She was planning to go back to sleep now that she was rid of her little sister again but the phone rang. She knew her mother and older sister were still out of the house and when it rang the fourth time she realized Kathie must be out in the yard or someplace and she'd have to answer it herself. She hopped out of bed and dashed through the hall in her panties and bra. She knew her mother would have yelled at her for running around outside her room with nothing on but her underwear but she was angry for -having to answer it and didn't care what she wore. It was probably Jerri or her mother calling home for something. But when she said hello, a man's voice came over the wire.
“Well, hello there," he cheerily said in a low, strong masculine voice. "Your mother home?”
When Karen replied that she wasn't, he said quickly, "That's okay, sugar, wait a minute. Don't hang up yet. You'll do. You must be one of her daughters, right? How old are you?”
She thought it was strange for him to ask her that instead of her name, but she told him anyway. She kept trying to think who it might be and when he didn't identify himself she asked who was calling. He said his name was Mister Smith and he was making a survey for a women's clothing company. At the mention of clothes, Karen's attention was immediately captured.
"Could I answer the questions for your survey, Mister Smith?" she asked. "I'm not a grown lady yet so I don't wear fashion clothes or anything like that but you said I'd do if my mother wasn't here.”
She didn't know it but her youth and gullibility made her much more desirable to answer questions for the man's "survey" than her mother. But seeing that she was so enthusiastic about it, he played her along and took advantage of her interest. "I guess I might be able to use a girl as young as you in my survey," he teasingly said. "But it's designed for women mainly. You might not know how to-”
"No, I can do it!" she broke in. "I'm real mature for my age. I know lots about clothes and stuff.”
"Actually you don't need to know too much about fashion and clothes in general," he said. "This is more of a personal survey… you know, about you as an individual. That's why surveys are taken.”
"That's okay,” she volunteered. "I can do that too. Hang on a sec, will you? I'm freezing. I was taking a nap when you called and I don't have many clothes on. Back in a jiffy!”
She dashed to her bedroom and tossed a dressing gown over her shoulders. This is going to be fun, she thought to herself. Wait till I tell the kids at school I was in a survey like they have in magazines and stuff. At the phone again, she breathlessly told him she was back, to go ahead with the survey.
"You said something about being cold before you left the phone just now," he said. "What did you mean by that? You said you didn't have many clothes on-what were you wearing?”
She gave a little laugh. "Just my underwear. I told you I'd been taking a nap when you called. I had to run throw something on.”
If she had been listening very close she could have heard the man take a deep breath. His voice became thicker.
"Tell me what it looks like. What kind of gown did you put on?" he asked, homing in on her.
"Just a little white lacy thing," she replied. "You know, the kind girls wear in the bedroom. Why?”
"Part of the survey is what you happen to be wearing at the time of the call," he explained. "There'll be lots of questions I need to ask you. I can't stop to explain why each time. Now what does your dressing gown look like? You said it was white and lacy. How does it fit?”
He sounded a little irritated, she thought. It was silly of her to ask why. She'd better just answer his questions and not ask any more herself. She might blow it.
"Oh, it's knee length and has short sleeves," she replied, hoping to answer well enough to get back in his favor. "It's got a drawstring front and is made out of some kind of gauzy, thin material. It has a few flowers embroidered on it and fits me real loose.”
"Hmmm… yes," he muttered, purposely pausing as though taking notes as she spoke. In actual fact the man was simply sitting in his bedroom with his pants half off and his hand in his lap. "And your underwear," he went on. "You said all you had on at first was your underwear. Exactly what kind of underwear?”
"Well, just my panties and bra. You know. Let's see," she said, pausing to look down, "my panties are light blue, just the regular kind. And my bra is white. I didn't even know what color my panties were until I looked down at them. Isn't that silly? You know, you get used to what you're wearing and you forget things like what color they are. Especially your undies.”
Before he could respond, she noticed something that she feared might be to her discredit, and hastened to amplify on what she'd said. "I know my bra doesn't match my panties. The color, I mean. But sometimes if I'm just around the house I just wear any old color. If I was going out-even just to school or something-I'd either wear a pair of white panties to match my bra or a blue bra to match my panties. Maybe not a light blue bra. I don't know if I have one that's the very same shade. But a-”
"Yes," he said huskily, "yes, I'm sure… now about your bra. You said you were thirteen, didn't you? There are many girls your age who don't wear a bra yet. Would you say you're pretty mature for your age… I mean, physically mature? How long have you been wearing a bra, if you don't mind my asking?”
She didn't mind at all. Now he was in an area where she could show off. And somehow it was strangely exciting to her to be talking about things like this to a man. If he'd been there in person she might have been embarrassed, but this was different.
"I think you could say I'm pretty mature for my age, yeah,” she said, her chest puffing out. "I've been wearing a bra for almost a year now. I was the first girl in my class to start wearing one for real. A couple of my friends wore them before they really needed it, you know, just to impress the boys. They must have put tissue paper in there or something. I was the first one that had anything on my chest to really truly fill a bra, though. Is that what you mean?”
"Yes… yes, that's it," he said. "And when you said 'really truly fill a bra’ you meant that your… that your breasts had grown large enough to need support… right?”
"Yeah," she replied. "Large enough. I don't know about the 'support' thing, though. I mean, they don't sag or anything. They stick right out in front. Man, if I didn't wear a bra you could see my nips pooching out through all my blouses.”
"Your… your 'nips'?" questioned the man.
She giggled. "My nipples, you know.”
"Yes, yes," he said. "The nipples on your breasts. Or do you call them that? What do you and your friends call them?”
A little laugh. "Oh, just 'titties’ I guess. I never thought about it before. Or 'ninnies’ That's what my little sister calls them and sometimes I do too. Or if they're real big, like on a really stacked lady, maybe tits' or ‘knockers' or ‘jugs’ I don't know.”
"And right now the only thing you're wearing is the little dressing gown and your panties and bra?" he said. His voice was real funny, she thought, and he was talking faster.
"Yeah," she reconfirmed, "that's all. But jeez, nobody can see me. I'm upstairs in the hall by my bedroom.”
"Listen, sugar, you've been very helpful to me," he said to her, "very helpful, indeed.”
"But we haven't talked much about clothes yet, you're not through interviewing me yet, are you?" she inquired petulantly.
"Almost," he answered, his voice sounding gruff and wheezy. "I'm almost through. Listen, are you sitting down or standing up? What position are you in?”