Butt-Bare And Face Down
When I was nineteen, my boyfriend and I had been hot and heavy for nearly a year. We were celebrating one more month before the anniversary because he would be spending the month at sports camps, and I had to work extra shifts due to holidays at the veterinary clinic. Well, the day had been great. He and I had been hinting to our intentions from the wee hours of the morning. We flirted across tables and while slipping by each other whenever possible at his family's bar-be-queue before finally slipping inside after the meal. I was covered in dirt from wrestling with his black lab and slipped into the shower. I came back in a towel to find one thing leading to another, and us having some quite exciting sex. His room was on the second story of his house, and we had to constantly listen for footsteps on the stairwell for fear of being caught. We had worked out a solution where I'd hide between the bed and wall and get dressed while he stalled them at the door. We did just this as he pulled pants on and ran to the door following a knock. I hadn't bothered to pull underwear on for time matters and simply slipped the jeans on and a shirt. Standing up so I could go join him at the door, the jeans fell to my ankles, at least a few sizes too big, and I realized my clothes were still in the restroom. I was horrified, to say the least. I crouched back down, trying to see if I could crawl to his closet and pull out some of his brother's pants which would be a much better fit. The room was worked out so you could see straight across between the bed and the closet. I would at least need boxers to cross the room. So, I frantically crawled under the bed and across to find his discarded boxers. They weren't there. He had apparently pulled them on and left me to my hiding place. I had no idea what to do. So, I did everything to try and get his attention, wiggling the sheets on his bed in the corner of his eye, flicking the wall, rolling a rubber ball at his feet, but nothing would turn him from the door. Desperate for clothes, I decided to dart for the closet. Crawling back to the other side of the bed and pulling his jeans on and crouching, I was ready to leap for the closet. I'd been holding the jeans to keep them up but must have stepped on the edge because with my first step I went flying! Trying to save myself, I threw my arms out, letting the pants be pulled down without thinking. Hearing the sound, my boyfriend spun around, letting go of the door and spotting me. His brother, who had been at the door, also peaked in, curios as to what had happened. Never again could I face his brother, remembering him seeing me sprawled out on the floor, butt-bare and face in the dirty laundry. He and I are still together three years after that event. It's an unspoken pact that we save our excitement for places other than at his brother's house.
— Betty, 22