It all began right after church. My friend Sarah and I were dressed for Confirmation, one of those ceremonies for which you buy nice clothes that you wear exactly once, like weddings, proms and sweet-sixteen parties. We were both wearing long white dresses. Sarah had her own, but I was wearing my cousin Jo Anne's, which she had worn for about two hours last year. Sarah was wearing a single petticoat under her dress, but mine was a different style that "required" one full-slip petticoat and two half-slip pettis. Maybe it's because I like wearing long dresses, but I found the whole outfit quite comfortable. It was sunny but not too hot, so that may have had something to do with it.
Right after church (as I was saying) we got into Sarah's family's van, along with her mom, my Aunt Rose (she and Sarah's mom were best friends from high school), Sarah's brothers Jerome and Henry, and Sarah's older cousin Peg. Peg sat in the back with Sarah and me, the boys got the middle seat, Aunt Rose rode shotgun, and Sarah's mom drove. We were headed for "the beach," which I took to be the seashore. Wrong! We were going to a large reservoir in the mountains about two hours away.
Sarah's mom turned on the rear air-conditioning system, and Sarah and I enjoyed the sensation of cool air blowing up our dresses. Sarah saw that I was wearing nylons, and asked if they were pantyhose; I pulled up my dress and petticoats to show that they were just knee-highs. Sarah was bare-legged, but her legs were so nice and tan that it didn't matter.
At long last we arrived at the lake. A lot of people were there. Aunt Rose went to look for a public restroom or other suitable place for us to change. She came back a few minutes later. "There's only a porta-potty, and it's filthy. We'll have to change in the van."
"I need to go," said Sarah.
"I need to go, too—really bad," I said. "Is there a tree or bushes here where we can hide?"
"Not really," said Aunt Rose. "Look at all the people around. There's no place to hide." Auntie was right; we could change our clothes in the van, but we'd have to use the porta-potty to go potty. Fortunately, we all only had to pee.
Peg and Sarah started to walk barefoot across the gravel parking lot, but quickly returned to the van for their high-heel shoes. I had kept my shoes on, so I got to the potty ahead of everyone except Aunt Rose. (Sarah's mom didn't need to go. She has a bladder with the capacity of a tank.) When she came out, Aunt Rose said not to touch the toilet seat; it looked filthy enough to scare a pig. Aunt Rose said to squat forward a little above the seat and lean forward as far as I could. That may have worked for her, but she was wearing a tight, above-the-knee dress. I was wearing a long, full dress with a handful of petticoats.
Stepping into the potty house, I stepped onto the right side of the bench (as you would see it looking in), used my left toe to kick up the toilet seat (here I was, the epitome of femininity, and I was going to use the can like a boy), then turned and faced the door. I pulled up my dress and petticoats, took off my panties and threw them in the bag with my bathing suit (I planned to go back to the van with my bathing suit panties on, and take off my dress and petticoats there), straddled the hole, checked my aim (I think I shoot a little crooked) then let go of my clothes once I was sure that everything was going in right. At first, the pee sounded like it was going more or less straight in. Then it seemed to be bouncing off something on the way down. Then it seemed to be going directly into the water again. Finally, I was finished, so I reached over to grab a sheet of toilet paper to wipe myself and make sure no moisture got on the petticoat. Unfortunately, my right foot slipped and went into the toilet, where it landed on something hard and round. I kicked at it with my heel; it let out a scream, then I did likewise. Then I got the hell out of there.
Sarah had heard the commotion when I first fell, but she was still shocked at how fast I came out. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"I think there's somebody in the toilet!" I screamed. Soon people gathered around me. A man stepped into the potty house.
"Hey, there is someone in here!" he shouted. "Let's get him out!"
I started to cry, knowing that someone had looked at my butt while I went pee. Aunt Rose wasn't too happy, either, since the pervert had undoubtedly seen her ass, too. She planned to hit him with her purse once someone got him out, but the police came&mash;a couple of off-duty deputy sheriffs—and took the peeping Tom to the sheriff's office without letting Aunt Rose get a crack at him.
I washed my leg off in the lake. Fortunately, only my ankle had gone into the filthy water. The peeping Tom's whole body had been in it, though wearing a plastic jumpsuit. The ride to town in the deputy sheriff's jeep must have stunk to high heaven, though. I'll bet the top was down and the windows wide open.
We had to go to the police station in the nearest town and I had to dictate and sign a statement. After that, we had a picnic at the lake, after which Sarah and I took a walk partway around the lake before we returned to the van to go home. We were soon laughing as we tried to envision what would have happened if Aunt Rose had gotten a whack at the pervert with her purse. Just as we left, I realized I wasn't wearing either my underwear or my bathing suit; in fact, I had left them in the porta-potty. Aunt Rose and Sarah's mom went to the potty together to get my stuff, but it was gone. We went back to the police station, but were told the bag was locked away for evidence, and to come back and get it or have it sent. We left my name and address. All the stores in town were closed because it was Sunday, so I had to ride back home without underwear. I tried not to enjoy it too much.