Su Xiaoxi’s intimate clothing rested in a small handmade cabinet beside the bed—crudely assembled from plastic boards. Though the original owner was petite, she was clever-handed; her crafts looked surprisingly professional.

I gently lifted the lid. Inside, two neat compartments awaited. One held soft panties folded piece by piece. The moment I opened it, a faint strawberry scent wafted out.

Calm down. These are *my* panties. Don’t act like a pervert.

With effort, I tore my gaze away and peeked into the other compartment. The garment inside puzzled me. Unfolding it revealed a soft shoulder-strapped top with wide bands.

The pink hue was cute, but the style felt outdated—like a tank top chopped short, leaving only the upper half.

I tugged it, pondering… then it clicked. Wasn’t this the legendary “little cutie”—a training bra?

Worn by middle school girls just entering puberty… Yeah. *Middle school girls…*

My eyes flicked across the room—to the alluring violet D-cup bra on the bed to the right. Then back to what I held. I let out a slow breath.

The gap… was kinda huge.

Well, fine. Less hassle. I tucked the “little cutie” into my change pile. Only panties left.

Did I really need to *choose*? Just grab one. I snatched the topmost without hesitation.

Staring too long at panties = brain hemorrhage. Seriously.

The pair I grabbed matched the bra in soft pink. A light pink lolita-style panty, tiny lace trims along the edges. Surprisingly not childish—cute, with a hint of allure.

Wait. *Staring at my own panties?!* My young face flushed. I clutched the clothes and bolted for the door—only to be caught by Auntie Zhang.

“You’re always so careless, child. Forgot shampoo and body wash again?”

“…”

Finally at the shower room door—the place guys would call sacred ground. Now right before me.

*Gulp.* I swallowed nervously.

Silence inside. Auntie Zhang’s words echoed: with holidays near, dorms were nearly empty. Relief washed over me. Noon hour? No one’d be showering.

I stepped into the girls’ dorm shower room. Layout similar to boys’, except a roomier changing area. I stashed my clothes in a locker, faced the stall… and froze.

Empty room = good. But not *safe*. Because I knew—I was part of the danger.

Outwardly a cute “JK” middle schooler. Inwardly an adult college guy. Chest? A little… disappointing. Elsewhere? Undeniably tempting.

I steadied myself. Set shampoo and body wash by my feet. Twisted the knob. Adjusted the temperature.

*Splash, splash, splash.* Warm droplets hit my palms. A flicker of calm.

Then—*yank!* Dress flew off over my head!

Practiced this move endlessly in the hospital. Cute as the dress was, sleeping required changes. Three evenings of drills forged my “instant undress” skill.

…Though stripping myself instantly isn’t exactly heroic.

Panties? Easier than toilet breaks. Eyes shut. Hands swiped down. A cool breeze kissed my little butt.

*Hiss.* Done. Eyes still closed.

Naked, I scrambled under the spray. Warm water cascaded over tender skin—every nerve ending tingled.

A sharp gasp escaped: “Eep—!”

Seconds passed. Breath slowed. Small hands began washing gently.

“It’s fine… just adjusting to new sensations. The gasp? Pure reflex. Not *me*.”

Alone. I whispered reassurance. Worked instantly. Decency restored. Confidence flickered back.

Squirted two palmfuls of shampoo. Slapped it onto my hair. Boomed (trying to): “Today, I’m still a tough guy!”

…Voice came out sweet and girlish. *Ugh.* Tickling the ears.

Girl showers *are* tricky—mostly the hair. This body’s strength felt delicate. Taming waist-length locks took effort. Thankfully, silky smooth. No tangles. Or I’d be stuck here all day.

Wrapped wet hair in a towel. Girls usually wash hair and body separately… but old habits die hard. Half-measure for now.

Next: the body. Fingertips brushed the slender neck. Deep thought returned.

Again… is *touching myself*… illegal?

“Ah! Wait—how long’s it been?!”

Memory flashed: boys’ showers cut hot water after fifteen minutes. Anti-waste rule. Did girls’ dorms do the same? Dawdle longer… icy punishment awaited.

*Wash!*

No time to overthink. Lathered up fast. Slippery—soap? Skin? Didn’t matter. Dazed, I just… washed.

Funny thing: showering’s like gaming. Overanalyze which finger hits QWER during a fight? Blank. But in the moment? Fingers move perfectly.

Same here. No fumbling. Smooth full-body wash. Later? Couldn’t recall—left hand or right—on those blush-worthy spots.

“Whatever. Good thing.”

First hurdle cleared, thanks to the shower. Bathtub soak? Save the overthinking for then.