Searching for Your Traces (1)
On the veranda, the laundry I'd hung out was drying nicely in the breeze, and she was sitting on the sofa, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she watched the TV screen, sneaking peeks at me every now and then.
To keep her from feeling burdened, I avoided looking her way as much as possible, setting my laptop on the living room table and occasionally clicking the mouse to handle some leftover work. It was a calm, peaceful afternoon, each of us keeping our distance and showing consideration in our own ways.
But that drowsy peace shattered noisily just as the laundry was about to dry completely.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. After the short bell, there came the sound of someone knocking on the front door, echoing through the living room.
In that instant, she—who'd been sitting still on the sofa—sprang up with a clatter.
"What's wrong?" I asked, startled and turning my head, but before I could finish...
"Eek…!" With a short scream, she yanked the blanket over her head and bolted toward my bedroom without a backward glance. Bam—the door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the living room.
I stared at the firmly closed door in bewilderment before slowly heading to the entrance. From beyond the door came a perfectly ordinary, flat voice—nothing that should have scared her like that.
"Delivery."
"Yes, just leave it in front of the door."
It was great news—the clothes she'd been dying to wear had arrived—but clearly, it hadn't sounded that way to her terrified ears moments ago.
I opened the door and stepped out, locking eyes with the delivery guy who was just turning away. He nodded lightly, so I smiled and said thanks for your hard work before picking up the box and heading back inside.
As I closed the door, I let out a small internal sigh. 'Just a delivery guy... and she freaks out and runs off like that?'
I was right there in the living room, ready to handle any stranger. But to her, everyone outside this front door was still someone who'd abandon her or rake their lecherous eyes over her body—pure trash.
'Well... she'll get used to it in time.' No need to rush. In this quiet, safe fortress of a house that was just for us, she could breathe easy until she was ready to step out.
I set the delivery box down in the middle of the living room. Riiip—with a cheerful tear of the tape, I opened it up. Inside were the generous free-size clothes I'd ordered for her yesterday, neatly stacked. And beneath them...
Her underwear, too.
'Haha... never thought I'd buy women's underwear with my own money.' Not a girlfriend, not a wife, not even a little sister—just for a friend. It felt weird, kinda awkward and strangely thrilling. But to minimize any sense of rejection or loss when she wore them, I'd skipped all the lace and fancy decorations. Simple designs like men's drawers or sports bras—closest thing I could find. She'd manage.
I took out the new clothes and underwear one by one, arranging them neatly on the sofa. Then I silently waited for her to calm down and come out from behind that closed door.
About five minutes passed in the living room, but no sign of her. Finally, I walked over to my bedroom door and spoke.
"Delivery came. It's the clothes for you."
I didn't bother explaining that the visitor wasn't some threat—just a delivery person. Just the facts she needed right now.
A moment later, hesitant footsteps shuffled inside, and the door cracked open just a sliver. Through the gap, she peered up at me like a scared puppy, her beloved blanket pulled all the way over her head.
"Really…?"
"Yeah. Shirts and everything for you."
I deliberately avoided the word "underwear," lumping it together vaguely. Relieved, she lowered the blanket just below her nose and peeked out her face. Her eyes lit up with a hint of excitement as she looked up at me, forcing me to add that awkward, embarrassing word after all.
"Uh... and underwear came too."
No sooner had I said it than she silently yanked the blanket back over her head. Still cocooned, she brushed past me oh-so-carefully and headed to the sofa where the new clothes were laid out. I followed her quietly back to the living room.
She settled gingerly on one end of the sofa, blanket and all, and I sat beside her, leaving a bit of space. Confirming I was settled, she poked her slender arms out from under the blanket. She started carefully inspecting the clothes on the sofa—touching them, rustling the plastic wrappers open, unfolding them fully—meticulously checking each one.
'Hmm... I just grabbed the largest sizes for comfort. Hope she likes them.' I'd been inwardly worried about her sharp fashion sense, but she didn't complain once.
Fondling them this way and that, she suddenly snatched the plainest, roomiest-looking shirt and whisked it under the blanket. Moments later, the massive blanket cocoon began wriggling busily from the inside.
'Changing clothes?'
After some serious fidgeting, the blanket spat out the shirt she'd been wearing onto the floor. It wriggled a bit more, then suddenly went still as if by magic.
'Hey... don't struggle like that under the blanket. Just go to the bedroom and change comfortably.' I wanted to chide her lightly, but swallowed it. Thinking about it, I realized why she'd chosen to change right here beside me, crammed in that tight blanket space.
This morning, she'd even opened her little mouth wide in front of me to show she'd swallowed her pill. She just wanted to confirm for me first that she'd put on the new clothes I'd bought so nicely.
Sure enough, moments later, the blanket slid down smoothly. There she was, wearing the ridiculously oversized shirt that drowned her tiny frame. The shoulders sagged way down, and the sleeves were so long her small hands vanished completely, leaving only floppy empty cuffs dangling.
Like one of those "boyfriend shirt" looks. But she seemed comfortable in the baggy, comical fit—her face lighter, more at ease as she fiddled with the cuffs and looked up at me.
Feeling more relaxed, she eyed the other clothes on the sofa, until her gaze landed on the real hurdle: the women's underwear in their transparent plastic wraps.
I scratched the back of my head and spoke first, like I was making excuses.
"Couldn't figure out your chest size, so I just got panties for now."
I knew women's bra sizes started from A-cup and up—basic knowledge. But no clue what letter would fit her now, so I hadn't dared add any to the cart.
'Honestly, that size... eyeballing it would be even harder.' Even under the loose shirt that hid her hands, her breasts stubbornly asserted themselves. Bigger than average, for sure. As a guy clueless about women's chests, if I guessed wrong, they'd be too small to wear and a waste of money.
She alternated glances between the new underwear and me, hesitating for a long while. In the awkward silence, she finally spoke softly.
"Um... I'll change…."
"Got it. Change comfortably."
I started to stand to give her space. Changing underwear—not outerwear—while I, a guy, sat right there? Even with her thick security blanket tented over her, it was no good. What if it slipped off by accident mid-fumble? She'd hole up in the room for days, no peeking out.
Just as I lifted my hips to leave sensibly...
Swish. She grabbed my shirt collar without a word.
I turned to look. One hand clutched the opened underwear package, the other gripped my hem tightly as she shook her head no. Her neck flushed bright red, face about to burst.
'Can't say outright "watch me," but hates me vanishing from sight, huh.' Unbelievable. Was this my old buddy or some picky princess? But seeing her cling so pitifully, cheeks blazing, I couldn't just shake her off.
I nodded in resignation and, instead of leaving, just scooted back a foot on the sofa. Then I turned my back fully to her, fixing my eyes on the laptop screen on the table.
Moments later, the soft sound of pants sliding off came from behind.
'Ah... shoulda just left. Hearing it is way weirder.'
They say it's not the full view that stirs you most—it's the glimpses, the shadows. This was exactly that. Eyes glued to the laptop's bland news feed, but my ears caught every vivid detail: blanket rustles, shallow breaths, fabric brushing bare skin.
No suppressing the brain's wild imagination in a spot like this—pure biology. Her tiny, fragile body—so much smaller than mine. Those heavy breasts swaying under the loose shirt. Blushing furiously in the dim blanket cave as she fumbled into the new undies. The images flashed and faded relentlessly in my head.
'Driving me crazy, seriously.'
I couldn't shake my head to clear it or sigh in frustration. One twitch, one breath, and she'd freeze up scared. So I sat rigid, barely breathing, staring into the screen like it'd suck me in.
"A-all... changed……."
A tentative tap on my shoulder. I pulled my eyes from the screen and turned.
And saw her.
'Ah... driving me crazy, seriously.'
I hadn't believed it. Never dreamed she'd show off even the new underwear so boldly. She knew it crossed a line—her face and neck burned crimson, hands trembling as she lifted the shirt hem just enough to flash the panties at me.
"Hey. I don't really care about your panties or anything?"
Heat rushed to my face too; I whipped my head away. But the afterimage burned into my brain, refusing to fade.
The oversized shirt hid her massive chest like a curtain, but she'd lifted it herself, shyly seeking my approval. For any healthy guy, imagination alone was dizzying—blood rushing everywhere.
I took a deep breath, recalling our first meeting days ago, that stormy Christmas night.
'Right... same as when she first crawled into my place? Testing me.'
Back then at the door, she'd lifted her wet clothes to gauge my reaction—was I safe, or just hot for her changed body? Desperate defense mechanism.
'But then, it was pure distrust, cornered desperation. Now?'
The opposite. She trusted me too much—wanting me to verify every detail, handing over total control.
'Sigh... next she'll ask permission to use the bathroom.' Headache waiting to happen.
As those silly thoughts cooled my head, she tapped my shoulder again, cautiously.
"Sorry…. Pants on too."
Her tiny, creeping voice. One last time, I thought, and turned slowly.
Thankfully, shirt down, pants properly on, knees demurely together.
"How's the size? Feel okay?"
I asked casually, like nothing happened. She, embarrassed by her stunt, murmured with still-flushed cheeks.
"Yeah… comfy. Thanks…."
"Good."
I closed the laptop, sighing inwardly in relief.
'Yeah... good.'
That she wouldn't shake my sanity anymore. And that I'd held it together to the end.