Life as a good little girl/Go to the donation box and try to rescue your clothes
From Create Your Own Story
Feeling doomed you looked around your new room, trying to decide what to do. The idea of abandoning all your clothes, of having nothing to wear at all makes you kick the useless box with its old baby clothes. The box flies open, spewing tiny little outfits across the floor like it's mocking you. Realizing that you're going to have to clean it up you stoop down and start scooping them back into the box. It's as you reach the final item, a tiny little rain hat, that an idea comes to you.
Grinning you stuff the rest of your items into the box hap-hazardly and pick it up. Heedless of your nudity you rush to the front door, carelessly dropping the box by the large clear panels that line each side of the doorway. Turning to the closet you push the sliding door to the side and start digging through the coats.
Most of your coats were short and a year old, which meant they were useless at cover your naked butt, which wags back and forth outside of the dusty closet like the behind of a friendly puppy. Worse, those coats were from when you lived way up north. Now that you're in the far south you'd probably keel over from heat exhaustion if you tried wearing any of them. Winter here was warmer than summer back home so you'd been boiling in your old clothes. That was why you had started trimming all your outfits, making them more heat friendly. And, as a side-effect, a lot smaller than they used to be.
"Ha!" you exclaim, and yank out the prize, a light rain coat. Proudly you hold it up, turning it around to make sure it isn't damaged. It's light, it's cheap, it's got pink dots all over it, and it's slightly translucent like a shower curtain, but it should serve. After all, you wore it last year. Or maybe the year before. Whenever it was the coat reached the top of your knees.
Grinning, you dig around some more, bending over to search through mounds of smelly shoes belonging to your brothers until you finally find a pair of pink rain boots.
"Please fit," you murmur before pulling them out. For a moment you freeze, looking back at the door from between your legs. Did you just see something move outside the door? Putting down the boots you go up to the clear glass, momentarily forgetting your nudity, and almost press up against the panes as you try to look left and right. The big panels are plenty wide enough for you to see through, but no one seems to be there.
Abruptly remembering your nudity - and the fact that the windows do nothing to hide you from the outside world - you step back. And promptly trip over the boots, which sends you flopping onto the stinky shoes in the closet, where you lie for a long moment, stunned and spread-eagled. You struggle to sit up, pushing coats out of your eyes until you're upright, legs spread wide, and freeze again.
"I could've sworn I saw..." you mutter, and on all fours you crawl to the door, peering out the window. Still nothing. Turning around you crawl back to the boots, reaching out with one hand to pick them up and whack them on the floor to dislodge anything that might be inside them. You repeat the process with the other, essentially on all fours, and then look around for the coat.
"Again!" you exclaim softly as a shadow seems to dart away from the glass. Maybe it's just clouds, or leaves, or people walking past on the sidewalk. Still, the thought that someone might possibly be peeking is enough to make you grab the coat and pop open its snaps.
It's smaller than you remember, and you can barely get your arms into the sleeves, but you pull with determination. Whereupon the cheap old plastic rips at both shoulders.
"Darn it," you grumble, and struggle out of the suit, turning in a circle like a dog chasing her tail as you struggle to get the clingy plastic off your bare arms. Finally free - and a little dizzy - you stare at the arms. Each of the 'seams', which aren't sewn but just made to look that way, have torn about halfway around the arm-hole. Holding it up to the closet you debate tearing the arms off versus wearing it as it is.
Remembering the second half of your plan - bicycling to the donation box - you decide to just rip the sleeves off, something that proves surprisingly easy as the cheap plastic all but comes apart in your little hands. Tossing the sleeves into the closet you put the rain coat on again. This time your arms fit easily through the armholes with room to spare.
Smiling in relief you reach down to the bottom buttons and draw them together.
"Dammit," you mutter as the edges of the two sides touch. Unfortunately the male half of the fastener only touches the outside of the female side's button. You give the raincoat a firmer pull, hoping for a tiny sliver of elasticity, only to hear a soft 'rrrr...' sound, kind of like the one the sleeves made. It alarms you enough that you turn in circles again, trying to see where the sound was coming from. No matter how much you crane your neck you can't spot the source of the sound, and so start working on the other buttons.
The second button gives you some momentary resistance, but after pulling harder on it you find that the buttons meet and snap together. You work the next few buttons up, each time hearing that disturbing 'rrrr' sound until you're nearly reached your belly button. After hearing it again you decide to take another look and nearly twirl around in your search for the source of the sound. The two tails of the coat fly out from momentum, but other than that.
Wait. Tails? This coat doesn't have tails. Frantically you reach around behind, and using your fingers find that the cheap plastic coat has a seam up the middle of the back. Each time you forced a button to close the coat did the only thing it could do to make the buttons reach. It split the seam. Reaching through the split you find your fingers touching your tailbone.
"Why?" you moan plaintively, wondering if anything will go right today. Your question is answered when your feet slip easily into the short pink rain boots. "Well at least my feet haven't grown," you mutter, and check out your front.
With most of the buttons unclasped your outfit looks like it has a long v-neck, going from shoulder blades all the way down past your little innie belly button. The last button is more than an inch from the bottom of the coat, which itself reaches above mid-thigh. If the button popped... You cringe a little at the thought of going out like this, but after what you'd been wearing before it seems almost normal. Plus you'll be on a bike so no one will see you for long. And thirdly doing so will mean getting back your normal clothes.
So thinking you reach hesitantly for the door knob, idly noticing that the sun has almost finished going down.
"That'll mean it'll be harder to see me," you say with a smile, and pull open the door, closing it softly behind you. Scampering over to the garage you carefully lift it, trying not to make enough noise to draw your brothers, and making sure that no one on the street is looking your way. You slide under the partially open door and use the dim light to locate your trusty bike.
You used to bike all the time back home, travelling near and far. But now that you were living so close to a city there was a lot more traffic. Plus, the bike was a little on the old side and too small for you now. It hadn't stopped you from riding when you first moved, but you stopped shortly after when you realized you didn't really have any outfits suitable for biking in the sweaty climate. You'd butchered a few outfits into tiny shorts and cropped tees, and it was during one of those rides that you first caught Tiffany's attention.
Shaking off the memory you slide the bike under the door and crawl out after it before carefully lowering the garage door again. A quick test shows the front light still works, but the beam is weak, like the battery is dying. Deciding not to use it while you still have daylight you hop on the bike and peddle away.
Hunching over you duck your head, hoping that no one will recognize you. It doesn't take long before you realize you'll have to stand to pedal, and find yourself pushing down on one side then the other. The motion makes you travel faster, but the faster you travel the more your butt swings from side to side, and the further the tails fly to the side, leaving more of your butt cheek exposed. One butt cheek becomes visible, then the other.
Meanwhile the wind makes the raincoat puff open around you, the breeze caused by your momentum sliding over your skin, caressing your nipples before sliding out through the arm holes or under the coat to seemingly rub against your naked crotch. The faster you travel the more it caresses you and the more your butt cheeks are exposed. You speed up, telling yourself that you'll get there faster if you pedal harder.
A few people call out to you, a number of whom you're pretty sure you know, but the wind in your ears robs you of their meaning. Too scared to look and see how many you might recognize - or who might recognize you - you keep pedalling, wanting to get this over with and back home as quickly as possible. A couple of drivers honk as they pass you in either direction, and one car follows you slowly. You wave for the driver to pass you, but the considerate driver - or maybe an old granny - just flicks on their hi-beams and stays behind you for about six blocks until you arrive at your destination and hop off, your leg lifting far up and over the bike as they pass.
"Well that was convenient. With the sun all the way down and them behind me I didn't have to use my light. I can save it for the return trip."
One of the things the car's hi-beams had illuminated was the homeless shelter's sign. The other signs don't need any illumination as they're bright enough to read from a block away.
'Girls Girls Girls' 'Piercings and Tattoos' 'XXX videos'
The only times you've been in this neighborhood were when you were in Joe's truck. He seemed to like going through this area, so even though you haven't ever been here on foot you're familiar with the route and the buildings. In the day the rehab centre and homeless shelter are across the street from those bright signs, but they were never as interesting to look at. Ever since realizing that XXX meant porn you found yourself staring out the window as you passed, wondering what scenes of rough humiliation and degradation you might find within. Even now you find yourself almost itching to go look. What nasty things would you see that you could then turn into stories for Tiffany?
Forcing yourself to turn away from the treasure trove of porn - icky, terrible stuff that no good girl would look at - you stare at the two run-down brick buildings. The farther one has the sign for the shelter, whereas the closer one has no sign at all on this side. Would a rehab center have a sign, or would they prefer anonymity? Maybe it's actually on the other side of the shelter.
Joe had said the box was between them. That would mean inside the big smelly alley between them. The ones that's pitch black.
Gulping, you try to do up the couple of buttons that unsnapped on the journey, but the buttons seem to have broken, leaving even more of your skin exposed. Now you really need those clothes, but after looking around you wonder if you should re-think this. Or at least look for someone to help you. After all, you're a cute little girl in need. Hasn't Tiffany always said that guys love to do things for cute little girls? Spotting a pay-phone between the porn and tattoo store you think of Tiffany and wonder if you could get in touch with her somehow. Maybe someone left some change in the machine, if it even works.
