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Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 21, 2004 || 9:09 am

Tiny magicks are born of necessity.

So there I was yesterday, lined up at a lab table with all of the rest of the Anatomy II college cattle, furiously scribbling notes from the lecture being delivered. My hair (which now stretches down my back and likes about another four inches –a figure I’m impatiently thinking of scrapping– before I reach my personal goal…then I will hack it off and send it to Locks of Love), which is undeniably –though sometimes pleasantly– thick and heavy, was getting on my nerves something fierce. I fished around in the voluminous pockets of my ODgreen satchel and triumphantly brought forth a natural wood pencil. Then I quickly twisted my hair, wrapped it around the pencil a couple-three times and brought the pencil up, stabbing it through the hair next to my head to make a makeshift bun. This was something I didn’t think much about at the time. Satisfied and with hair up and out of the way, I was better able to pay attention to the very detailed information on blood that I was being given.

After class, I gathered up my things, shrugged on my coat and was out the door when a sloppy-cute nineteen-or-thereabouts fella caught me in the hall.

That was awesome,” he said to me through a small grin.
“What? What was?”
His index finger drew little circles in the air, “The pencil-hair thing. I watched you do it, and how cool!” This, as you might imagine, amused me. I am fond of tiny magicks, as well; I tend to look at things in wonder that others take for granted.

He then went on to ask a couple questions about the tat on the back of my neck before we bid one another a good day and headed off in opposite directions. As I boogied to my next class (it was cold, so co-ollld yesterday), I got to thinkin’ on the small little tricks of the trade that being a female entails. You know, little things born of necessity and/or inconvenience and/or lack of necessary materials at hand.

One time, two girlfriends and I were strolling across Millington NAS, headed for something to eat at the snack bar. Normally we skirted around the (mostly Navy) barracks, but that day we were in a hurry, so we cut through the middle. About halfway through our half-mile walk, we came up on four guys kicking a hacky sack around in the middle of the wide sidewalk. Catt, my best friend, began to bounce around.

“Ooooh, I wanna play!”

The fellas, of course, acquiesced and asked Alex and me if we wanted to play, as well. I looked down at my outfit with pursed lips, for while I was wearing boots and a linen tank top, I was also wearing a mini skirt. I gestured with my hands to illustrate that my attire was inappropriate for such an undertaking.

“Can’t play in this, fellas.” One guy who looked all of fifteen and like he was just pulled from his mother’s teat perked up. “Hey! I have some shorts upstairs in my room, if you wanna wear those.”

“They clean?” I countered. I may be a risk-taker, but I do have certain standards of hygiene. He raised a hand Boy Scout-style and swore his oath to it.

“Okay,” said I, “bring ‘em here and I’ll change.”

“Um,” one of them answered, “females aren’t allowed on deck.” He was telling me that I couldn’t utilize the facilities in his barracks ’cause I were a girl, but I already knew this.

“I know,” says I, “I’ma change right here.”

“Right here?” one of them asked incredulously. He was the one whose heart I would unknowingly and quite haphazardly go on to break later on, but that’s another story for another time.

“Ayuh,” I replied, “right here.”

“No, really,” the boy I came to know as Brian sailed back. I assured him that it was indeed so. This caused a mild ripple of titillation (scandal most always does) throughout the male segment of our little newly-formed group and sent the Boy Scout flying away toward the innards of the barracks. My own companions were unmoved.

When he returned with a longish, baggy pair of Jams (remember those? The wildly-patterned board shorts of the late eighties?), he handed them to me expectantly, waiting with his compatriots for the show of seventeen-year old flesh that was sure to commence. I took them with no hesitation.

I neatly stepped into the shorts, pulled them up across my thighs, then reached down under the waistband of my skirt to yank the shorts the rest of the way up. When they were seated across my hips, I unzipped my skirt and removed it. The guys all groaned in ‘We’ve Been Haaaaad’ disappointment (save for Brian, who was Quite Amused at my resourcefulness) after a moment of slack-jawed silence. The latter was, I assume, in order to give their brains a moment to shift from the ‘lech’ back to the ‘think now’ mode.

Some men adore the remove-bra-while-leaving-shirt-on trick, and I’ll agree that it is a nifty one. I was quite pleased with myself when I mastered it at age twelve….a little coming-of-age ritual, if you will. However, for me personally it will never top the on-the-spot performance of the Magic Disappearing Mini that a handful of sailors witnessed on a nice spring day in nineteen eighty-eight.

12 worked it out »

  1. The Dane 1.21.2004

    Basically, your skirt-magic is coceptually the same as the towel-change which all good SoCal native boys learn early in their acceptance in beaching ritual. Although, it’d be cool if someone would invent a towel with elastic like your skirt – would’ve saved me from a couple of embarrassing slip-ups.

     
  2. Skillzy 1.21.2004

    The taking off your bra with your shirt on has always been a favorite of mine. Females are way better than us guys at getting in and out of clothes gracefully. I think it comes from all the changing into dancing/soccer/swimming outfits in the backseat on the way to the lessons and meets when they’re little.

    I’m glad you were in Millington in 1988 and not Bremerton – it’s obvious that making guys crazy was something you were born with, and I doubt that my poor lonely sailor heart could’ve taken it.

     
  3. Gary 1.21.2004

    This reminded me of something from Destin, FL. My son (12 at the time) and I were in the water in the late afternoon and some young women walked up to the restaurant/bar and proceded to change into skirts and tops. The only problem was once the skirt was on and they bent forward to remove their bathing suit bottoms they showed their Cooters. To keep my son pure I subtly moved him around until his back was to the women while I, of course, had a free shot. As soon as they went inside I relaxed until my son said, “Well, that was interesting” and laughed his ass off. The should have studied under you.

     
  4. sugarmama 1.21.2004

    Sometimes I see, at ultimate tournaments, people just taking shit off. The women do it on their fields and alas, the men are too busy playing their own games to notice.

     
  5. waistdog 1.21.2004

    The first girl I saw take her bra off while still wearing her shirt, could also pull a lit cigarette into her mouth, turn ot around, inside, slide it back out, filter first, repeat the process, until the lit end was back where it belonged.

    I became mesmerized by both acts.

    This is when I realized that girls ARE magic.

     
  6. Jamie 1.21.2004

    Cooter hehe.

    My favorite is taking the arms out of the shirt you have on, putting your arms into the shirt you want to wear and slipping them both over your head at the same time so the old shirt comes off and the new one goes on simeltaneously. The remove-bra-while-leaving-shirt-on trick comes in second.

     
  7. Sarge. 1.21.2004

    I also saw that cigerette in the mouth and turnrounwhilelit trick by some gal…Perhaps the same chick?

    Us guys thought that was awesome. While back at the barracks…try as we might, noone mastered the trick..

    …Except for the one kid who swallowed the GD thang, and blew smoke out of his ass…..That was funny!

     
  8. red clay 1.21.2004

    “the tiny magicks” of women.

    if there another term telling what’s wrong with me, i don’t know it.

    sparks. dressing, undressing. and watching over their shoulder as they do it. a giggle like a spilled purse. certain laughs will knock me

    right down. that spot on a womans neck. i know, i know, it moves around, according to the girl.

    but when her eyes are up from under, and her hand idly finds it for you. not when she is laughing. not when her grin is on the high-beam, bout to break her face in two. but in between. when she leans back and regards you in terms of tommorrow. and she absent-mindedly fingers that spot on her neck. when your lips have got to settle gentle. next to the stripe of perfume, flushed skin still

    asking for your middle name.

    “honey, if you make that face again, i’ll cook for you….if you keep up that sexy, throaty humming, i’ll paint your house, i’ll paint your toes, hell, i’ll paint your name on an underpass” etc.

     
  9. Johnny T 1.22.2004

    ‘88 was a great year for stealthy close changing. There was a magic in the air then, a magic that is remorsfully gone nowadays.

     
  10. KC 1.22.2004

    I always loved the bun though, and any long, slightly pointed object could be used to pull that off. My current love wowed me by tying a knot in a cherry stem while it lay in her mouth after we shared some sort of drink or cherry-escorted dessert. Was that a runon? Hmm…no points for grammer for me.

     
  11. Jettomatika 1.23.2004

    Sonic! Cherry lime-aids!

    Ahhhh, yes. I know it well. I had that one perfected by age fourteen.

     
  12. Jettomatika 1.23.2004

    And Barber: YES.

     

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