While I was growing up, my mother would make me wear my sister's panties whenever I ran out of clean underwear, and I had to do that a lot because sis seemed to always have stacks of clean panties and I never seemed have more than four or five pairs of my shorts at any one time. Mom didn't think anything of it since she was a great procrastinator when it came to doing the laundry.

When I'd tell her I was out of underwear, she'd send me to Becky's room to ask her for a pair of her panties. My sister would laugh and say things like, “OK, Derek, I'll lone you a pair of my panties, but don't ruin them, you dirty little boy,” as she made a big show of going to her lingerie drawer and picking out a pair for me to wear. She would take her time going through her dozens of panties, carefully setting aside her best panties while making a point of telling me she'd never let me wear her newest and best panties -- like I wanted to wear her panties at all!

I don't know why she didn't just hand me a pair and get it over with, but as I stood there in shame, she'd merrily hum and sift through her panties as she took her time trying to decide which pair to give me. Just to embarrass me, I'm sure she always tried to find the most colorful and fanciest panties to give me.