Caught Stealing Thongs_(1)

It was so humiliating. A store security guard caught me walking out of the department store with a pretty, expensive French bra, garter belt, panties and stockings set. I was ushered into the office of the store’s chief of security. I was scared. I was a teenager. It was the first time I had ever been in trouble.

But I couldn’t help myself. I’m pretty and I like to wear pretty things. I couldn’t afford the lingerie, but I didn’t need to steal it either. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. Perhaps it has something to do with my secretive nature. I have so many secrets. My whole wardrobe, actually, is a secret that I keep hidden until I find an occasion for dressing up. Likewise, my make-up, my perfume, heels,the falsies that fill my bra, all secret.

But I got caught. There I was in the security office. I was crying, my mascara running down my cheeks. The security chief took the bra and panty set from the guard, sent her on her way, and closed the door, leaving the two of us alone. The chief was a very large, muscular African-American man. I am a slender, petite, mixed race Asian-Caucasian.

“What is your name?” he said.

“Chrissy.”

“Last name?”

“Lee.”

“My name is Mr. Johnson. I am the chief of security here. I need to ask you a few questions. Why did you try to steal from the store, Chrissy?”

“I don’t know,” I sobbed.

“Stealing is a crime, Chrissy. I can call the police and they will be here in a matter of minutes, leading you out of the store in hand-cuffs and taking you to jail.”

The tears streamed down my face. “Please,” I said choking, “Please, don’t. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Let me see your driver’s license, Chrissy.” I fumbled with my purse, opened my wallet and produced my ID, which showed I had just turned 18.

Mr. Johnson looked at it and I could see his eyes widen.

“Christopher…Lee. You are a boy.”

Busted. Now I was really frightened. I thought maybe I could also be arrested for dressing in women’s clothing in public. I was too frightened and upset to speak.

“Do your parents know you are walking around dressed up and looking like a girl?”

“My Dad doesn’t live with us. My mom doesn’t really pay attention too much.”

“I think you might find the jail experience pretty rough,” he said. “Those guys would eat a pretty boy like you alive.”
“I… I… I… j…j…just can’t go to jail,” I stammered.

“But you’ve committed a crime, Christopher. You have to be punished when you commit a crime.”

I got to my feet, though I was wobbly on my high heels. I was wearing a button down top that I had tied right under my fake breasts so that my slender waist was exposed showing off my sparkly belly button bling ring. I like walking in the mall wearing sexy clothes and making all the boys’ heads turn as I strut by.

But now I was a mess. My make-up was totally smeared, my hair was hanging limply. Mr. Johnson got up from his desk, and sat on a sofa by the wall. He sat there with his knees wide apart. He motioned me to come to him. I walked closer. He put his hands on my hips and moved me closed still so that his knees were on either side of me. Then he slid his hands down the sides of my legs, then at about the knee, moved his hands to the inside of my thighs and moved his hands up, under my miniskirt and lightly brushed my crotch, just long enough to confirm that I was, in fact, a boy. He brought his hands from under my skirt and then unbuttoned and untied my shirt. He let it fall off my shoulders.

“So, these are not real, I’m guessing.” Out spilled the falsies, revealing my flat chest. He brushed my hair out my face. Then he unhooked my front-clasping bra and pulled it off, leaving me standing only in my mini skirt and heels.

“I need to check if you are wearing stolen goods, Chrissy. Standard protocol. Take off your skirt.”

I unsnapped and unzipped my miniskirt, letting it fall at my feet, and then stepped out of it.