I came home earlier than expected from a work trip. Why? Who comes home early from a work trip? When a hurricane or tropical storm or whatever grounds your flight and you’re a flight attendant. That’s who. I won’t say where I am from. Not yet. Like I said, I don’t want this getting out. Not yet. I need some advice first. Or a plan. Or a plan and advice. I need something. I’ve been good in my marriage. Really. Despite being a flight attendant, slim, and in shape, and constantly being sought after by pilots, I have stayed true. During my marriage. Not so much before that, but yeah. I’ve only been with my husband since being married. Despite the ample opportunities that have been presented. It’s true. Pilots are something else. The stigma is real. Back to my coming home early. Or is it me coming home early? I’m not sure. I’m a flight attendant, not an English teacher.
When I arrived home, my husband was at work. I suppose. At least he wasn’t home. And he was supposed to be at work. When he got home he said he was at work. But who knows. I don’t have a GPS tracker or anything on him. I’ve never felt the need. I am not a jealous person, and I trust him. Or I did. Until I got home. And now I am writing to you, someone I’ve never met. Possibly tens or hundreds or thousands that I’ve never met.
The dryer was on. I didn’t hear it when I got home. It’s one of the quiet efficient types, not a lot of noise. Plus it’s tucked into the nearly perfect sized laundry room, somewhat away from any other place in the house where someone would be. But I did hear it buzz. As I was unzipping my skirt, or maybe slipping off my uniform top. I like my uniform top. It accentuates a good feature of mine, my breasts. My husband says they are perfect, but he has to, right? They are real, in case you are wondering. The life haven’t been sucked out of them by children, something I worry about it. Since college I’ve liked my tits. They are kind of nice. If I can say so myself. Yeah, I was taking off my top, because I remember walking to the laundry room in my skirt and bra. I like my undergarments to somewhat match the rest of my outfit. One, so you can’t see them through my clothes. And two, well it makes me feel sexier. This day was black skirt and light blue bra, 34c, and matching panties. My panties. My lacey, VS panties. Mine.
The dryer buzzed again. It’ll keep buzzing, and I need a nap. I went to the laundry room, and opened the dryer to make the buzzing stop. I had no intention of doing laundry. I wanted quiet. The dryer door opens to the side with a little glass door. It’s probably more like hard plastic, but maybe glass. I’ve never really thought about it. It’s see through though. The door. Just like the washer. I opened the door to stop the buzzing. I saw something through the glass. Something that was off. Something that should not be there. A bright yellow. I opened the door the whole way. It and a pair of socks dropped to the ground. It being the bright yellow something.
The bright yellow, flirtatiously lacey, cheeky panties. I don’t own yellow panties. I never have. And these didn’t fit. Yes, I tried them on. They were bigger than I like my panties to be, but not by much. Still, the fit. They were not mine. I put the socks back. And now? I don’t know.
Want to see what happens next? Click here for Natalie’s second installment of this very suspicious situation.
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