When I was an eighteen-year old I cut a hole in an old pair of panties, leaving only two elastic loops where the crotch used to be. Sometimes I would wear them so that my labia would be folded open, exposing myself to the breeze. I wore those knickers every time I wore a skirt, which was usually twice a week; to choir practice on Tuesday and to church services Sunday. It was something to alleviate a bit of the boredom.nnI enjoyed the feeling of nakedness, the titillating rub of my thighs or my dress on parts of me that had just bloomed into feeling. Of course, having crotchless panties was not something I could ever let anyone know, so they became my carefully guarded secret; part of my private world. I would slip them between my mattress after I'd washed them in the sink, away from the prying eyes of my family, into my lair of secrecy. nnI wore them to masturbate. And I'd usually masturbate whenever I wore them; they just made me feel sexy and powerful. I swear my posture must have changed whenever I wore them, because people would notice me especially on those special occasions. The boys noticed me, which was a nice secondary effect. But my first love was myself, my hand, my fingers, and those holy panties. nnI once found an unopened condom intact in its wrapper. Whose pocket this condom no doubt slipped out of remains a mystery, but for some reason, I seem to remember (selectively, though, wanting to maintain the mystery of it all) the choir director, a tall, strapping man of about 35, throwing his coat over one shoulder in a flamboyant swirl and making some low-voiced comment to one of his buddies about going to give his bride something as soon as he got home. It must have slipped from his coat pocket. No one saw it but me, and I knew just where to retrieve it from when no one was looking. I took that condom home like a treasure, it, burning a hole in my purse the whole way. I walked with purpose and decision, not even stopping to chat with the old ladies who sat in the back and gossiped while us 'young'uns' sang scales and harmonies. When I got home, I ran upstairs and opened the packet, unrolling the sticky rubber and wondering how such a long, limp, milky looking sheath could possibly be of correct proportions, considering my notions of how a vagina was built. Up till that point, I had never explored my body to the point of penetration, which may be surprising, considering I had been masturbating myself to orgasm nearly every night and sometimes during the day for nearly a year.