Women Who Break Unwritten Rules
 

The thread about women who use what other women do as an excuse reminded me of this opposite example

When I was in the Peace Corps in South East Asia in the late 70s, there were some volunteers that had a nice house on the beach that all the other volunteers used to congregate at over holiday weekends. It was a very collegial atmosphere and the visitors -- male and female -- would all sleep together in the one big room. Everybody wore the same sarongs to sleep in. The men wrapped theirs around their waists and they reached to their ankles, while the women wrapped theirs around their upper chest and the sarong would reach down to their knees.

There was one woman who was a snooty Ivy League b*tch who had a reputation as a cock-tease with the male volunteers who asked her out. I remember one night in particular where she was wearing a sheer baby-doll pajama set without a bra under it. I had set up my bedroll under a window that night. In the middle of the night, she got up to close the window. There was enough light for me to see up her top as she leaned over me. She must have been cold because her nipples looked like cigarette filter tips.

Although none of the women said anything, you could tell what they were thinking from the way they looked at her.

There is an old saying, never have anything to do with a woman who has no female friends. She exemplified this saying.

Yes, I've experienced this in the workplace where one girl was fairly promiscuous, but unapologetic about it, she played by her own rules. She got on OK with some girls but wasn't universally liked. One other girl said that her behaviour reflected badly on women and men think 'we're all like that' .

On the other hand I think it's maybe that the girls engage in some unsaid 'price fixing' so to speak, and she was undercutting the rest of them with unfair marketing techniques!

Overdressed Baseball Mom
 

I told this story before on a sports-related thread I started, about a mom at the summer baseball leagues that pissed off the other moms by over-dressing to the ball games. She was a pretty, divorced woman of Italian descent, who would come to the games after work wearing short skirts, push-up bras before they were common; and colorful and visible undergarments. I remember sitting a row behind heron the bleachers and looking down her low-cut top and seeing the tops of her tits being pushed out of her lacy black bra; and another time I walked in front of the bleachers while she sat in the second row, and got an easy upskirt.

She wasn’t generally revealing more flesh than the other moms. During this same period I got an upskirt by one of the moms that complained about her (but this one was wearing a CASUAL skirt, with white panties); I spotted two moms braless, once getting a full tit view; one mom wearing a bikini top in the bleachers; one mom/coach wore a bathing suit with cutoffs while coaching third base and a tank top braless another time; and there were numerous panties sticking out on all sides under various short shorts. But the one mom was just a little more flamboyant, a little younger, and single, and apparently the moms didn’t like the way the other dads were looking at her.

ME !
 

Dollie----------- How can I write this without seeming to be bragging? I never planned it or always wanted it to happen but I was that woman who stood out in the crowd. Yes I wore less and my boobies may have been a little larger. This was back when tits were real like mine still are. Hubby says "ain't braggin if it's fact." I think John Wayne said that once.
Hubby wasn't much help. He loved getting me to wear what I'll just call sl*t or w***re clothes and we'd go to run down neighborhood bars and strip clubs. Most times the customers thought I was a stripper or prostitute which thrilled my hubby.
But to stick to this theme. We live in a small town area of Florida with mostly other retired people. We belonged to a fairly large old car and hot rod club. We met for a cruise in every Friday evening at a fast food place and went to other club cruises and car shows many evenings.
I would wear my mini skirt but always wear panties when around people like that and kids. I'd wear a halter top, bikini top, or low blouse depending where and the weather.

Liz and Ruthie were about the only other decent shaped and sexy looking women in our group. They often wore a one piece tight bathing suit, sometimes with mid lenght shorts in nice weather. Everyone could see their shapes and nipples thru the tops.
Other times Ruthie wore hot pants and we don't think Ruthie ever wore a bra. Hubby loved Ruthie's school girl body and perfect perky titties and nipples sticking out of anything she wore. All of the other older women and most just there to look at the cars wore more what older people wear.
It upset my husband that now we live in Floirda and girls wear more than back in Illinois. Not like the pictures and ads show.

Okay now you see Ruthie and Liz. They stopped being our friends because they thought I was attracting too many men.

Maybe not in the same league, but...

Back in the mid-60's, my single mother was raising me. She was a busty blonde, divorced when I was only a few months old.

I had a newspaper route for a small, northern NJ newspaper (the Suburban Trends). One summer, the Trends sponsored a father/son trip to Palisades Park Amusement Park (Yes, THAT 'Palisades Park'!). Since I had the largest Trends route, I easily won an all-expenses-paid trip to Palisades Park. The problem was, I had no father to go with me. So, my mother said she'd go.

What a firestorm that ignited! The manager called and said several of the fathers had called in, saying their wives wouldn't let them go if my mother went. Furious, she told the manager off. She already had a serious boyfriend (married, but I didn't know it at that time). The manager promised he'd pass on that info.

She and I went to the park and had a great time. I don't know who didn't get to go, because of my mother, but she and I did and we had a great time.

F

filbert it's not all about sex.We loved your story.