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“I Never Wear Underwear” by Alison Cybe

In a world of darkness, where danger lurks around every corner, a young rabbit has to confront the most terrifying experience possible - shopping for underwear!

Today’s story is “I Never Wear Underwear” by Alison Cybe, who is a tabletop RPG writer for multiple companies, and author of “I was a gay teenage zombie” by Deep Hearts Press and you can find more of their stories on their webpage.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion, and today’s story is

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“I Never Wear Underwear”

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by Alison Cybe, who is a tabletop RPG writer for multiple companies, and author of

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“I was a gay teenage zombie”

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by Deep Hearts Press

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and you can find more of their stories on their webpage.

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“I Never Wear Underwear”

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by Alison Cybe I stared at the thin, small pair of panties that I held in my paws, and wondered if I should buy them.

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I turned them this way and that,

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folding then over between my fingers.

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The act of getting into the changing room with them had felt a huge risk all by itself,

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as if I had been trying to steal them away unnoticed

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by the eyes of the men in the neighbouring cubicles.

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They definitely looked

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nice, I decided. Perhaps a little snug.

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I wondered if my butt were too big for them.

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Of course, in a years’ time

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I would be able to wear them whenever I wanted.

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My surgery would be complete then.

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After that, I could wear them whenever I wanted.

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But then, I would have to throw out all of my briefs, wouldn't I?

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I didn't know. There's not exactly a playbook for this type of thing.

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I slumped down into the bench that sat at the back of the changing cubicle and looked at the mirror.

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The reflection of me that looked back certainly appeared male -

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thin stubble on his rabbit face, long drooping ears,

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wearing nothing but a pair of briefs.

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I hadn't even intended to try on any clothes,

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not really, and certainly couldn't try on un

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-purchased undergarments.

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I had just wanted a moment to think -

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to get myself accustomed to the idea of buying them.

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I wondered if it would be required to replace all of my underwear.

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I didn't own any panties yet.

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Everything I had in the wardrobe at home was briefs.

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In a way, they seemed to identify me.

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I either wore them, or boxers.

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It was an expectation.

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Guys wore boxers

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or briefs. But I wasn't a guy.

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Lightly I tugged at the material of the undergarments,

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flexing them just a little.

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They did have a lot of give to them, I thought.

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The fabric felt just

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a little too thin against my fingers,

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as if it were made of something as fragile as a spider's web.

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It seemed so strange

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that this one piece of clothing seemed to have so much importance.

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Carefully I set them down on the beach

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and started to remove my briefs,

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sliding them down past my thighs

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and lifting each footpaw one at a time through the holes.

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I set them down beside the panties,

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leaned back and stared at them.

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The briefs definitely appeared larger -

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wider at the waist and made of a more durable material.

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They were thicker too,

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I thought. Maybe they were designed to look sturdier -

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maybe the bold and confident stitches were intended to give the

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impression of rugged masculinity.

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I wondered if they truly were more comfortable.

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For a moment I wasn't sure.

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I had assumed that they were,

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but I hadn't actually worn feminine clothing before.

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I had no way to tell, and...

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"Excuse me sir." The voice, so unexpected,

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made me jump. Turning,

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I plucked up a side of the cubicle's curtain

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and slid my head around it, being cautious not to reveal any more of my body, or the cubicle behind me.

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"Yes?" I asked, my nerves trembling.

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The young man who stood by the cubicle wore

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a finely pressed store uniform.

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He smiled at me, his canine lips giving his best impression of sincerity.

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"Is" he stuttered, "is everything alright?"

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"Yes" I replied, too quickly.

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"Yes. Yes, everything is fine.

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Why wouldn't it be?"

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He shuffled a little,

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rocking on the pads of his feet.

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"It's just, we noticed that you came in"

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he said, a slight tremble of nervousness in his voice.

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"To the changing room. But,

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well, nobody saw you take anything in with you, and...

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and..." I felt a rush of fear,

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and became intensely aware of how naked I was.

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"No" I said, my voice cracking. "No, I think I forgot.

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forgot." I gave a weak laugh.

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The dog stared at me,

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as if fully aware that I was lying.

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"You forgot to bring any clothes to try on?"

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he asked, a little incredulously.

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My heart started to pound in my chest,

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growing faster. "Y..yes"

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I stuttered. Oh god, I was starting to feel sick.

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The dog looked to be barely into his early twenties, and I wondered what kind of authority he could have.

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Did he have the right to

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ask to look in the cubicle?

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I hoped not. I really didn't want him to see me without clothes on -

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I hated my body,

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this strange alien thing that I walked around in, feeling like a constant stranger to me.

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Could he order me out of the gents changing room?

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I couldn't very well use the female one, they surely wouldn't allow that.

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"I see" he said, slowly.

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"Did you need any help then, sir?"

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I looked down. "I..." I inhaled.

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"Yes. Yes. I wanted to try on the blue

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top. The one that the mannequin over next to the sports section was wearing.

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wearing." He nodded, a little of his suspicion seeming to ease.

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"Of course, sir" he replied.

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"What size do you need?"

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"Medium" I mumbled.

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I just wanted to get rid of him.

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The dog nodded. "Of course. I won't be a moment.

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moment." As he moved away,

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I pulled the curtain shut again

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and heaved a sigh of relief.

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I waited there, catching my breath

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as my nerves continued to rattle like loose bones.

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It must have taken me almost a full minute before I looked back at the undergarments on the bench.

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Damn it, I thought, what had I been thinking?

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Whip my briefs off and

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let them sit side-by-side with the panties so that I could

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draw a visual comparison?

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I flushed, my already heated cheeks burning with humiliation.

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Seated next to each other,

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the briefs and the panties seemed to be offering me two paths.

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Two roads, both different

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and mutually exclusive.

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One or the other.

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But I didn't want to choose.

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Scooping up the briefs,

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I pulled them on.

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Shuffling them around my hips, I decided that

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no, I wasn't going to just go home and throw them all out.

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I had several pairs, and I could still wear them,

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even after the transition was finished.

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The undergarments weren't like the changing rooms in this shop -

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I didn't need to pick one or the other.

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I could be a woman and still, quite comfortably, wear briefs.

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It didn't need to define me,

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not when... I paused,

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glancing at the reflection that temporarily met my gaze in the mirror.

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My body, slender and awkward, seemed to stare back at me.

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My hands lingered before they were willing to pull my briefs all the way up, as if they

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didn't want to conceal the proof of my physical masculinity.

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My eyes hung there, staring at my cock, as if looking at a picture of somebody else.

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I felt judged - judged by that piece of flesh,

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just as much as I was judged

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by the briefs that concealed it,

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and the men's changing room cubicle I stood in,

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and the store clerk who was hurrying to fetch me a shirt.

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Fuck, I thought. Fuck, fuck,

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fuck. I let my briefs slide back into place,

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hoping that the sense of

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judgement would vanish along with the sight of the source of the thought.

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It didn't. Like always,

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it remained. Hesitantly I picked up the pair of panties and considered maybe doing my shopping online from now on.

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"Sir" came the voce from outside.

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This time I didn't want to open the curtain,

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not even a fraction.

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Balling up the undergarments in my paws, I dropped them back onto the bench.

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"Sir, I have the shirt that you wanted to try"

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insisted the store assistant earnestly.

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I sighed, tugged open the curtain a fraction and gave him a friendly nod.

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"Thank you" I offered,

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reaching for the shirt.

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It was, now that I looked at it,

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a hideous mesh of dark blues and yellows, bearing an almost offensively ugly Hawaiian motif.

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"I'm sure it'll be lovely.

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lovely." With a muffled collection of gratitude, the sales assistant

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walked away, leaving me alone with the shirt.

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I paused for a moment, letting the visual static that it created burn its way into my brain.

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It was a collage of blue palm trees, orange pineapples and sunsets that looked so artificially neon

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that they may as well have been made of Formica.

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For some reason, it made me smile.

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I could, I thought,

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just purchase this awful shirt.

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There was nothing on it that was inherently male or female. It was a

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clash of tacky 80s chic,

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but it was strangely honest in that.

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Tentatively, I slipped it on.

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Pulling the buttons around the chest,

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I tried to picture if I would be able to fasten it once my breasts had finished growing.

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Sure enough, it fit quite easily.

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Slipping it from my shoulders, I folded the shirt.

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Already my mind had settled on buying it.

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It would be my tacky shirt -

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my ugly, funny, tasteless shirt that I could wear to the office on dress-down Fridays in order to be the talk of my co-workers.

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The shirt wouldn't care if I was a man or a woman.

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It wasn't designed with gender in mind.

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I think part of me loved it for that.

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Just before I pulled my jeans back on,

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I realized exactly what I wanted to do.

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Pausing for a moment, I rolled the idea around in my mind, examining it from every angle.

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Then, with a quick motion,

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I tugged my briefs back down,

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whipping them swiftly off my footpaws and dropping them to the ground beside the panties.

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Fastening my jeans back in place,

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I threw back open the curtain and strode to the checkout,

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my tacky ugly shirt in hand.

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Handing them over to the cashier,

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I dug around in my wallet for my credit card.

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As I did so, the young canine assistant scurried up beside me.

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"Excuse me, sir" he said,

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leaning close to my shoulder.

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"Yes?" I asked as I slid my purchase into my bag,

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"What's up?" "I think"

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he began, "You may have left your briefs in the changing room?

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And, uhm, perhaps a pair of panties too?"

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I shook my head. "Oh, I'm sorry"

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I said, "They’re not mine.

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They were there when I went into the stall."

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"Oh" he said. "I see. Definitely not yours, sir?"

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I felt a little bad for lying to the youngster,

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but I knew the feeling would fade by the time I had left the store.

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I shook my head. "Definitely not mine.

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I never wear underwear."

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This was “I Never Wear Underwear”

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by Alison Cybe, read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

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For more stories you can find us wherever you get your podcasts,

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or on the web at thevoice.dog.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

About your host

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Khaki