The Game

Part One

Dares? During church?

Leave it to my younger sister to come up with something so inappropriate. It’s not like I’m a super religious girl, but I also treat Sunday morning the same way I’d treat any ‘event’ where I’m dressed up. Looking and acting proper is what you’re supposed to do. Besides, there aren’t exactly a lot of dares someone can do while sitting in a pew in the middle of a church service. 

Abigail and Kate. My sister, Abigail, would normally never drag someone to church with us. But Kate wasn’t just anyone. She was my younger sister’s best friend, and they had a mini sleepover last night at our house. Kate’s options were to either Uber home at the crack of dawn, or somewhere else to kill time on a Sunday morning, or to tag along with us until they could resume their weekend antics. Though neither Kate nor her family were particularly religious, she was more than old enough to sit through a service while twiddling her thumbs or maybe texting the whole time. 

Or so I thought.

Apparently properly sitting through worship was too tall of an order for the two girls, as they both eagerly approached me as our church’s coffee hour was wrapping up and people were heading to the sanctuary to find their seats. 

Never one to beat around the bush, Abigail looked up at me with a smile. “We’re doing dares during church. You’re going to play with us.”

Leave it to my younger sister to be so brazen. Telling, instead of asking. Like it had already been decided. Decided between the two of them, perhaps, but certainly not with me. “Excuse me?” I asked, a faint scoff in my voice. My eyes instinctively glanced around to make sure no nearby adults were listening in. The coast was clear, but still. 

Instantly teaming up on me, Kate jumped in as well. “Come on! You basically ignored us all night. It’s just a little game. What’s the harm?”

Ignored. I’ve never been part of their sleepovers, so it was ridiculous to try to pin the previous night on me. Arguing with teenage girls can be impossible sometimes. Kate’s blunt ‘logic’ made sense, in a way. If I denied a dare, it’s not like either of them had the power to make me do it. I was the older girl. Or, of course, I could just deny the game itself.

The two girls must have sensed my hesitation, as Kate spoke up again in the silence. “We’d say ‘Truth or Dare,’ but I don’t think any of us want written evidence of our answers, right?”

Well, sure. Growing up, Abigail and I used to pass notes to each other on whatever blank space we could find on the service’s bulletin. You can’t exactly talk much during church, as even mumbles and whispers will earn you the side eye from anyone nearby who’s trying to pay attention. And I wasn’t about to risk my sister or her BFF having any personal and/or embarrassing information about me scrawled in my handwriting.

“No, but still. Girls, it’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” I said, regretting the choice of words immediately. Addressing two eighteen year olds as ‘girls’ like I might do when babysitting or tutoring. 

And they pounced right on it. Abigail placed a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow, “Suddenly so religious, sis? It’s fine. Kate and I will play by ourselves, and silently judge you for being boring the whole time.”

I actually fell for it. 

Despite knowing my younger sister as well as I did, it was still difficult to keep her from getting under my skin sometimes. She called me a lot of things. Stuck-up, prudish, nerdy, and plenty of others. The reason her taunting gets to me so much, vain as it might sound, is that I’m actually a pretty popular girl. Believe it or not, you can get straight A’s and wear mildly conservative outfits and still have plenty of friends. Life isn’t some movie where all the cool kids ditch class, wear provocative clothes, and party every weekend. 

Abby, however, seemed to think otherwise. She loved showing off cleavage and thigh, and wrapping every boy that she could around her finger. I knew for a fact that she drank with her friends, and I’m almost 100% sure that she’s not a virgin. And I covered for her countless times before I left for college. Made excuses and sent her warnings texts. Helped her sneak back in a few times when she called me at 4 AM, standing outside and urging me to go disarm our security system so it wouldn’t make a noise when the side door was opened. 

All that sisterly protection, but Abby could never help herself. She always wanted me to be more like her. If not dressing slutty and going to a party, then at least doing dares during church would suffice. And calling me ‘boring’ was a surefire way to get me to prove otherwise, even if I knew in the back of my mind that I had nothing to prove to her.

Against my better judgement, I gave in. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Abigail’s judgmental pose and expression immediately vanished, and her body suddenly crashed into mine for a no-warning hug. I let out a faint girly noise as I was knocked off balance for a moment, and then the tight embrace was over as quickly as it had begun. Gliding her hand down my arm, Abby clasped my hand with hers and gave a light tug towards the sanctuary. “Come on, sis! Let’s get a good seat.”

“Yeah, sis!” Kate giggled, hooking her arm in mine on my other side. The way they collectively attached themselves to me seemed almost planned in how quickly it happened, but it definitely wasn’t something they would have concocted prior to this. It was just best friends reading each others’ minds. A connection which didn’t bode well for me, as the thought of being outnumbered only crossed my mind after the two girls began walking me to the sanctuary. 

Now that we were older, it was pretty common for us to sit by ourselves or sometimes with church friends during worship. The whole ‘sit together as a family’ thing only really applied on the big days like Christmas and Easter. Going to church on Sunday was already more than enough to make our parents happy, so they were fine if we did so on our own terms most of the time. Even during a weekend visit like this from my university, there was no pressure to sit as a family.

I expected Abigail and Kate to choose a spot in the very back, since dares were involved, so imagine my surprise when I was walked all the way to one of the middle pews instead. Part of me really wanted to squirm out of their grip, but I figured that would just end up making more of a scene than letting them guide me. Abigail has always been the super touchy type, and Kate wasn’t much different. Choosing a spot right by the middle aisle, Kate sat down and gently pulled me down with her by our linked arms. At the same time, Abigail let go of my hand and squeezed past both of us so she could sit on Kate’s other side. 

At least I wasn’t going to be sandwiched between them for the whole service. 

Worship hadn’t started yet, which meant plenty of people in the sanctuary were idly chattering over the Prelude music. It would be the last easy opportunity for us to talk as well, and Abigail capitalized on the moment by jumping right in. “You can go first, sis!” she grinned, leaning forward a bit so I could see her past Kate. For a moment, I thought she was going to do the unfair thing and try to make me the first one to take a dare. Instead, she did the opposite. “Go on. Dare one of us!”

Tired of being attached to Kate, I squirmed a bit in the wooden pew and pulled my arm free of hers. She loosened her grip and allowed me an easy escape, but used the opportunity to shift in her own seat to look at me. Now I was met with both Abigail and Kate staring at me, with an uncanny similarity in their curious, amused smiles. Which girl would I dare first, and what would I come up with that was possible to do undetected in a church pew with others around?

I honestly had no idea, but I knew I had to think quickly. Knowing Abigail, she’d make me pass my turn if I took too long, which meant I’d be the one doing more dares between the three of us. In the back of my mind, I knew the best option was to simply stand up and walk away. I was seated near the edge of the pew, right next to the center aisle, and the escape route offered plenty of alternative seating options for the service. Sitting alone would be better and more peaceful than sitting with Abigail and Kate.

But I wasn’t thinking clearly under the pressure. Two sets of eyes were on me, and I was paying more attention to the girls in front of me than I was to the aisle behind me. Though a dare hadn’t yet formed in my mind, I blurted out “Kate.” She’s more manageable than my sister most of the time. 

“Bring it on,” Kate smirked, shifting in her seat and sitting up a bit. 

And just like that, the game began.

Part Two

My dare to Kate was more practical than anything else. I simply dared her to give me her phone for the service. It ensured that at least one of the two girls wouldn’t have the chance to somehow sneak a pic as things progressed, and also made sure that she wouldn’t be rudely texting during the service and drawing judgment from the more traditional adults that might notice.

And we were off.

Honestly, it wasn’t a super long or intensive game. Not every dare could be completed right away, as worship dips in and out of participation. Standing and sitting, reading and singing. Congregation members are involved in a good chunk of the service. Kate had to wink and throw a flirty smile to a nearby college boy. Abby had to write ‘SLUT’ on her thigh, ensuring she would have to be careful when seated for the rest of the day. And I had to take off my heels. 

All seemingly innocent dares, dares that would be laughable during a sleepover, but the risk of doing them in the middle of church made each one feel more daunting. Overtly flirting when anyone around could notice. Lifting a skirt and briefly showing way too much thigh when writing a dirty word. And sitting in the middle of church with cold tile on the soles of my feet. Barefoot might not seem that bad in comparison, but the knowledge that anyone could look over and see me making myself at home in such a sacred space made me uncomfortable pretty much the entire time.

It was nearly time for the sermon, and I quickly wrote “Game over” on the corner of my bulletin as we sat down after the gospel reading. However, both girls gave me a dirty look the moment they saw my message. I knew why, of course. Because they had both done one more dare than me. It’s not like I was trying to get out of doing an additional dare, but the sermon was about to start! There’s no way we could be passing notes and shifting around too much when everyone was supposed to be sitting still and listening.

Unfortunately, despite being older and more mature, I couldn’t hold my ground. My maturity was probably part of the problem. In my mind, I’d be setting a bad example to the slightly younger girls by not keeping things fair, despite how immature the game I was participating in was. A simple eye roll and tiny nod was all I gave, mouthing “one more” to at least show that I was still serious about the game being done.

I regretted my agreement instantly.

Abigail leaned across Kate to get closer to me, smirking and whispering, “I dare you to take off your underwear.”

What?! No. Absolutely not. 

Yeah, wearing a skirt made it possible, but that wasn’t the point. My conservative blue skirt went down to my knees, and I avoided even using the bathroom in such an outfit due to how I’d either have to pull it down and risk it getting dirty on a public bathroom floor, or hike it up a lot to pull my underwear down. But while seated in a stiff wooden pew, when everyone is settling in for a 20+ minute message? There’s no way someone wouldn’t notice. Not to mention that it would be highly inappropriate going commando at church.

Giving as stern of an older sister look that I could, I simply whispered “No” in response.

Abigail may have gotten away with getting me to play in the first place, but no amount of judgment or insistence from my younger sister and her friend could guilt trip me into removing my underwear. Or so I thought.

Apparently, Abigail had one or two other tricks up her sleeve. Quickly jotting down a message on her bulletin, she passed me a note. ‘Kate will spill my coffee if you don’t,’ complete with a little heart at the end of the message. Glancing back up from the note to her, the knowing smile on her face told me everything. She meant ‘accidentally’ spilling her iced coffee on ME. Where, I didn’t know. Over my skirt, down my chest. 

It wasn’t an empty threat. When we were in middle school, Abigail once fake spilled a good chunk of Diet Coke on my lap in the movie theater. She was annoyed at me for whatever immature reason that day, and it was a highly effective way of getting back at me. We were both really, really looking forward to the movie, and I wouldn’t miss a second of the premiere. So, rather than running to the bathroom, I simply sat there and let the sticky drink soak into my skirt and underwear, making for quite the uncomfortable movie experience.

This time wasn’t much different. I’d have to choose between sitting still with iced coffee all over me during the sermon, or quietly excusing myself and having half the church think I’m super clumsy thanks to how visible I’d appear during my exit. Not to mention how it might stain my nice clothes. It was blackmail, but it was also her response to me trying to back out of a dare. A ‘forfeit,’ in a way. Take my underwear off in the middle of church, or let Abigail pour cold coffee all over me. Well, Kate. Kate was the one sitting next to me, but I absolutely wouldn’t put it past her. I could attempt to stop her from doing so, but that would just make a scene. Church was quite the trap when you wanted to do anything else but sit still.

“Fine.” I caved, whispering to Abigail in response. I could feel my cheeks begin to warm at just the thought of doing it, or maybe it was to her lips pursed in a small victorious smile. How red would my face turn when actually committing the improper act? 

Glancing left and right, I then nervously gazed down at my skirt while trying to ignore the hushed giggles as Abigail nudged Kate. 

How was I even going to do this?! I could partially see those seated in front of us, and would certainly notice if one of the girls fidgeted too much. That means anyone behind me would be able to partially see my movements. Then there were those across the aisle to the left, and those seated off to the right. No one was directly next to the three of us, but they’d still easily be able to see me if they happened to look over. If I had my sewing scissors with me, I seriously would have considered just cutting my underwear off. It would be a shame to ruin them, but the price would be worth it if I could avoid hiking my skirt up so far. 

As the reader finished up the last scripture verse before the sermon, I concluded that there were no good options. I’d just have to go to the bathroom and come back without my underwear on. Or . . . or I could ‘go to the bathroom’ and not come back at all! It’d be easy enough to stand up, walk to the back, and attend the rest of the service away from my sister and her best friend. Underwear still on, and no coffee on my clothes. Barefoot, but I could live with that.

Plucking the bulletin from Abigail’s hand, I jotted down a quick note before passing it back to her. Informing her I’d be completing my dare in the bathroom, and would be right back. In retrospect, I should have just stood up and left with no warning. The church girl in me, however, had the reflex to inform the group I was seated with where I was going. 

In a flash, Abigail stood up, squeezed past Kate and then roughly between my kneecaps and the pew in front of us, and plopped down on my other side. Perfect timing, as it was right while the reader was returning to his seat and the pastor was stepping to the pulpit. The last chance to do anything before the sermon started. Jotting down a note of her own, Abigail passed the bulletin back to me. ‘No. That’s boring.’ As I read, stuck between the two girls, Kate passed the Starbucks drink back to my sister. If I wanted to leave on the left side, I’d have to make it past Abigail and her coffee. If I wanted to leave on the right side, I’d have to push past Kate, a small family seven or eight feet away, and an older couple at the very end of the pew. 

Abigail’s little smirk told me everything. She had me. Either I needed to find a way to get my underwear off in the middle of church, or I would end up with coffee all over my nice clothes. Something told me she’d be happy with either outcome.

Sighing heavily, I made my choice. 

I was actually going to take my underwear off.

Part Three

Was I really about to do this? 

Everything leading up to now was a bit of a blur. Why did I agree to do dares in the middle of a Sunday morning service? I didn’t care what Abigail or Kate thought of me, and it’s not like a simple game would change their minds towards me anyway. I’d still be Abby’s older sister, and things would go on as always. Me, rolling my eyes at their antics. Them, rolling their eyes at what they viewed as ‘boring.’

Yet somehow, I let Abigail get under my skin, and I agreed to play this stupid game.

I was already nervous that my heels were off and out of reach. Barefoot in church. Not a sin, but definitely a little inappropriate. Before, I was nervous that Kate could easily grab my only footwear and walk away after the service, but that was an afterthought at this point. I’d rather be barefoot all morning than deal with the coming task. Remove my underwear. During church. While Abigail and Kate got a front row seat to the embarrassing task. I’d never live this down, yet I already felt committed. Compared to being covered in coffee, this was the lesser evil; it would draw the least attention all morning. I’d just have to walk around acting normally while going commando for quite literally the first time in my life.

Abigail pinched my arm, breaking me out of my thoughts. A tiny squeak of surprise escaped from the back of my throat, only loud enough for the two girls beside me to hear. I could feel my cheeks flush all over again, and I subtly glanced towards Abigail with a glare. She just responded with an equally subtle nod towards my legs. 

Impatient brat.

The sermon started a minute or two ago, but I had no idea what was said so far. Too much focus was on my annoyance with Abigail, as well as my own worried thoughts. What if someone sees? What if Kate tells? I know my sister has a code when it comes to secrets, but her friend might not have the same discretion. Regardless, I had to get moving. It was a pinch this time, but it could be a cold, sticky drink next time. 

Hiking my skirt up was out of the question. The girls’ legs on either side of me might offer partial cover, but it wouldn’t be enough. There was simply no way to expose so much bare leg and then reach under my skirt without being noticed, especially now that we had reached this part of the service. No, I had to be more creative. And destructive.

Shifting slightly in the pew, I crossed my right arm over my stomach and gripped the waistband of my skirt. After a tiny downward tug, I then used my left hand to gently pull at my underwear until both index fingers and thumbs could get a good grip on a small section of it. The nude panties weren’t exactly exciting in color, as they weren’t meant for anything but blending in underneath nice outfits, but they were incredibly comfortable. Hopefully they were still in stock wherever I got them. I’d have to check the tag. Because in a minute, they were going to be ruined.

Ignoring Abigail’s amused exhale, I tightly gripped the fabric with my fingertips. I didn’t want to do this on Abigail’s side, but my left was the most discreet. No one was directly behind us near the edge of the pew, which meant my sister would hopefully be the only witness. Pushing up with my left thumb and down with my left index finger while holding the fabric firmly in place with my other hand, I dug at the soft material with my fingernails. It was annoyingly resistant, and it was impossible to get consistent leverage. Finally, by pinning a spot with my nail, my thumb was able to press upwards enough to make the fabric give. 

I cringed when I heard the faint ripping sound.

It was one of those things that was objectively quiet, but felt SO loud since I was the paranoid one trying to be as discreet as possible. Ignoring Abby’s smirk in my peripherals, no doubt a result of the combination of seeing my underwear poking out of my skirt in church and the way I decided to go about my dare, I continued the arduous task of ripping apart my own panties. One little hole in the smooth fabric was enough to give me a little more leverage, but it didn’t mean the material would simply tear as easily as a sheet of paper. I had to keep adjusting my grip with fingers and nails, softly pinching and tugging all while trying to sit still in the church pew at the same time. The waistband and the leg hole were by far the most frustrating sections, requiring a good amount of shifting and twisting until both sections finally yielded to my persistent attempts.

Despite the achievement, the resulting ‘freedom’ didn’t feel that great, especially after shoving the torn underwear back underneath my skirt for modesty’s sake. The nude panties bunched up on both sides of my leg, leaving the top of my thigh bare against my skirt and the other parts a strange combination of covered and uncovered. I wasn’t done yet. One leg hole still remained intact, and at this point I was determined to see this plan through instead of bailing halfway and trying to awkwardly slide the remaining half down one leg. 

Abby had her turn to watch me fiddle with my underwear, and now Kate had her chance to watch. Shifting slightly in my seat, I reluctantly tugged at the delicate waistband until it was visible on the opposite side and then began the whole process all over again. One little hole, then a series of pinches and rips; the ends that were just as tedious the second time around. Every little tearing sound made me cringe from both the destruction and the nervousness, and made Abby’s best friend quietly amused. 

Tucking the torn fabric back under my skirt when I was done, I took what felt like the first breath since I first pulled at the waistband on Abby’s side. The most difficult obstacles were out of the way, but there was still more to come. 

My underwear was very much wedged between my ass and the wooden pew beneath me. There was no way I’d be able to pull from the back, as that would require way too much fidgeting, as well as sticking my arm pretty obviously behind my back to complete the task. Anyone sitting behind us would notice. Actually, pulling from the front made a lot more sense anyway. Instead of fully lifting off the seat, I could just brace my back on the pew.

Committing before Abigail could nudge or threaten me, I did just that. 

Back pressed against the pew and bare feet firmly planted on the floor, I lifted myself up just a fraction of an inch. Enough so my body wouldn’t be pinning the loose underwear down. I used one hand to cover my crotch with an open bulletin, and slipped a few fingers underneath the waistband of my skirt with the other hand. Finding a firm grip on the panties, I slowly and deliberately tugged. 

It was surprisingly easy. After a moment of faint resistance, the delicate fabric glided underneath my rear cheeks, between my legs, and finally rested over my crotch as I paused to deliberate what the best approach was to fully removing them. Deciding not to overthink it, I pulled the panties the rest of the way out before I lost my nerve, simultaneously bunching them up in my hand while the bulletin in my other hand still offered me cover. It wasn’t until I lowered myself back down and my ass connected with my skirt and only my skirt that it truly hit me.

I was going commando. For the first time ever. At church.

Part Four

It wasn’t exactly what I’d call a victory. Yeah, I’m up for a challenge every now and then, but the ‘reward’ for this particular endeavor was only the feeling of embarrassment and exposure. I was still plenty covered, but I felt SO naked at the same time. 

It would make me nervous enough if it was a private and personal choice I made before leaving the house or something, not that I’d ever make such a wardrobe decision on my own, but it was made much worse by the way it happened, as well as the fact that Abigail and Kate knew. I tried to focus forward, even if the sermon was long lost on me at this point, but couldn’t help but glance towards my sister. She had a subdued grin on her face, obviously satisfied with both the show and the outcome. 

For a minute, I sat there with the newfound feeling underneath my skirt, fidgeting once or twice. I have no idea how other girls do it. It’s not comfortable at all, and it’s not the kind of texture I was used to having on those private areas. It’s not like I could undo the damage, however, as the underwear balled up in my hand was beyond repair. I’d have to wait until we arrived back home. At this point, I deeply regretted not bringing a purse, as I’d basically have to hold my panties until the service was over and I could find a trash can.

The minute of peace and quiet didn’t last very long. Abigail tapped my leg and gently placed her bulletin on my lap once she had my attention. Since we had avoided writing much down since the game began, it was easy to find the new note. In her familiar and barely legible handwriting, I made out the short question — ‘What about the rest?’

The rest?

I glanced towards Abigail again, as subtly as I was able so it wouldn’t seem like we were constantly ignoring what was happening up front. She was already slightly turned towards me, ready for my gaze, and giving me an expectant look. Rather than say anything, I just communicated to her with my confused expression in response. Despite our differences, we’re still sisters. It’s easy enough for us to read each other. Abby just rolled her eyes, then tapped her left boob twice. 

The movement caused my eyes to drift downwards for a second, and I then immediately averted my gaze while feeling the heat rise to my face. Abigail’s blouse was tight enough that I basically ended up getting a full view of her modest shape. She hadn’t ‘caught up’ to my size yet, something she verbally lamented about all the time, and inadvertently checking her out was a reminder of that. But that wasn’t the point. We’re sisters. I don’t care if that’s exciting for others; there’s nothing weirder than seeing a sibling like that, and I just got an awkward eyeful thanks to her little gesture. 

The tiny huff to my left hinted that Abigail was more annoyed than amused, or maybe she was just being dramatic. Either way, she swiped the bulletin from my lap and jotted down another quick note. This one wasn’t so subtle. As the folded paper landed neatly on my lap again, I looked down to read two words that were written bigger than anything else on the page. ‘Your BRA.’

At first, I was nervous that someone nearby might glance over my shoulder and see the bolded word, but that nervousness was replaced by shock when I put two and two together. The note about ‘the rest,’ and then the way she tapped her chest. Abby wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable by drawing attention to her boobs. She was trying to communicate without outright saying it on paper, and now the message was crystal clear: ‘Take off your bra.’ As in, part of the dare. As in, ‘take off your underwear.’ Surely my sister couldn’t be serious! I was told underwear, singular. Not undergarments, or lingerie, or whatever. 

Barely looking at Abby this time, I gave a small shake of my head. No way. Not a chance. 

Destroying my nice underwear was enough of a crime, and I wasn’t about to squirm around in my seat in an effort to remove the bra from underneath my blouse. Heck, forget the removal process. I wasn’t about to walk around after the service without a bra on! I assumed the dares only lasted through the end of worship, as that’s when I planned to put my heels back on. Putting a bra back on, however, would require privacy. And privacy meant making it through a bunch of church ladies that would stop me for small talk while I was trying to prevent my nipples from poking through my white top. My blouse wasn’t as tight as Abigail’s, but it still mildly hugged my body, and just the thought of wearing it without a layer underneath was enough to cause a ripple of anxiety to course through my body.

I heard a stifled giggle to my right, and realized Kate must have seen the large note sitting on my lap. For once, she clearly wasn't on the same wavelength as my sister. Like me, Kate must have assumed the dare was for underwear only. But it wasn’t Kate’s dare; it was Abigail’s. Ignoring the quiet reaction from Kate, I once again glanced towards my sister.

Abigail had that same annoyed look on her face. She mouthed the word “now,” complete with a tiny shake of the iced drink in her hand. 

The same threat as before. Only this time, I would have removed my underwear for absolutely no reason if she ‘spilled’ on me anyway. Sunk cost fallacy, I guess. The only way to justify destroying my nice underwear would be removing my bra as well. Was it worth it?

No.

It wasn’t. We were in the middle of church, and anyone sitting nearby would be able see Abigail do something so mean. During worship, no less. I wasn’t about to cave to my little sister’s demand, and I absolutely wasn’t going to walk around without a bra on. Plus, without a purse, I'd have to keep the bra in my hand. Bunched up panties were one thing, but a bra? Even with the cups folded into each other, my hands weren't that big . . .

I just shook my head again. Calling her bluff. Abigail would just have to accept that I already went above and beyond to do a dare that was totally unfair in the first place. I was still the older sister, and I was putting my foot down.

With another tiny huff, Abby plucked the bulletin from my lap and jotted down a short note. Instead of passing it back to me, however, she leaned over me to hand it to Kate. Just when I was about to hiss at her for being in my personal space and being too obvious about passing notes in church, it happened. 

Using her other hand, Abigail popped the lid off her plastic coffee cup with just her thumb. And, before I could register what was happening, she began pouring it down my chest.

Part Five

Abigail was actually doing it. My sister was intentionally spilling her drink on me in the middle of church.

I gasped as the cold coffee hit my chest. The surprise and the temperature almost made me scream, but I managed to bite my tongue and keep it to just a sharp inhale. For a moment, I was simply in shock. That gave Abigail enough time to dump the whole thing out; half a grande Starbucks cup, ‘accidentally’ poured on me. She even gave a tiny shake at the end, causing a few smaller pieces of ice to escape from between the cup and the partially removed lid. I suddenly wished I had somehow removed my bra, as most of the ice fragments got stuck in my cleavage after the short fall.

However, I barely registered the ice, as I was already dealing with a lot of other sensations. The coffee had funneled between my breasts and flowed down my stomach, and the hem of my skirt wasn’t nearly enough to stop the stream. In a matter of seconds, the coffee worked its way underneath my skirt. I tensed up as the cool liquid washed over my most private area, and everything that hadn’t soaked into the skirt on its way down ended up pooling underneath my rear until a small puddle of coffee was soaking into the back of my skirt as I sat in it. 

But we were still in church. 

A less proper girl would immediately jump up and excuse herself, or slap her sister across the face, or do a million other things in response to what Abigail just did to me. But I did none of that. For a long few moments, I simply sat in the cold coffee with a dropped jaw. Before looking at Abigail, I looked down at myself. The bottom half of my white blouse was damp, discolored, and clung to my stomach, and the skirt was wet all over from how the hem caused just enough resistance for the coffee to both flow around my waist while also finding its way between my thighs. The cold burning on my chest drew my peripherals to my boobs, and I quickly plucked the larger pieces of ice from my cleavage and dropped them onto my already wet skirt. What difference would a little more water make? Better my skirt than my breasts.

Slowly turning to Abigail with a death glare, I tried to find the right words to hiss. It wasn’t that we were in church. It wasn’t that the coffee would stain. It was much simpler than that—you don’t pour COFFEE on your SISTER. Or anything on anyone, for that matter. 

“Abigail,” I hissed. The smug smile on her face already told me that she wasn’t going to take me seriously. Not in my current state, and not with Kate’s muffled giggling on my other side. 

Before I could get another word out, the sound of organ music filled the room. Was the sermon over already? Apparently, I spent the entire message removing my underwear and bickering with my sister over the finer details of her dare. The good news was, it was time to stand up and sing a hymn. That’s the ideal time to excuse yourself if you have to, as leaving while everyone is standing and singing is less noticeable and more acceptable. Abigail’s lecture would have to wait. As much as I wanted to bite her head off, cleaning myself up took priority now that the music shook me out of my appalled haze. 

Rather than grab a hymnal like usual, I simply stood up and prepared to push past my sister. The middle aisle would be embarrassing, as a lot of people were about to see me and assume I was the biggest klutz in the world, but I didn’t have a choice. Going the other way would mean squeezing past others in wet clothes, and that would be all kinds of rude. I may have been very much done with my sister and her BFF, but I wasn’t about to take out my frustrations on others.  

Alright, time to move. The moment the music introduction was done and people started singing, I turned towards Abby without a word. She’d figure it out. Pushing forward, I roughly squeezed between her and the pew in front of us, not wanting to give her a chance to be bossy or argumentative. I should have been home free, save for one crucial mistake. I didn’t keep my eyes on my sister. 

Just as I was stepping out from the pew and into the aisle, WHOOSH. I didn’t feel Abigail’s hands, but I very much felt the momentary resistance the skirt around my hips gave against the downward tug. There was no zipper. The stretchy waistband was the only reason I was able to get away with subtly tearing my underwear off. And now it was a huge weakness against something just as audacious as dumping coffee on me. In one swift, fluid motion, my skirt was whisked down my legs, all the way to my ankles. 

Before I could even react, Abigail gave my now bare ass a quick slap, then shoved me. Hard. 

I stumbled forward, and the skirt caused the same result that two shoes tied together might have. Worse, actually. Slipping out of footwear was easy. Trying to deal with feet tangled up in a long skirt? Not so much. The only reason I avoided fully face-planting was thanks to one of the pews on the opposite side of the aisle. My hands instinctively shot forward and I managed to catch myself after totally losing my balance and falling forward for a moment. Though my reflexes prevented a total wipe-out, they also caused an enormous problem. 

Abigail just sent me stumbling into the exposed aisle after pantsing me! I didn’t have my underwear to protect me, nor did I have my hands for a few seconds. I was bottomless in the middle of church. Literally. Middle pew, middle aisle. 

I gasped in horror as I realized that half the congregation behind me was facing forward.

And I was half naked.

Part Six

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. 

Skirt around my ankles. Totally bare below my waist. A not particularly well stifled laugh from a few feet away. Church, worship, people. It was like one of those cliché nightmares, except I wasn’t. Waking. Up. 

Time wasn’t slowed for long, however. A second later, I was scrambling as quickly as humanly possible. Finding my balance, I grabbed the hem of my blouse and tugged it down to cover my crotch. At the same time, I bent over and grabbed the fallen skirt. I could feel my top riding up and more fully exposing my bare bottom to anyone and everyone behind me as I did so, but it was too late to do it differently. I was bending over and fully mooning half the church and I would never, ever, ever, EVER live this down.

I had seen similar scenes happen in middle school, especially in gym class. Some girl getting pantsed; her mesh shorts dropped to her ankles, courtesy of a friend who thought it would be funny. Lots of bare leg, while using her gym t-shirt to cover up what they could. Except that was school, not church. This was families, with kids. Old ladies. Respectable people, many of whom were traditional and old-fashioned. And I was a teenager who was no doubt the first person in history to be this exposed during a Sunday morning service. The girls pantsed at school tended to at least have underwear on to protect their modesty. Not me. 

Ideally, the floor of the sanctuary would open to swallow me up. Send me down to that Hell so I could escape this one. Instead, the only escape I had was with my own two feet. Pulling the skirt back up my legs as quickly as possible, I struggled to get it past my thighs for a second, as my other arm was in the way. Despite my rush, I was determined to keep my own sanctuary protected.

The moment all my lower privates were covered and the skirt was securely around my waist, I ran. My eyes were locked on the back door, as I couldn’t bring myself to scan the sea of faces. The hymn was still being played and sung, which means a good portion of the room was going about worship without the knowledge that a half naked girl was just in their midst. But I knew. And those on the ends of the pews definitely would have noticed, as would those in the balcony up above. If not due to the blatant bare skin on display, then because of my long stumble forward that almost resulted in a fall. That would draw anyone’s eye, even peripherally.

As I fled down the back half of the middle aisle, my blouse once again clung to my chest. In my flurry to recover my skirt, I had temporarily forgotten about the coffee. But now that I was upright again, the soaked top gave away my upper form in a way that the modest white blouse normally wouldn’t, and I could feel every little movement of the wet fabric against my skin. I hastily crossed my arms over my chest, but didn’t slow down. The nude bra underneath would protect anything from showing through. My cleavage, however, would be a lot more apparent under the wet top. 

One of the ushers at the back tried to say something as I sprinted past, but I didn’t catch a single word. Though I was free from the public eye the moment I made it through the double doors, I didn’t stop running until I made it all the way to the gathering area. Pausing to catch my breath, I tried to figure out what to do next while grabbing some napkins and drying what I could. The Church School classrooms would be full of kids and volunteers, and going outside didn’t sound particularly appealing in my current state. 

The problem was, my parents drove us there. So I needed somewhere to hide from the congregation that would be letting out in ten minutes or so, as I couldn’t bear to face anyone who had seen my bare backside, but I also needed to be somewhere that I could be found. For a fleeting, hopeful moment, I realized that I could get myself an Uber or Lyft. Even a taxi would be fine. That idea vanished when I realized my purse was still sitting back in the pew with Kate and Abigail. Phone and wallet, unreachable without returning to the sanctuary. And ugh, I needed a shower. Dry coffee was almost worse than wet coffee, as I felt sticky all over thanks to all the sweet additions Abby put in her drink. Though I couldn’t actually rinse off at church, the bathroom wasn’t a terrible idea. That’s where people went to look for embarrassed friends, right? Though I didn’t exactly have an ally at the moment. 

Either way, that’s where I went. Best to hide in a stall rather than face everyone after worship. Those who hadn’t seen my mortifying exposure would still see me in a white top thoroughly stained with coffee if I stayed. Preferable to seeing me naked, but still bad.

Eventually I did hear the sound of people mingling in the gathering area down the hall, but I made no move to leave the safety of my stall. The whole time, I just relived the awful experience. For the most part, I’m only truly naked in our bathroom at home. My bedroom door doesn’t lock, so I prefer to at least be toweled or in underwear despite having my own room. But I was half naked in public. The feeling of bare legs and a total lack of fabric over my ass was a memory that was stuck on replay as I blushed up a storm in the solitude of the bathroom. 

There would be time to be furious with Abigail, but I was too caught up in the humiliation at the moment. Whatever image and reputation I had here was long gone. Everyone would know about it by lunch, even if the majority of the lower floor hadn’t seen me. 

It didn’t take long for my younger sister to find me. A small part of me didn’t want to call back to her, but I knew that I had to. Our parents probably wouldn’t look for me in here if Abigail reported she already checked. Surprisingly, she wasn’t smug or giggly at all. Instead, she merely slid my heels under the stall door and said, “Meet us by the curb.”

I put the shoes on and decided to trust my sister on this particular occasion. That’s where our parents usually pulled up with the car, though half the time we just walked to the parking spot as a family instead. Ducking out of the bathroom with my head down, I briskly walked to the nearest side door. Sure enough, the familiar mini van was there, and I paused by the church exit only long enough to take a deep breath. Had my parents seen? Heard? Either way, I didn’t want to push my luck in terms of not running into anyone, so I went straight to the car.

Needless to say, my parents were furious. I couldn’t pick up on whether it was seen vs. heard, but their routine was the same as the few other occasions when Kate or I had done something wrong as kids. Our mother, berating us. Our father, staying quiet in disappointment. 

It explained why Abigail had been so blunt in the bathroom. She had probably hoped all the blame would fall solely at my feet, but she was very much in trouble too. 

In typical parental fashion, our mother didn’t even attempt to hear me out. I tried. Blurting out that “Abby was-” but that’s as far as I made it. 

Apparently she had already demanded the story from Abigail and Kate, though I doubt my sister or her friend got very far either. ‘Dares in church’ seemed to be enough to spark blame on all sides. According to our mother, I shouldn’t be blaming my sister when I agreed to sit with them and play in the first place. Though I was totally the victim, my half nudity earlier and my currently stained shirt painted a less mature picture. My second attempt at explaining things was cut off just as sharply. To her, we both played a part in what ended up being a highly inappropriate display. Kate too, and her parents would be called.

Grounded. For a month, if not longer. 

My phone and wallet had both been confiscated, as had Abigail’s. We were to come home directly after school in the afternoon, and our weekends would be spent doing any and all chores that needed to be done around the house. Abby was initially frustrated, but eventually took amused solace in the fact that I still got the way worse end of the stick. Her proper older sister had been fully bottomless in church, complete with bending over while totally bottomless in public. She eventually concluded that it would have been well worth it even if she was the only one grounded. 

As for me, I obviously never returned to that church. Not even for Christmas or Easter, no matter how hard my parents tried to push those more family-focused days. Despite the secondhand embarrassment and shame of their eldest daughter being seen like that, my parents had too many friends at the church to look elsewhere like I did. I ended up attending a good friend’s church, as Abby’s little stunt wasn’t enough to keep me away from religion. Lightning doesn’t strike twice. 

Despite my frustration with Abigail, I never sought revenge. I’m not the type. 

However, that was the last time I EVER did dares with my younger sister.

Epilogue

After deciding to never go back, I thought that was the end of it. 

That was the one saving grace about the mortifying experience. When you’re pantsed at school, you have to show your face the next day. Being exposed at church felt more taboo and damning at the time, but at least it didn’t follow me. If I had to guess, Abigail and Kate would have shared the story with their group of friends, but it never ended up circulating further. No one else at my old high school attended that particular church, my college was out of state, and neither my sister nor her BFF had been prepared to take pictures in the moment thanks to how impulsive Abby had been about yanking my skirt down. Aside from my internal embarrassment and external blushing every time the fresh memory hit me over the next few days and subsequent weeks, I seemed to be in the clear. 

Until about a year later.

At my on-campus church, one of the less proper girls in our faith group pulled up a video she had stumbled upon online to show the rest of us. The clickbait-y title ‘GIRL PANTSED IN CHURCH’ caused my breath to hitch and my heart to drop. While plenty vague, the phrase still succinctly described my mortifying experience. 

And, as she played the video on her phone, I instantly recognized the sanctuary.

My old church streams and posts their services for those unable to make it in person on Sunday morning, and this angle definitely seemed to be from the balcony where one of the cameras was positioned. However, I had already done a nervous check on that the moment I was ungrounded and given my laptop back. There were no wide shots of the room or my exposure during the first verse of the hymn. Just a close-up of the organist, and a pan of the stained glass windows. They did fade to the full room during the second verse, but I was already long gone by then. Even if I was captured on camera, no church would ever post that. I was thankful for whatever edits might have happened after the service, and assumed that was that. 

This video, however, was undeniably me. 

At least, undeniably from my perspective. In the wide, full room shot, I immediately recognized the blue skirt around my ankles as I stumbled forward in the middle of the sanctuary. I could feel the heat rising to my face as I saw for the first time what so many others had witnessed in that humiliating moment. The hem of the blouse did absolutely nothing to cover anything below the waist, and the bareness of my ass was only more pronounced as I bent over to pick up the skirt. 

Those watching the video had various reactions, from little gasps to giggled exclamations. The scene on the phone was very much happening in church, and they could all tell it wasn’t a staged video. I just remained deathly quiet and still, using all my willpower to force the blush and shaking hands to go away. Would they recognize me?? Neither the blouse nor skirt were part of my wardrobe any more, so no one at the new church would know about those. The blouse was too stained with coffee to be cleaned, and I had resolved to only wear zippered skirts after that fateful day. The girl on the screen turned towards the camera for the first time as she fled from the sanctuary, and I just held my breath waiting for everyone to turn towards the very same girl that was standing in their presence.

They didn’t.

Instead, the one who found the video just rewound it back to my not particularly graceful stumble for everyone to watch again. Half the small group was amused at the second viewing of my bare backside, while the other half was saying to put it away. It’s not appropriate, even if the Youth Room isn’t quite as sacred as other parts of the church. I finally released the breath I was holding, as it seemed like I was in the clear.

Thank. God.

Those cameras were set for close-ups on the worship leaders at the front of the room, but not for other parts of the sanctuary. The wide shot was apparently enough to mask me. The only time my face was on camera was while I sprinted out of the room, and I was thankfully just small enough and just blurry enough on the video to not be recognized. 

I could only pray that no one would watch it later on a computer. The small mobile screen helped my anonymity as much as the wide shot did. 

Over the next few weeks, I was just as nervous as I was following the event itself. There was a video of me bottomless online!! Even if my church friends didn’t recognize me, there was always the chance that somebody at my college would stumble upon the video as well and maybe be more perceptive. And if Abigail found it, the least she would do is save it forever in a million places. The most she could do? I didn’t want to imagine. 

It was only after the lingering shock subsided that I was eventually able to put two and two together. While my misfortune hadn’t made it to the online stream, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been captured on one of the cameras. My guess is that one of the teenage volunteer tech guys managed to copy the clip before it had been deleted from the booth’s system. It was a miracle they didn’t know my name, or at least had been thoughtful enough to omit my name while still being thoughtless enough to put a half naked video of me online. The poster never attempted to contact me, so at least there wasn’t any blackmail to deal with. Silver lining, I guess? Though ‘not being blackmailed’ is hardly a consolation prize. 

Just like the first round of anxious waiting, it took me several weeks to quell the new surge of constant nervousness in the back of my mind. I relaxed eventually, but my knowledge of the video’s existence didn’t make it easy. Like anything mortifying does to the average person, the memory of being pantsed and so exposed still hit me out of nowhere every now and then, coupled with the fact that it had been captured on camera. I could only hope that the video would get buried over time, though I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to shelf life of online content. 

For the rest of undergrad, at least, there was always the smallest hint of anxiety in the back of my mind about being ‘discovered.’ My good girl reputation, as Abigail liked to call it, potentially ruined by just one peer at my school finding the video, recognizing me, and spreading the word. 

It also strengthened my resolve when it came to avoiding dares, which was no longer limited to just my sister. 

If this was the fallout from one little game, then dares were NOT for me. 

And, in general--when you have a brash younger sister, don’t give her an inch.

The End