matter," replied Cynthia, shaking my world view to its very foundations. "I'm in a jam only you can help me, and the whole sixth grade, out of."
"Huh?" I said stupidly.
"You know what baseball is like! A lot of running, and occasional base-sliding. But since the school makes me wear a dress, it's not always going to stay down."
"That's never bothered you before!" I replied in utter confusion. "Why does it matter now?"
"Because I tore my undies on that fence. See?" She turned away and flipped up the back of her skirt. Sure enough, the seat of her panties had apparently been snagged by a bit of barbed wire, and was torn away in a triangular flap that revealed a good deal of her bottom. And more.
"You're bleeding, Cynthia!"
She reached around and felt herself. "I am? Oh, there. Didn't even realize it. Look, do me a favor and put a Band-Aid on it for me, OK? It takes too long to manuever in the mirror."
Cynthia reached into her purse and pulled out a large Band-Aid, handing it to me before leaning on the wash basin and lifting her dress again. With great embarrassment I opened it, peeled off the "NEW Super-Stick" backing, and pasted it down on Cynthia's bottom with the gauze over the wound. "Thanks a lot!" she said. "I wouldn't want to bleed all over your undies, too."
I suddenly started. "My... what??"
"I'm going to need to borrow your undies for the rest of the day. They need me for the rest of the game, and you know I'm not the shyest girl in the world, but I do like to have at least one layer of cloth between my butt and the outside world. So I'll have to borrow someone else's undies."
"But why me? Why not Jessica Harrington, or one of the other girls?"
Cynthia sighed. "Because they'd have the same problem I do. They bend over too far, and anyone would see. You, on the other hand, can hide my torn undies under your pants."
"Your undies?"
Cynthia shrugged as she stood up and let her dress drop over her newly bandaged bottom. "Well, I figured you'd want something in exchange for the rest of the day." She looked at me and must have sensed my reluctance, because she added, "Well, we've only got three minutes before class! You can change in the stall if you want."
I wasted no time in entering one of the stalls in the otherwise deserted rest room, afraid for a moment that Cynthia would follow me in. Instead, she went into the adjoining stall, and I quickly closed and locked the door. As I slowly and reluctantly undid my pants and let them drop, I heard Cynthia plop herself down on the toilet in her stall. Her hand appeared beneath the connecting wall with her torn and dirty panties. "Quick! Pass yours to me!"
I took the panties and prepared to pull my underpants down, suppressing the urge to walk out of there and leave Cynthia with no underclothing whatsoever. I couldn't let a friend down, besides which, what if someone saw me emerging from the girls' bathroom? There was no fly, either. "Uh, which side goes in front?" I asked.
Suddenly I heard unmistakeable sounds coming from Cynthia's stall. My God! She was actually using the toilet there. She continued as casually as if she were in the middle of her homework, "The side without the label, of course! Though now that I think of it, you might want to have the ripped side in front, since they don't have a fly." She paused as if finally understanding my embarrassment, and added, "Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go! You'd probably better go, too... we've got two hours before lunch!"
I did need to go, frustratingly enough... but I'd rather have died than let Cynthia hear me doing so. Suddenly she said, "Quick! Someone else is coming! Get your pants off and hold them in your lap! A lot of the girls wear oxfords and socks like yours, but those pants are a dead giveaway!"
I wasn't flustered enough not to obey her. The outside door opened, and I heard someone else come in and plop herself down in the stall on the other side of Cynthia. Then I heard a voice as the newcomer, much to my embarrassment, commenced her own business: "Cynthia? Is that you?"
"Yeah, Charity. What's up?" I recognized the name... Charity Randolph was a very talkative second-grader who worshipped Cynthia, and was always following her around when she got the chance.
"I saw that home run. And the way you got that ball. Really cool! But my daddy would give me a spankin if I showed my panties the way you did!"
"Why would he do that? Everyone wears undies, right?" I couldn't believe the way the two were carrying on a conversation in the middle of... whatever. I never would have, but I concluded it was a thing girls did. Even Cynthia.
"Just letting the boys see them... doesn't your daddy ever give you a spankin?"
"Not for that. Only if I've done something really bad. Like the time I broke Andrea Verrocchio's statue."
"Who's she?"
"Never mind. Dad really tanned my hide for that. And the time I tried to join the Sunburst Club and threw a rock through a police car, he didn't even wait till he got me home. Just beat my butt right there in the back of his Rolls."
"Wow!" said Charity... whether because of the spanking or the Rolls I didn't know or care. All I wanted was to get out of there before recess ended and more girls arrived.
Finally Cynthia said, "Look, Charity... I'll probably be here awhile. I've got the runs. Would you mind telling Miss Parker that I'll be late for class?"
"Sure, Cynthia!" replied Charity. She flushed the toilet and left.
I finished taking off my underpants and... not without a great deal of reluctance, remembering the usual state of Cynthia's... passed them under the partition to her. "Thanks!" she said, as, with even more reluctance, I struggled into Cynthia's panties... the ripped side in front, as she'd suggested... and then my own pants.
"All set?" I asked. Remembering what she'd told Charity, I added, "Or are you still..."
"Naah, that was just an excuse," she answered as we emerged. "Sorry I couldn't come up with one for you, too, but she'd have died if she knew you were in here with us."
She wasn't the only one who'd have died, I thought.
Cynthia stepped outside, and then said, "All clear!" I emerged and followed her towards Miss Parker's classroom.
Cynthia slid into third base during afternoon recess, her dress somewhere around her waist. I watched as she stood up and took the base.
"Stop staring, Lou!" snapped Jessica Harrington, who, like most of the rest of the non-players in the school, was avidly watching the game. "Just because Cynthia's not careful about her clothes doesn't mean you have the right to stare at her underwear?"
I was tempted to explain that my fascination was proprietary, not sexual, but thought better of it. My underpants were very tight on Cynthia, since she was a year older than me, but my fascination with the way they fit her was mingled with fear that they'd split.
The game reached its ninth inning with two minutes to spare during afternoon recess, and Cynthia was up to bat once more. She hit a double, sending in the tying run... and then the winning one. The game immediately broke up, as the sixth graders clustered around Cynthia, and Bob and Tim hoisted her to their shoulders. She quickly pulled down her dress and held it between her legs.
"See!" said Jessica triumphantly. "She doesn't want people looking at her underpants!"
Or at least seeing her fly... or rather mine, I thought... but to myself.
"Thanks so much!" said Cynthia, as the two of us headed toward her house after school. "If you'll come inside with me, I'll give you your undies back."
I'd been thinking all day of something I'd read, and thought this was the proper time to mention it. "You know, Cynthia?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I've been reading about the knights in medieval times. It seems they'd get a favor... that's what they called it... from a girl they knew. A lock of hair, or a piece of clothing. They'd wear it when they went into battle, and think of them as it brought them victory."
"Yeah? So?"
"Well..." my face began to turn red, but I continued... "You're much more of a fighter than I am. But you won the ball game for the sixth grade, and you wore my underpants while you did so. Sort of a favor, right?" She glared at me, and I continued. "Not that we'd do any of that yucky stuff married people do, Cynthia! I heard most of the girls were married to lords, so it was called 'courtly love.' Nobody ever touched..."
"Stow it. You did me a favor, and that's it, OK?" We'd reached her father's house, and I followed her to the door of her room. She stepped inside, and this time, every so often understanding the fitness of things, I'd waited outside.
Then Cynthia emerged, wearing her tank bathing suit and holding her purple Italian trunks and my underpants out. "Uh, Lou..."
"Yes?"
"Here're your undies. But I thought, if you'd like to go for a swim first, maybe I could toss them in the washer and dryer? They do get a bit dirty during a game, you know..."
"Yes, I know!"
"And your dad might ask some questions if you brought them home like this. Yes, I know he doesn't spank you like Charity's or mine might, but you'll probably want to bring your... uh, favor... home clean. Right?
With a sigh of relief, I took Cynthia's trunks and headed for the Benedetto's bathroom. I closed the door as she added, "Even if they were a bit tight across my butt!"