Life as a Bikini

Today has been a long day, but I must confess, one of the best days of my life.

First, I lay all night in the dryer, mixed in with some of my wearer’s clothes. I never get any special treatment. At least if I belonged to a woman I’d get washed with my brothers and sisters, but instead, I get thrown in with whatever is dirty, no matter what color it is, or how heavy it is. Last night, it was his jeans. You know, the ones that cost more than fifty pairs of me put together. So of course, Mr. Hollister Low Riders thinks he is so much better than me and didn’t listen at all when I told him he was suffocating me.

All night long he lay on top of me, not caring that he was wrinkling me or that I was pressed right up against the hot sides of the dryer. Trust me, if I could have emitted real tears in the smothering heat, I would have. But I think it was more than that; I think he was enjoying the feel of me against the rough denim that makes him. I felt the subtle movements as he rubbed me periodically throughout the night.

First thing in the morning my wearer threw me on, I’m guessing he hadn’t had a shower as his skin was clingy as I slid up his legs. Then, there I was, covering what he calls the family jewels. I don’t see how they are jewels, that’s for sure.

Okay, really, it’s gross. I must admit, it’s a darned good thing I don’t have to hold my breath. That’s the benefit of being made of cotton – I’m breathable in and of myself. I’d imagine the odor down there is horrible.

Off we went, to his girlfriend’s house. Now, I ask, why in the world would he not take a shower before going to see her? I mean, it’s not like she doesn’t have the ability to smell. Through Mr. Hollister-Low-Riders, I can hear everything. Honestly, I just want to wrinkle up into a little ball and hide. He’s such a liar. He did not stay home all night. I know he put on my sister boxer, and off he went, with his other girlfriend. And when they got home, she was very upset that he’d thrown her on a dirty floor while the bed beside her creaked and jumped around. She said it was very disgusting.

But what upset her most was that he didn’t even clean himself before shoving himself, rather violently, back into her. She said it was horrible; he was sticky and swollen and pressed against her in the most unfashionable way. I felt so sorry for her.

“For the love of all things cotton, would you please stop moving?” Mr. Hollister-Low-Riders grumped, “He’s going to pick at me and ruin the way I sit so perfectly!”

I wanted to laugh. Such arrogance! And with that, I wedged myself slowly into the crack between to sweaty butt-cheeks and waited. Sure enough, within a few minutes, my wearer squirmed. Then he pinched Mr. Hollister-Low-Riders, trying to grab me in the process and pulled. I heard the growl from that arrogant idiot and had to chuckle.

We played this game for hours. I felt myself wearing thin in places and my seams were starting to ache, but I just couldn’t help it. I had to keep going. Mr. Hollister-Low-Riders was having a fit. He was so angry, I could feel him chaffing!

And then it happened, I could feel the pressure from outside – the shape of a feminine hand as it cupped those jewels and pressed me closer to them. The way she touched him was amazing. It was sensual and sweet. She wasn’t in a rush, she was just feeling him. And he responded.

I was caught between her hand, which had snuck past Mr. Hollister-Low-Rider’s zipper, and the ever-swelling flesh I sheltered. And then I realized, without a doubt, what it was that my sister had been through the night before. He had done this with someone else.
That made me angry. I mean, why would he do that? Even I know about monogamy; we hear a lot of things as we sit upon the shelves, waiting for a new home.

I was jerked back to reality, really jerked, as I was dropped down around his ankles. He kicked me away and I landed on top of Mr. Hollister-Low-Rider, who was groaning pathetically. It made me want to laugh, but at the same time, I could understand his pain.

“Not so great now are you,” I asked him.

“Thrown across the room,” he responded, “I can’t believe he is so careless with me!”

“You’re replaceable.”

“Not as much as you,” he sneered.

I thought about what he said, and realized that he was right. I was easily replaced. I had a drawer-full of brothers and sisters who were always waiting to be worn. It wouldn’t be hard for one of them to be chosen as his new favorite and for me to be shoved to the back of the drawer.

It hit me hard. I can’t lie. And suddenly I felt very abandoned – very mistreated. I was very much afraid and anxious for our wearer to pick us both back up, put us on, and take us home. Instead, I heard the two of them laughing. The shower kicked on and the door closed.

“How long will we have to lay here?”

Mr. Hollister-Low-Riders snorted, “It’s going to be awhile, Ms. Black-Cotton-Bikini.”

“How long?”

“Until they are done.”

“Done? Like, it will only be a few minutes? An hour?”

Sighing, he answered, “I don’t know. Just relax.”

Suddenly, he didn’t sound so arrogant. In fact, he nearly sounded as worried as I was. I grumbled, “Well he could have at least folded us up and put us with Mr. Gold-and-Black-Tee.”

“I heard that!”

Mr. Hollister-Low-Rider and I both chuckled, “Well at least you got thrown over the chair! Not on the floor!”
“That may not be a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Because do you know how many times I’ve been used to clean up his mess? The closer I am, the easier I am to reach, the more likely it is that he will pull me into that bed and wipe himself off before putting you back on,” Mr. Gold-and-Black-Tee sighed, “Then I get thrown over his shoulder and off we go.”

I shuddered, “That’s disgusting.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well,” Mr. Hollister-Low-Rider interrupted, “if the two of you don’t mind, I’d really like to just take a nap and wait until it’s time to go home.”

I agreed. I wanted to just go to sleep too. So I dozed.

When I woke, he was shuffling us around. He grabbed Mr. Hollister-Low-Rider from beneath me, dropping me carelessly onto the carpet. I wanted to protest as he pulled on the jeans, without me. I waited, patiently, and my heart leapt with joy as he picked me up. But it was shortlived.

I was flying across the room, the air tossing me around.

“Keep these. They’ll look good on you,” he said.

And then suddenly I was being pulled over slender legs. Soft and silky, they didn’t scratch or pull. I was in place, covering her soft body. Then she crawled into bed and slid between silky sheets. Her breathing stilled. She didn’t pick or scratch. As I fell into sleep, I knew I was home.



Word Count: 1254