17. Doodles 1 (1)
A day has passed. Yeji unnie didn't reassure me that she wouldn't spread those photos or use them for blackmail. She said nothing about them at all, just hurried me back up to the dorm.
By the time I woke up, Yeji unnie was gone from the room. My body was still proudly naked this morning, dress hiked all the way up. And as a bonus, the doodles that wouldn't wash off no matter how hard I scrubbed had left faint traces. They probably won't fade for a few more days.
Classes ended, and even after I got back to the room, unnie still wasn't there—probably out playing with her boyfriend. ...Well, she'll come back before bed, I guess.
I stripped naked in the dorm room to change clothes. No curtains drawn. I deliberately left them open, just in case someone might peek in from outside. Not a thread on my skin—I bared it all. Noises filtered in from beyond the window: footsteps running, people shouting random things. In this building buzzing with activity, a pervert like me was showing off her naked body, separated only by a sheet of clear glass.
Haah... This is gonna feel so good.
I pulled a pair of shorts from the drawer under the bed. They were too short and skimpy to really call pants—barely five centimeters past my crotch at most. What I'd grabbed were dolphin shorts. Standing naked in front of the mirror, I tried slipping them on. Without the white trim, they'd look just like men's panties, which made it feel even dirtier. Going out wearing nothing but a pair of men's undies with everything peeking through the loose fabric... that sounds fun. I tucked the delightful idea away safely in my mind so I wouldn't forget.
Dolphin shorts didn't cover much of my thighs, just like they looked. They only felt a tiny bit longer than panties. Guess I can't overdo it...
I set the confirmed shorts on the bed and picked up the board marker I'd prepared beforehand. Taking advantage of Yeji unnie's absence, I planned to head out again. I thickened up the faint "exhibitionist" letters over my mound, making them bolder, more eye-catching. All that scrubbing in the shower yesterday was for nothing. A stark brand etched itself onto the woman's lower belly in the mirror. Thick and unmistakable proof of perversion—no way to misread it.
Along the pubic line beside it, I scrawled "whore" in small letters. I have zero intention of selling my body for money... but writing it felt better that way. On the other side: "insult me." If a guy outside spotted this and spat abuse in a contemptuous tone, filthy juices would gush from my pussy. It'd feel insanely good. Even getting called names by unnie, another woman, thrilled me—but a real man... he'd despise me utterly and curse me out...
Bit by bit, I pondered even lewder, cruder phrases. No one was forcing me, and getting caught was risky, so I could play it safe with timid, harmless words... But deep down, I craved being forcibly exposed or shown off to strangers... so I wanted to write filthier terms in even riskier spots.
At the lowest point the dolphin shorts would cover, along my thigh line, I inscribed a long sentence: "please look at this pervert pussy that gets wet when exposed." That might be my true feelings, ones even I didn't know. The deepest truth in my heart tugged the other phrases along like fish on a string.
"touch me if you want", "take my picture", "I'm a slut rag", "pervert who gets off on being hit." On inner thighs, lower belly, ass cheeks, under my breasts—places hidden from view—I kept scribbling vulgar, obscene words. The black permanent marker on my pale skin reflected back from the mirror. Purely pornographic, utterly debased. It was just writing on my body, but these felt like sentences defining me.
I felt like a real pervert who got off on being seen outside, who got aroused from beatings. Push it further, and I was a worthless rag cheaper than a whore. My breasts still bore fading bruises, and right below, "pervert who gets off on being hit"—it all screamed of a trashy bottom-feeder life, too pathetic to learn even after the scars.
Every glance in the mirror filled my chest with sinful guilt.
"Hngh."
If someone saw me like this outside... If someone who knows my face caught this... How could I even go to school...? The thought alone blackened my vision with despair.
But gulp—I swallowed dryly. It'd be horrifying... but it'd feel so good. I want to try it once...
No, I can't get caught today. It's too dangerous for real. I shook off the flashing dangerous thoughts and slipped into the discarded dolphin shorts. Yanking them up hid the filthy doodles in an instant. This pathetic scrap—barely palm-length—was the final veil over my last shred of dignity, not truly covering my body at all. No underwear, just this flimsy thing shielding me.
I tugged the waistband down a bit so it wouldn't cover my lower belly. The elastic, slung lower than it should be, teased my inner walls with every shift. The sensation gently heightened my arousal.
Too bad about the length. A bit shorter top and bottom would've been perfect. Before disappointment could settle, the peeking doodle marks from under the hem perked me right up again. Standing still, nothing showed—but twisting to check my outfit made bits peek out. No full words were legible, but the black script on white skin was obvious enough. Most guys would catch on to what I was doing. One wrong move, and everyone around would know I'm a pervert. Can't get caught today, but a tiny slip and they might all notice. Just imagining it clenched my inner thighs tight.
The "exhibitionist" over my mound wasn't fully hidden by the lowered dolphin shorts. Instead, I threw on a white boxy tee to cover it. A pervert covered in body doodles, shielded by just dolphin shorts and a single t-shirt. But the wide neckline meant leaning forward could flash my upper breasts. The fabric wasn't sheer, but not thick enough to fully hide my nipples either.
Haa... The rough texture scratches my nipples so good... Twisting to check my clothes rubbed the protruding tips, making them harden and stand out more. The woman in the mirror had flushed cheeks, nipples asserting themselves from inside the tee, white legs on full display. Dolphin shorts drew eyes to my pale skin with their brevity. Lifting a leg like walking tugged them up, flashing the doodle on my upper thigh. If that got spotted... they'd scan me top to bottom, nipples and all. Then I'd be hopelessly outed as a pervert...
But if I stay still, no one will notice. Just looks like a girl in thin clothes. It's fine. Like a girl casually stepping out from her dorm room, I slipped on flip-flops and headed outside. No running away if someone chased me in these.
Like yesterday, no one passed on the slope down to the school below. The steep incline made my toes slap the ground, the hem softly tickling my thighs. The doodles I couldn't get caught with—but desperately wanted seen—peeked and vanished. Even going downhill—not up—had my breath at my chin. Can't get caught... not really today... Unconsciously, my hem fluttered more. When the boxy tee rode up over the dolphin shorts, my thick, glaring lower-belly doodle kissed the outside air. That thrill made my legs move bolder.
This slutty outfit leaves no excuses if caught... If someone came up the slope now—some guy rushing back to the dorm to rest? Totally plausible. Someone might pass any second, and this path is only for schoolmates. At this hour, nine out of ten would be dorm residents. Then... rumors would spread for sure.
"Heard that girl from engineering's wandering around with trashy body scribbles, no undies?" "Someone's doing filthy shit outside." "Prancing around like a used rag." "Who?" "You don't know yet? It's her. Yeah, her."