HANDSTANDING

Fiction by Perry

2001, all rights reserved


The 4:30 crowd had descended on Dunkin Donuts by time Gina Waylan and her friends sat down to exchange the day's gossip. Seated in their favourite booth near the window, they sipped ice coffees and traded sweet girlish lies for close on an hour. Their laughter could be heard tinkling above the busy murmur of the cafe, their eyes danced with pure teenaged mischief.

 

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Gina asked Kristy Tremane if she could demonstrate her gym routine for them. Kristy had been studying gymnastics since she was six years old and her physical skills were the stuff of legend around Chamberlain Junior High.

 

The trim, pretty adolescent considered the suggestion for maybe two seconds before shrugging her assent. There wasn't enough space to run through any of her more complex numbers, but a turning a handstand over the tiles shouldn’t pose any major problems, despite the cramped, rush-hour conditions.

 

Slipping lithely out of the booth, Kristy stood up and began adjusting her clothing, automatically smoothing her black satin skirt over her frilly white petticoats. Like most girls her age, Kristy had fallen prey to the'Neo-Latin' retro craze sweeping the country. Short, puffy crinolines beneath bright Latino minis; outrageously feminine frills and flounces in the Westside Story tradition.

Kristy was wearing a brief, layered frou-frou which barely covered her nylon stocking-tops. Checking her hemline had become a reflex action over the past few months. She spent a few moments making sure that her lacy black garters were decently covered, then prepared to display her considerable athletic talents. Strangely enough, the fact that she would also be displaying her virginal white underwear to every person in the restaurant seemed to have been lost on her.

 

The thought certainly occurred to her friends, however. 

Mary-Lou Guilford raised her voice in sudden alarm: "Kristy, what are you DOING?!" she exclaimed, her eyes as round as saucers. "You're wearing a DRESS, we're sitting in a crowded diner!! EVERYBODY will see your UNDERPANTS." 

Janey Rogers was in complete agreement: "You can't do that in HERE!! Do you want everyone in Chamberlain to know what you're WEARING??" Both girls were utterly mortified; you simply can't do that kind of thing in public (no matter how tempting the idea happened to be).

Kristy shrugged: she was wearing her prettiest lace panties; no one was going to mind. It wasn't as if she was an exhibitionist or something. She was sixteen; teenaged girls did this kind of thing every time they visited the ice rink. Why were they making such a big deal, anyway? She was simply demonstrating a handstand, nothing wrong with that. Hadn't even been her idea. 

Stepping back from the edge of the table, she found a clear space about six feet from the booth and judged she have just enough room to maneuver. By this time, the conversation had attracted the attention of the entire cafe. Heads turned, conversations died and an expectant hush fell over the room. Even the waiters were craning their necks to see what was going on. 

Kristy asked Gina to keep time; she could probably maintain her balance for about a minute. Gina checked her wristwatch and nodded.

Mary-Lou shook her pretty little head in complete exasperation: Kristy was actually going through with this!! In a very few seconds, she'd be standing on her hands with her DAINTY WHITE UNDER THINGS on full view. She'd never felt so embarrassed in her entire life. Her best friend was about to model her FLIMSIES for half of Chamberlain. She buried her face in her hands, peeking through the bars of her fingers. If this got out, they'd NEVER live it down!!

Kristy raised both her hands high over her head. Her body became a supple, elegant curve as she drew in a calming breath. Every eye in the cafe followed her motion as she went over, bracing her palms flat to the tiled floor. Gracefully arching her spine, she flew up into a perfectly controlled handstand: legs as straight as arrows, toes extended towards the ceiling. An admiring gasp went up from the booths.

 

Kristy's skirt immediately fell away, inverting itself in a rush of glaring white taffeta. Her flouncing petticoats hung upside-down from her waist, revealing her flimsy white underwear to the entire room. Dozens of jaws dropped simultaneously. Kristy adjusted her position by shifting her palms, then brought her heels slowly together.

Her panties were white nylon briefs: sheer and fine and as innocent as virgin snow. The material shimmered like liquid satin. Tiny silver ripples flowed across the fabric as Kristy shifted her centre of balance. The hips were trimmed with delicate floral insets; you could almost see the rosy hue of her skin through the gossamer lace. There was a space of about two inches between her panties and the top of her petticoats. Her tummy button was clearly visible.

 

Kristy touched her heels lightly together, paused three seconds, then began to scissor her legs apart with an incredible sense of ease. Her ruffled petticoats hung over her head, her long golden hair was sweeping the floor. No one could see her face, hidden as it was by her upturned skirt. She continued parting her legs. Her undies had been on full exhibition for nearly thirty seconds.

Frilly, black garters were stretched taut along her lean, tapering thighs. They bridged a six-inch gap between her panties and stockings. The flesh was soft, pale, and mirror-smooth. The suspenders looked strained to the breaking point. Another ounce of tension and they'd snap with a musical twang (or so it appeared). Kristy had beautiful legs: long, slender and quite curvaceous. Her sleek, brown stockings seemed to add inches to their length.

Mary-Lou stared open-mouthed at her friend, unable to believe that Kristy had actually gone through with it. Everyone in the restaurant was watching her. People were actually pausing in the street, looking in through the window. By the end of the afternoon, the news would have spread all over town. Kristy's unmentionables would be the talk of Chamberlain.

'Fifty seconds', Gina said, glancing down at her wristwatch. She shook her head in open admiration.

Kristy was now doing a full arial splits, her legs forming the letter 'T'.
Her stockings had stretched a further two inches along her thighs, but the seams were still completely straight. Her panties were gleaming beneath the diner’s fluorescent lights. The garters were strung tighter than bowstrings. She held the splits for another five seconds, then carefully began to bring her legs back together. Her petticoats rustled softly as she altered her position. 

Jane watched spellbound, her cheeks burning with a high, crimson blush. Kristy’s panties were extremely pretty, just as she'd told them. No point denying that one: they were on exhibiting for like a zillion people. Janey
had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life; it was almost as if HER pink cotton drawers were being displayed to all and sundry.

 

'Sixty seconds', Gina remarked in gently awed tones. A full minute and not so much as a tremor.

Kristy's heels came back into line. Her body became a taut, rigid javelin aimed at the sky. She seemed breathless with concentration: an eternity appeared to pass while Kristy realigned her centre of gravity. A flash bulb went off somewhere near the back of the restaurant. Then slowly, imperceptibly, Kristy's feet began to separate again.

Inch by inch, with infinite patience, Kristy extended her legs in a classic One-Eighty: right leg thrusting forward, straight as a foil; left leg slicing back. Her long, sleek thighs trembled slightly as she locked her knees into the forward splits. One of her suspenders finally snapped, releasing its hold on the stocking with an insolent pop.

'One minute thirty', Gina whispered, mainly to herself.

Hidden behind an avalanche of taffeta frills, Kristy was blushing to the hairline. She was grateful no one could see her flushed, feverish expression. Despite her earlier indifference, she was almost melting with embarrassment. She'd been upside down for ninety seconds with her lace and garters on full exposure.

She was flinchingly aware of everything she was wearing: shimmering gossamer panties clinging to her body like a gleaming second skin; her decadent black garter belt with the adjustable straps; the sheer Dior nylons with the seams running down the back. All of it revealed to the world in a fall of cascading crinoline. The cafe had been full of men. What had she been thinking?

Well, it was far too late to worry about that now. She'd been hanging upside-down with her skirt over her head for close on two minutes. Time to conclude the routine. Filling her lungs with a deep inhalation, she gradually raised her feet towards the roof. Cool air caressed her thighs and tummy. Her head was swirling with conflicting emotions; she felt naked, vulnerable, deliciously exposed.

'OK', she murmured as she clipped her heels together, signaling the end of the routine. Folding at the waist, she dropped lightly down onto her feet. Skirts and petticoats flipped neatly back into place, affording the crowd a final, fleeting glimpse of her lush, pantied bottom. She completed the movement by lifting her hands in a smoothly executed dismount, as if she'd just pin wheeled off the beam.

Kristy slipped back into the booth, her cheeks glowing and her eyes glittering with shy pleasure. She took another sip of her iced coffee, glancing around the table to gauge her friend's reactions. Gina looked bemused, Mary-Lou was still goggle-eyed with disbelief. Jane was incapable of meeting her gaze. The seconds tapped by in lip-biting silence. Kristy finished her IC and set the glass down on the table.

'Well?' Gina asked, eyebrows raised in cool inquiry, 'what was that like?

Kristy shrugged with disarming innocence. Her former indifference had returned; her blush was fading to a subtle rose tint. Lowering her pulse rate presented no real problems for Kristy. Breathing control was one of the first things you learnt in this particular discipline. 'Two minutes?', she mused, glancing abstractly out the window, 'Have to aim for three, next time.'

Her friends nodded their agreement.

THE END


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