Chapter 2: The Sheer Pair and the Sorority President
The petite brunette didn't walk so much as bounce toward the clothesline, her energy filling the space between the couches like static electricity. Mindy, Ava had called her. Sorority president. Big Sis. The kind of woman, Robert was quickly learning, who could make a grown man feel like he was back in middle school, waiting outside the principal's office.
"I've been waiting for this all night," Mindy said, clasping her hands together. She had a voice like honey poured over gravel, Southern at the edges, sharp in the middle. "Ava's told me so much about you, Robert."
"All lies," he managed.
"We'll see."
She turned to the clothesline and pointed with one perfectly manicured nail. The sheer pair. The practically invisible, whisper-thin, I-can-see-through-them-from-here pair that Robert had been trying very hard not to look at since he'd been trussed up in this chair.
"Those," Mindy said. "Those are mine."
The room went quiet. Robert could hear someone's ice cubes clinking in their glass. Could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Could hear his own heartbeat, which had apparently relocated to his throat.
The sheer panties swayed gently on the line, catching the light, revealing nothing and everything all at once. They were nude-colored, which somehow made it worse. They looked like they'd been designed by someone who wanted to create underwear for a ghost.
"Okay," Robert said slowly. "Okay. I can do this."
"You sure about that?" Ava asked, already circling. Her phone was up, the red recording dot blinking like a tiny warning beacon. "Because once you guess, you can't take it back."
"Since when?"
"Since now. New rule. House rules."
"That's not—you can't just make up rules as we go."
Ava's grin was pure chaos wrapped in glitter. "Watch me."
Robert tried to think. Mindy was the sorority president. She was confident, put-together, the kind of woman who probably had a color-coded calendar and a retirement fund. Would she wear sheer panties? Or was that a misdirect? Maybe the sheer ones belonged to someone else—someone younger, someone trying to make a statement. Maybe the brunette with the pixie cut by the window. Or maybe the blonde who kept checking her phone.
But Mindy was watching him with those sharp eyes, and there was something in her expression—a challenge, a dare—that made him think she was exactly the kind of woman who wore sheer panties just to know she was wearing them. Just to feel that secret against her skin while she sat in board meetings and PTA gatherings, smiling her honey-gravel smile.
"The sheer ones," Robert said. "They're yours."
Mindy's smile didn't flicker. Didn't waver. Didn't do anything except stay exactly where it was, which was somehow worse than any reaction could have been.
"Wrong," she said.
"What?"
"Wrong, wrong, wrong."
The room erupted. Not laughter this time—something wilder. Whoops. Hollers. Someone slapped their knee so hard their champagne sloshed over the rim of their glass. Ava spun in a circle, phone raised to the ceiling, capturing the moment from every angle.
"But you—you pointed at them!"
"I pointed at them because I wanted to see if you'd fall for it." Mindy shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "And you did. Beautifully."
Mary rose from the couch with the paddle in her hand. She was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that preceded either a very good night or a very bad decision. Robert had seen that smile a thousand times. It never meant anything good for him.
"Ten swats," Mary announced.
"Ten? That's not—the first one was only two!"
"First one was a warning." Mary approached, paddle tapping against her palm. "This is a lesson."
"A lesson in what?"
"In not trusting pretty women who point at underwear."
She swung. The crack echoed off the walls, and Robert felt the sting bloom across his left buttock like a firework. He yelped—actually yelped, a sound he hadn't made since he'd stepped on a Lego three Christmases ago—and the chair lurched forward.
"One," Ava counted.
"Mary, come on—"
Another crack. Right cheek this time. The sting was sharper now, building on itself, and Robert's eyes watered.
"Two."
"I'm a grown man—"
"Three."
"I have a mortgage—"
"Four."
"—and a 401k—"
"Five."
"—and I coach little league—"
"Six."
"Okay, I don't coach little league, but I could—"
"Seven."
The women were in hysterics. One of them—Karen, he was almost sure—had actually fallen off the couch. Another was filming with her phone held sideways, which meant the video would be useless, which meant Robert would have to do this all over again. The thought made him want to cry.
"Eight."
"Mary, please—"
"Nine."
"I'll do anything—"
"Ten."
The final swat landed harder than the others, or maybe Robert's skin was just too raw to tell the difference anymore. He sagged against the rope, breath coming in short bursts, sweat dripping down his temples. His ass felt like it had been set on fire and then stomped out by someone wearing golf cleats.
"Okay," he panted. "Okay. We're done. I learned my lesson."
"Did you?" Mary asked, tilting her head.
"Yes. Absolutely. Never trust a woman pointing at underwear. Got it."
"Good." She set the paddle down and returned to the couch, accepting a fresh glass of champagne from one of the sorority sisters. "But we're not done."
"What do you mean we're not done?"
Ava stepped forward, phone still recording. "We still have eight pairs to go, stepdad."
"Eight? But I only—"
"Kelly's was a warmup, remember? You got that one right. Mindy's was the first real challenge." Ava's eyes sparkled. "And you failed spectacularly."
"I didn't fail. It was a trick question."
"There are no trick questions. Only trick answers."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Doesn't have to." Ava turned to Mindy. "You said something about a forfeit?"
Mindy nodded, already reaching for the clothesline. She lifted the sheer panties from their clip with two fingers, holding them up like a trophy. They were impossibly delicate, the fabric so thin it was almost translucent. Robert could see the outline of her hand through them.
"A forfeit," Mindy confirmed. "Since he guessed wrong, he has to wear these for the next round."
"Wear them where?" Robert asked, though he already knew. He could see it in their faces. Could feel the weight of the room's anticipation pressing down on him.
Mindy's smile was pure Southern sweetness with a razor blade underneath. "On your head."
"On my—absolutely not."
"You don't have a choice." Mary's voice was light, almost lazy. "House rules."
"You just made up that rule five minutes ago!"
"Democracy in action." Mary raised her glass. "All in favor?"
The room exploded. Ayes echoed off the walls. Hands shot up. Someone—the pixie-cut brunette—actually stood on a chair to make sure her vote counted.
"Motion carries," Ava announced.
Robert closed his eyes. He tried to think of a way out. Tried to remember if he had any dignity left. Tried to imagine what his father, a man who had spent thirty years as a middle school principal and had never once raised his voice, would say if he could see his son now.
But when he opened his eyes, Mindy was already approaching with the panties, and there was no exit, no escape, no knight in shining armor coming to rescue him.
"This is insane," he said.
"This is fun," Mindy corrected.
"It's the same thing to you people."
"We're very simple creatures." She stopped in front of him, panties dangling from her finger. "Bend down."
"I can't bend down. I'm tied to a chair."
"I'll do it." Mary rose again, setting her champagne aside. She took the panties from Mindy with the reverence of someone handling a delicate artifact. "Hold still."
"Mary, please—"
"Shhh."
She reached over him, and Robert felt the fabric settle against his scalp. It was cool, impossibly soft, and it smelled faintly of perfume—something floral and expensive. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the mantle: a bald man with thinning hair, red-faced and sweating, wearing a pair of sheer panties on his head like a bonnet. The elastic band settled behind his ears, snug against his skull.
"Perfect," Mary said, stepping back to admire her work. "You look distinguished."
"I look like a pervert."
"A distinguished pervert." She returned to the couch. "Ava, do you have a photo?"
"Dozens." Ava was already circling, phone raised, capturing every angle. "This is going in the slideshow at the wedding."
"Absolutely not."
"We'll see."
The other women were crowding in now, phones blazing, taking their own photos and videos. The pixie-cut brunette—her name was Morgan, Robert remembered now, she'd been at Ava's birthday party last year—got so close he could smell her bubblegum lip gloss. Someone else was behind him, capturing the back of his head, immortalizing the moment from every possible angle.
"Smile, Robert," Mindy called.
"I hope you all get pink eye," he muttered.
"That's not a smile."
"It's the best you're getting."
The room was a cacophony now, a wall of sound pressing in from all sides. Laughter. Chatter. The clink of glasses. The camera shutters. Robert let his head fall back against the chair and stared at the ceiling, at the streamers and the clothesline and the nine remaining pairs of underwear swaying in the air like ghosts.
This was his life now. This was the man he'd become. A forty-five-year-old stepfather, tied to a chair, wearing a sorority president's underpants on his head while the women of his suburban community photographed him for posterity.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that Ava was right. The game was only just beginning.
"Alright, ladies," Ava called, clapping her hands together. "Round two. Who's next?"
The pixie-cut brunette stepped forward, already grinning. "Me."
Robert closed his eyes.
"Pick a pair, Robert," Ava said.
He opened them again, surveying the line. Black lace. Hot pink thong. Pale yellow bikini. Something with a bow. Something with—
His gaze stopped on a pair of gray, slightly faded cotton briefs near the end of the line. Sensible. Plain. The kind of underwear a woman wore when she wasn't trying to impress anyone.
"Those," he said, nodding toward them. "The gray ones."
The pixie-cut brunette—Morgan—burst out laughing.
"Those are my grandmother's," she said.
"We let her participate by proxy," Ava added, grinning. "She's in a nursing home."
Robert stared at them. Then at Mary. Then at the ceiling.
"I hate all of you," he said.
The paddle cracked.
And the night went on.