The Game, Epilogue

[*Lady Lucia*]

PART SIX

For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Skirt around my ankles. Totally bare below my waist. A not particularly well stifled laugh from a few feet away. Church, worship, people. It was like one of those cliché nightmares, except I wasn’t. Waking. Up.

Time wasn’t slowed for long, however. A second later, I was scrambling as quickly as humanly possible. Finding my balance, I grabbed the hem of my blouse and tugged it down to cover my crotch. At the same time, I bent over and grabbed the fallen skirt. I could feel my top riding up and more fully exposing my bare bottom to anyone and everyone behind me as I did so, but it was too late to do it differently. I was mooning half the church and I would never, ever, ever, EVER live this down.

I had seen similar scenes happen in middle school, especially in gym class. Some girl getting pantsed; her mesh shorts dropped to her ankles, courtesy of a friend who thought it would be funny. Except that was school, not church. This was families, with kids. Old ladies. Respectable people, many of whom were traditional and old-fashioned. And I was a teenager who was no doubt the first person in history to be this exposed during a Sunday morning service. The girls pantsed at school tended to at least have underwear on to protect their modesty. Not me.

Ideally, the floor of the sanctuary would open to swallow me up. Send me down to that Hell so I could escape this one. Instead, the only escape I had was with my own two feet. Pulling the skirt back up my legs as quickly as possible, I struggled to get it past my thighs for a second, as my other arm was in the way. Despite my rush, I was determined to keep my own sanctuary protected.

The moment all my lower privates were covered and the skirt was securely around my waist, I ran. My eyes were locked on the back door, as I couldn’t bring myself to scan the sea of faces. The hymn was still being played and sung, which means a good portion of the room was going about worship without the knowledge that a half naked girl was just in their midst. But I knew. And those on the ends of the pews definitely would have noticed, as would those in the balcony up above. If not due to the blatant bare skin on display, then because of my long stumble forward that almost resulted in a fall. That would draw anyone’s eye, even peripherally.

As I fled down the back half of the middle aisle, my blouse once again clung to my chest. In my flurry to recover my skirt, I had temporarily forgotten about the coffee. But now that I was upright again, the soaked top gave away my upper form in a way that the modest white blouse normally wouldn’t, and I could feel every little movement of the wet fabric against my skin. I hastily crossed my arms over my chest, but didn’t slow down. The nude bra underneath would protect anything from showing through. My cleavage, however, would be a lot more apparent under the wet top.

One of the ushers at the back tried to say something as I sprinted past, but I didn’t catch a single word. Though I was free from the public eye the moment I made it through the double doors, I didn’t stop running until I made it all the way to the gathering area. Pausing to catch my breath, I tried to figure out what to do next while grabbing some napkins and drying what I could. The Church School classrooms would be full of kids and volunteers, and going outside didn’t sound particularly appealing in my current state.

The problem was, my parents drove us there. So I needed somewhere to hide from the congregation that would be letting out in ten minutes or so, as I couldn’t bear to face anyone who had seen my bare backside, but I also needed to be somewhere that I could be found. For a fleeting, hopeful moment, I realized that I could get myself an Uber or Lyft. Even a taxi would be fine. That idea vanished when I realized my purse was still sitting back in the pew with Kate and Abigail. Phone and wallet, unreachable without returning to the sanctuary. And ugh, I needed a shower. Dry coffee was almost worse than wet coffee, as I felt sticky all over thanks to all the sweet additions Abby put in her drink. Though I couldn’t actually rinse off at church, the bathroom wasn’t a terrible idea. That’s where people went to look for embarrassed friends, right? Though I didn’t exactly have an ally at the moment.

Either way, that’s where I went. Best to hide in a stall rather than face everyone after worship. Those who hadn’t seen my mortifying exposure would still see me in a white top thoroughly stained with coffee if I stayed. Preferable to seeing me naked, but still bad.

Eventually I did hear the sound of people mingling in the gathering area down the hall, but I made no move to leave the safety of my stall. The whole time, I just relived the awful experience. For the most part, I’m only truly naked in our bathroom at home. My bedroom door doesn’t lock, so I prefer to at least be toweled or in underwear despite having my own room. But I was half naked in PUBLIC. The feeling of bare legs and a total lack of fabric over my ass was a memory that was stuck on replay as I blushed up a storm in the solitude of the bathroom.

There would be time to be furious with Abigail, but I was too caught up in the humiliation at the moment. Whatever image and reputation I had here was long gone. Everyone would know about it by lunch, even if the majority of the lower floor hadn’t seen me.

It didn’t take long for my younger sister to find me. A small part of me didn’t want to call back to her, but I knew that I had to. Our parents probably wouldn’t look for me in here if Abigail reported she already checked. Surprisingly, she wasn’t smug or giggly at all. Instead, she merely slid my heels under the stall door and said, “Meet us by the curb.”

I put the shoes on and decided to trust my sister on this particular occasion. That’s where our parents usually pulled up with the car, though half the time we just walked to the parking spot as a family instead. Ducking out of the bathroom with my head down, I briskly walked to the nearest side door. Sure enough, the familiar mini van was there, and I paused by the church exit only long enough to take a deep breath. Had my parents seen? Heard? Either way, I didn’t want to push my luck in terms of not running into anyone, so I went straight to the car.

Needless to say, my parents were FURIOUS. I couldn’t pick up on whether it was seen vs. heard, but their routine was the same as the few other occasions when Kate or I had done something wrong as kids. Our mother, berating us. Our father, staying quiet in disappointment.

It explained why Abigail had been so blunt in the bathroom. She had probably hoped all the blame would fall solely at my feet, but she was very much in trouble too.

In typical parental fashion, our mother didn’t even attempt to hear me out. I tried. Blurting out that “Abby was-” but that’s as far as I made it.

Apparently she had already demanded the story from Abigail and Kate, though I doubt my sister or her friend got very far either. ‘Dares in church’ seemed to be enough to spark blame on all sides. According to our mother, I shouldn’t be blaming my sister when I agreed to sit with them and play in the first place. Though I was totally the victim, my half nudity earlier and my currently stained shirt painted a less mature picture. My second attempt at explaining things was cut off just as sharply. To her, we both played a part in what ended up being a highly inappropriate display. Kate too, and her parents would be called.

Grounded. For a month, if not longer.

My phone and wallet had both been confiscated, as had Abigail’s. We were to come home directly after school in the afternoon, and our weekends would be spent doing any and all chores that needed to be done around the house. Abby was initially frustrated, but eventually took amused solace in the fact that I still got the way worse end of the stick. Her proper older sister had been fully bottomless in church, complete with bending over while mooning half the room. She eventually concluded that it would have been well worth it even if she was the only one grounded.

As for me, I obviously never returned to that church. Not even for Christmas or Easter, no matter how hard my parents tried to push those more family-focused days. Despite the secondhand embarrassment and shame of their eldest daughter being seen like that, my parents had too many friends at the church to look elsewhere like I did. I ended up attending a good friend’s church, as Abby’s little stunt wasn’t enough to keep me away from religion. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.

Despite my frustration with Abigail, I never sought revenge. I’m not the type.

However, that was the last time I EVER did dares with my younger sister.

[qwfpb[]

Good ending! Not something we can always expect on this website

[*Lady Lucia*]

EPILOGUE

After deciding to never go back, I thought that was the end of it.

That was the one saving grace about the mortifying experience. When you’re pantsed at school, you have to show your face the next day. Being exposed at church felt more taboo and damning at the time, but at least it didn’t follow me. If I had to guess, Abigail and Kate would have shared the story with their group of friends, but it never ended up circulating further. No one else at our school attended that particular church, and neither my sister nor her BFF had been prepared to take pictures in the moment thanks to how impulsive Abby had been about yanking my skirt down. Aside from my internal embarrassment and external blushing every time the fresh memory hit me over the next few days and subsequent weeks, I seemed to be in the clear.

Until about a year later.

At my new church, one of the less proper girls in our youth group pulled up a video she had stumbled upon online to show the rest of us. The clickbait-y title ‘GIRL PANTSED IN CHURCH’ caused my breath to hitch and my heart to drop. While plenty vague, the phrase still succinctly described my mortifying experience.

And, as she played the video on her phone, I instantly recognized the sanctuary.

My old church streams and posts their services for those unable to make it in person on Sunday morning, and this angle definitely seemed to be from the balcony where one of the cameras was positioned. However, I had already done a nervous check on that the moment I was ungrounded and given my laptop back. There were no wide shots of the room or my exposure during the first verse of the hymn. Just a close-up of the organist, and a pan of the stained glass windows. They did fade to the full room during the second verse, but I was already long gone by then. Even if I was captured on camera, no church would ever post that. I was thankful for whatever edits might have happened after the service, and assumed that was that.

This video, however, was undeniably me.

At least, undeniably from my perspective. In the wide, full room shot, I immediately recognized the blue skirt around my ankles as I stumbled forward in the middle of the sanctuary. I could feel the heat rising to my face as I saw for the first time what so many others had witnessed in that humiliating moment. The hem of the blouse did absolutely nothing to cover anything below the waist, and the bareness of my ass was only more pronounced as I bent over to pick up the skirt.

Those watching the video had various reactions, from little gasps to giggled exclamations. The scene on the phone was very much happening in church, and they could all tell it wasn’t a staged video. I just remained deathly quiet and still, using all my willpower to force the blush and shaking hands to go away. Would they recognize me?? Neither the blouse nor skirt were part of my wardrobe any more, so no one at the new church would know about those. The blouse was too stained with coffee to be cleaned, and I resolved to only wear zippered skirts after that fateful day. The girl on the screen turned towards the camera for the first time as she fled from the sanctuary, and I just held my breath waiting for everyone to turn towards the very same girl that was standing in their presence.

They didn’t. Instead, the one who found the video just rewound it back to my not particularly graceful stumble for everyone to watch again. Half the small group was amused, while the other half was saying to put it away. It’s not appropriate, even if the Youth Room isn’t quite as sacred as other parts of the church. I finally released the breath I was holding, as it seemed like I was in the clear. Thank God. Those cameras were set for close-ups on the worship leaders at the front of the room, but not for other parts of the sanctuary. The wide shot was apparently enough to mask me. The only time my face was on camera was while I sprinted out of the room, and I was thankfully just small and blurry enough on the video to not be recognized.

I could only pray that no one would watch it later on a computer. The small mobile screen helped my anonymity as much as the wide shot did.

Over the next few weeks, I was just as nervous as I was following the event itself. There was a video of me bottomless online!! Even if my new youth friends didn’t recognize me, there was always the chance that somebody at school would stumble upon the video as well and maybe be more perceptive. And if Abigail found it, the least she would do is save it forever in a million places. The most she could do? I didn’t want to imagine.

It was only after the lingering shock subsided that I was eventually able to put two and two together. While my misfortune hadn’t made it to the online stream, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been captured on one of the cameras. My guess is that one of the teenage volunteer tech guys managed to copy the clip before it had been deleted from the booth’s system. It was a miracle they didn’t know my name, or at least had been thoughtful enough to omit my name while still being thoughtless enough to put a HALF NAKED video of me online. The poster never attempted to contact me, so at least there wasn’t any blackmail to deal with. Silver lining, I guess? Though ‘not being blackmailed’ is hardly a consolation prize.

Just like the first round of anxious waiting, it took me several weeks to quell the new surge of constant nervousness in the back of my mind. I relaxed eventually, but my knowledge of the video’s existence didn’t make it easy. Like anything mortifying does to the average person, the memory of being pantsed and so exposed still hit me out of nowhere every now and then, coupled with the fact that it had been captured on camera. I could only hope that the video would get buried over time, though I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to shelf life of online content.

For the rest of high school, at least, there was always the smallest hint of anxiety in the back of my mind about being ‘discovered.’ My good girl reputation, as Abigail liked to call it, potentially ruined by just one peer at my school finding the video, recognizing me, and spreading the word.

It also strengthened my resolve when it came to avoiding dares, which was no longer limited to just my sister.

If this was the fallout from one little game, then dares were NOT for me.

And, in general--when you have a brash younger sister, don’t give her an inch.