Please forgive the low quality of the pictures from this story. They relate directly to the events, and I wanted to include them to help set the scene. The story I share here is a longer one, but I believe anyone who has been enjoying my blog thus far will tolerate the length. I just could not bring myself to edit it any more. Thank you for reading, and hopefully letting me know your thoughts.




(Mid 1990s) My short breezy skirt slipped as I rested my bare feet on the dash of the truck. Enjoying the warm sunlight on my legs, while reading from the book, I caressed my feet together knowing the slight movement of my thighs would encourage my skirt up farther. With a quick glance, my heart skipped as I realized this was too much. I lowered the book to my lap just as I caught the driver noticing that I wasn’t wearing panties. Intense thoughts and sensations ran through me, discouraging the notion to cover myself. I thought of my husband, and how I wished he could see me now – riding practically bottomless in a truck with a man I had only just meet.

My husband got upset every time our friends, strangers, and even his mother (who lived with us) would see me naked. I struggled for years until this and other problems led to my leaving. While using my friend’s office as my apartment for several months, I really cut loose. Fully indulging my exhibitionist urges, in part as a reciprocal gesture for the kindness of my landlords, but mostly for my own thrills. I had been hanging around the office/apartment often half-dressed and sometimes naked, in the presence of my friends. After having gone with my desires unfulfilled for so long, this became a most joyous time. I felt I was really doing as I wanted for the first time in my life. So, I did all to delay my parents from finding out that I had left my husband.

My whole life, even to this day, I have been a pushover. I am easily influenced and have had little success changing this habit. It is just who I am. My parents affected so many decisions that should have been my own. My major was elementary education, which was something only my mother wanted. Through college I would sometimes intern at elementary schools. At one point, I was reading A Clockwork Orange, but I had to stop. I found myself wanting to be mean to the kids. I believe this was the influence of the book. I have always been led by even the minor influences in my life. The only time I found this to be a positive is when it comes to sex. The wants of the boys at college aligned in such an exciting and satisfying way with my habit of surrendering to the desires of others and my obsessions with sexual matters. I want to know others’ interests and find validation of my interests through theirs. And, when I got to college, what I was interested in was sex. But when it comes to my parents, I let myself be pushed down a path to become something I never wanted to be.

I knew when my parents found out about my divorce, I would probably end up going back to my husband. I was working hard to make my divorce final before they knew. But that didn’t happen. Their campaign for me to return to my husband was in full swing when I agreed to go on this long journey with a man I only just met. I didn’t know if I thought this would convince me that I could be successful completely defying my parents, or if I could take things so far as to make my husband not want me back. But it was my goal to make the most out of this journey.

I learned from a friend of an opportunity to get paid to tour the mid-West for about six weeks. I was relaxing on the sofa in the office while my friends worked at their desks. Their backs were to me as I imagined ways of getting their attention. This was a regular game that I think we all enjoyed. I can’t really say I was their muse, as I liked to pretend. I was probably more of a distraction, but one they tolerated for the enjoyment they found with having a girl flirting and teasing around them almost every day.

On this occasion, I was wearing one of my nighties, and had been appreciating how I still felt just as sexy and as exposed as I did when naked in front of them. But, I did not currently have their attention. Eventually I slipped the nightie down to expose one boob, caressing my nipple as I hoped they would turn around and notice. I was startled when the phone rang and Brandon glanced at me slightly as he turned to answer.

The caller was Jackson, a professional juggler/magician/comedian, and an old friend of Brandon. He was calling because he had contracted a tour performing at schools across the mid-West. I learned that Brandon had worked with him on similar tours before. He would help Jackson with his staging, sound system, and a few other matters related to the tour.

I had fun trying to make Brandon stumble with his conversation on the phone as he watched me continue to tease my nipple. But the more I listened, the more I became distracted. Brandon now had better work, so he was not interested in going on the tour. I had never met Jackson, but this sounded like a fun adventure. As soon as Brandon hung up, I started with all my questions. Before the evening was over, I volunteered for the tour.

Brandon thought I really wouldn’t want the job. He warned me that Jackson was cheap. Not only would the work not pay well, but he also wanted to share hotel rooms to save money. That didn’t bother me. I was excited to travel and thought that sharing hotel rooms for six weeks, with a guy I had never met before, only added to the adventure.

From the way Brandon was warning me, I wondered if he didn’t want me to go. He and I had been growing closer. In recent weeks, I had been posing nude for his video camera. We were having great fun, but I don’t think either of us knew where this was going. We were not a couple, and there was no sex. We were just having a lot of fun together and becoming very good friends. But as it seemed that he was making an effort to talk me out of the tour, I wondered if he was concerned about me sharing a room with Jackson.

In conversations over the next days, I learned that Brandon and Jackson grew up together and trusted each other. This made me feel safe, and I expressed that to Brandon. After he understood I was not concerned with the low pay or rooming situation, he had Jackson call me to discuss the job. Although in that call Jackson did explain what my responsibilities would be, and that we would have to share hotel rooms, it was less of an interview and more my convincing Jackson that I was fine with the conditions.

I spent the weeks before the trip asking Brandon about Jackson and the work. He told me a few funny stories about their adventures together, which made me even more excited for touring the mid-West in such a fun way. What I did not know at the time, but should have expected, Brandon was also telling Jackson about me.

A few weeks later, Jackson picked me up in his truck full of equipment and we started off on our long road trip. I found him to be handsome and very charismatic. His whole job was performing for people. Whether telling jokes while juggling in front of a large crowd, or doing close-up magic with a more intimate group, he was always putting on a charming show. Even in private, he seemed to never turn this off. It made the time spent with Jackson a lot of fun, but exhausting at the same time. I came to learn that you could not get too close to him. He never seemed to be real with anyone, always the performer. But this was a good dynamic for our time together on this tour.

Most of the time we would be driving just a few hours between cities and towns in the mid-West, putting on shows in school theaters or gymnasiums, spending only a night or two in each town. But this first drive together was a long one, traveling from Florida to Ohio. As we got to know each other on this drive, I could already tell Jackson and I were going to get along very well.

Leaving, if only temporarily, my wonderful situation of teasing Mark and Brandon everyday, I had been thinking a lot about what fun I could have with Jackson. I had been opening up more sexually, but with Jackson, that was not my goal. I wanted to be daring and surprise him with my antics. It is different to show off in front of a stranger, co-worker, or roommate than a boyfriend or lover. I knew that Jackson liked girls, but did not have a girlfriend. So, I thought sharing a room with him was going to be exciting for me, and hopefully him. I tried to gauge this during our long drive to Ohio.

It started with what I was wearing – a short thin skirt and tight tank top. I thought I looked good in this, but it also gave me the ability to escalate, if things went well. Even though it was Fall, my outfit was fine for Florida. But as we got closer to Ohio this would not be suitable attire. So, my outfit provided an excuse to change clothes during the drive.

I would also plant topics in the conversation that would invite his thoughts on related matters. In my excitement for such a road trip, I re-read Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road.” And it gave me a way to bring up a fun idea. Early on the drive, when the conversation slowed, I offered to read aloud from my book. Jackson agreed, so I kicked off my shoes, put my feet up on the dash, and settled back to read. Pretending to pick up where I had left off, I really just went right to a chapter I could use to test him. It was the part in the book when they are driving across Texas and Dean convinces the car’s occupants to disburden themselves of their clothes.

As I read this part to Jackson, I paused to joke that if we get bored with all the driving, we should disburden ourselves in the same way. He turned his head toward me with his eyes focused on my legs. Believing these to be my best feature, I had them elevated, and well displayed in the sunlight, as my bare feet caressed on the dash. This was causing my skirt to slip, revealing far more than a good girl should. Jackson noticed just as I laid the book in my lap. I worried about overdoing it, but the look in his eyes I found wickedly gratifying. He was taking this in, along with my ‘joking’ suggestion that we get naked.

“I will if you will,” he answered.

This gave me the tingles. I was already having too much fun, but relieved to be sure that we were going to have a great time together. Mind you, if I had known then that Brandon had already told him certain things about me, I would not have been this flirty so early on the trip. This was too much, but at the time I thought I was just testing him with a little sexiness and a few jokes.

My not knowing what he knew affected another concern for me, but in a different way. I had been debating if I would keep with my habit of sleeping nude. If I knew he was practically expecting me to already, I would have gone for it. But fearing I might be shocking this guy who didn’t know what he was in for when he hired me, I was really torn on the topic. I planned to use what I learned about him on this drive to decide how far I could go. I believed that if I was going to sleep naked while he was in the room, it would have to be from the beginning. I couldn’t sleep in my clothes for a while then suddenly go naked one night. He might take this as an invitation. But if I established that I always slept nude, this would just be how it was. This decision depended on his attitude and the tone of our relationship that we were building this first day together.

By the time we crossed into Kentucky, the sun was down, and the temperature had dropped. When we stopped for food and gas, I grabbed some warm clothes from my suitcase in the back of the truck. I had decided to go through with my idea to change in front of Jackson. Standing at the back of the truck, while he was pumping gas, I thought about changing right there while we talked, even though it was cold. But before I worked up enough courage to change under the gas station lights, where others were likely to see, Jackson finished pumping. So, I brought my clothes with me into the truck. As we got in, he commented that I must be freezing. This was my opening. I agreed that I was not dressed for this weather and asked if he would mind if I changed. Jackson started driving as he told me to go for it and added that he wouldn’t look. I reminded him that we would be living together for the next month and a half, so we would have to get used to each other.

Aside from the occasional passing light, it was pretty dark in the truck. I pulled off my top and slid out of my skirt. Completely naked, I purposely fumbled with my pants and sweater longer than necessary to give plenty of time to catch Jackson peeking. I know he gave me the side eye a couple of times, but never really looked. However, he made constant jokes while I was changing. I don’t remember most of them, but one stuck with me. He said it was nice to see that I was not so clothes-minded. He kept me laughing the whole time I was changing. I could tell he enjoyed my reactions to his jokes. We were getting along well. This helped with a big decision. I would be sleeping naked at the hotel.

We finally stopped for the night just South of Cincinnati. Brandon was not kidding when he said Jackson was cheap. Even though I never had much money, I was used to hotels - not anything like the motels as he chose for most of this trip. The door to our room opened right into the parking lot. He had me duck down in the truck while he checked in, to avoid the fee for an extra person. Then I had to sneak into the room. It felt wrong, but in some ways, it added to the adventure, and set the tone for the illicit things to come.

I was relieved to find that the room had two beds. I feared that his checking in as a single person would put us in a room with only one bed. I knew it would be too much for me to flirt with him as I did on the drive, then slide naked into his bed. But having my own bed, I was excited to go through with my plan.

We were both very tired. After taking a quick shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and took a few minutes in the bathroom to build up my courage. I thought about another time I made the decision to sleep naked in a hotel room with friends. It was a cheerleading trip, and when the girls realized I was naked, they tossed me out into the hallway (Part 3 of my story). I knew Jackson would not throw me out. Although, I could not help but picture being locked out naked in the motel parking lot.

When I came out of the bathroom, Jackson was already in bed, but not yet asleep. My mind was buzzing. I could feel the pressure of my blood pumping as I grew more excited. I was about to drop my towel in front of my boss, who I just met today. The lamp on the table between the beds was on, so I moved to turn it off, but stopped myself as I thought better to leave it on. Now standing inches from him, I turned my back to him and prepared my bed. He wished me a good night.

“Good night,” I answered.

Without looking back at him I removed my towel and hopped into bed. All was quiet for a minute or so as I worked to control my excitement while wondering if he had been watching.

“Do you want this on?” he asked.

Not expecting this question, I answered much too excitedly, “I don’t need anything on.”

As he turned off the lamp, I realized what he meant. Pulling the covers over my head, I cringed at my stupid answer. Then came his telling response.

“I noticed.”

As tired as I was, I had worked myself up too much to sleep. I heard his last comment over and over in my head for at least an hour before I finally fell asleep. In the morning, I woke to Jackson talking on the phone. He was fully dressed, sitting on his bed, and facing me as he was reviewing some schedule changes with his booking agent. When he noticed I was awake, he told me we needed to get moving. We had a few more hours to drive before arriving at our first show that afternoon. This was before most people had cell phones, so he was using the corded phone on the nightstand. I knew he would have to be sitting there until he was off the phone. So, I had to decide how best to get out of bed with him so close and watching. I had laid my towel on the bed, but it was gone. I looked around at the floor, as much as I could from under the covers, but no luck. He knew I was naked, but should I stand up out of bed just inches in front of him? Would it be more awkward if I shimmied across to get out from the other side of the bed and scurried to the bathroom?

I decided to get up and pull the covers with me, but they were tucked in tight. I was able to stand, but now I was stuck standing in from of him, wrapped in a sheet, and unable to move. Still on the phone, he laughed at me while I tugged as hard as I could at the bedding. He gestured for me to hurry. What I had planned as a graceful display had turned quite pathetic. Frustrated, I gave up and untangled myself, almost falling as I came free of the sheets, and my dignity, stumbling naked to the bathroom. There I found my towel. He had hung it up. I wondered if he thought he was being helpful, or if he had set me up. I figured the latter. But I knew he was at least amused by me so far. Before finishing his call with the agent, I heard him say that the trip was already off to a great start.

As we drove toward the first school, I didn’t want to bring up what happened at the motel. I was hoping he would, but he didn’t. We talked more about the show, and what I would do when we got there. My job was easy. Sometimes he would need his microphone and speaker system set up, but most of the schools would already have this for him. I would help unload and stage his props and equipment, then put it all back after the show. He would usually do all the talking with the staff and kids. It became obvious to me that I was hardly needed. I realized that he just didn’t want to be alone on the road for so long. I was really more of a paid companion. Even with the low pay, I thought this was a great job for me.

We only had one show that first day. So, when it was over, we took some time for him to teach me a few things about his equipment and what more I could do to help. We had to be in another town by the next morning, where we were scheduled for three shows at three different schools that day. This was pretty much how it worked. One to three shows each day, and a drive to a new town in the evenings. We would do sightseeing on the weekends, which we had off.

As we pulled into another motel that evening, Jackson asked me again to duck down so we could avoid the fee for an extra person. I told him that if we keep doing that, we may end up with only one bed. I could not tell if this was just something he had not considered, or if it was his plan. But he seemed to be thinking hard about this without responding. I added that I was fine with sharing a room, but I wanted my own bed. He nodded and asked me to hide anyway, saying that he would make sure I got my own bed.

We did have two beds this time as well. Because it was not yet late, we walked down the road to get some food and ended up bringing some beer back to the room. As we hung out drinking and talking, I decided to change into something more comfortable. I could go into the bathroom to change, but I thought I could make it a little more fun to just change at my suitcase beside my bed. I put my back to Jackson as we continued talking while I took off my shirt, pants, and bra. I enjoyed hearing the changes in his voice while he tried to pretend all was normal. Leaving my panties on, I turned toward him before pulling my tee shirt on over my head and joined him back at the little table across the room. It was obvious that I was having the effect on Jackson that I wanted. I felt bold and sexy.

We talked for a couple of hours over a few beers before I could tell he was fighting to stay awake. I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I wanted to keep taking things further. So, with a little help from the beer, I left the bathroom door open as I took my shower. He could not see me unless he came up to the door, but I still got a thrill from leaving it open. Afterward, while toweling off, I peeked out to see that Jackson looked to already be asleep. So, instead of wrapping myself in the towel, I just carried it out with me, dropping it on my bed before climbing in. Then I reached up and turned off the light.

“I see you still don’t need anything on,” he said, revealing that he had not been asleep.

I covered my face in embarrassment for an instant before my arousal took over. I was not so embarrassed to be seen. That was exciting for me. But I was not used to someone commenting, and so cleverly. I thought best not to respond, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Why did you take my towel?”

At first, he didn’t know what I meant, so I reminded him of that morning when I got out of bed. He said that he found the towel on the floor and hung it up.

“How chivalrous,” I stated with sarcasm.

I don’t remember his exact words, but he went on, in an inebriated stammer, to say that Brandon had told him that I was quite liberated. He knew I went around naked in front of the guys. As I listened, my feelings were a confused mixture of mortification and elation. I demanded he tell what else he had heard about me. He added that he knew I went skinny dipping with some friends at Brandon’s apartment complex, and photocopied my boobs at work, spreading hundreds of copies everywhere. (I did copy my boobs, but other people spread the copies.)

Without confirming or denying, I pushed him for more of what Brandon had told. He added a little about my being naked around the office, then insisted that was all. I decided to say nothing more and just try to get some sleep. But after about a minute, Jackson (unsolicited) blurted a confession.

“Okay! I also saw some videos. A lot of videos. Good night.”

I ended up lying there trying to decide how I felt about Brandon telling all of this to Jackson. It was not the first time he told others about me and my shenanigans, but in this case, he was telling a guy these potentially titillating details before I was to spend six weeks sharing a motel room with him. I had been growing close to Brandon, and had been wondering how he really felt about me. I found his approach to this situation with Jackson to be revealing, and could not reconcile if I were more disappointed than aroused.

When Jackson said, “A lot of videos,” I knew Brandon must have shown him everything, because there were not a lot. There was one where I did a little fashion show, another in a bubble bath, and recently Brandon filmed me in the kitchen cooking naked. But that was about it. I had not yet seen most of these videos, but I remembered that I pleasured myself on Brandon’s desk and in the tub. Knowing Jackson had seen this brought me feelings of slight anger and lust. When making the videos, it turned me on to think they could show up anywhere, anytime. This is what was happening. It was what I wanted, but still surprising and hard to process what I really thought about it. I knew we had to be up early tomorrow, so I said nothing else to Jackson, and tried to fall asleep. Eventually, I did.

The next morning, I woke up before Jackson. Just like every morning, I was feeling randy. But even more so now with all these thoughts in my head, and after not having touched myself for two days. I usually pleasure myself at least twice every morning and a few more times before the day is done. I have been a chronic self-stimulator all my life. I knew this trip with Jackson was going to be interesting. I figured that I would have to curtail my habit, or spend more time in the bathroom. But I like to enjoy my early morning time in bed as I lie in that dreamy state of waking. So, with Jackson still sleeping, I found this to be a good time.

I tried to be quiet and discreet under the covers. I like to lay face down and use both hands to put pressure where it counts while making quick and random gyrations with my hips as I fantasize. This morning my fantasy was of Jackson not being able to control himself, pulling the covers away, and taking me roughly from behind. I did not think I would wake him, but I knew if he were watching, what I was doing would be obvious. Two days is practically a record for me, and I was revved up by all that was going on. So, I wasn’t able to fully hold back my moaning through the first orgasm. And just as I was working for the next, Jackson stood up and walked to the bathroom. My face, already red, must have turned purple at the realization that he was probably awake that whole time. Just like most of my would-be humiliating moments, I tried to focus less on my embarrassment and more on the pride I feel by being open sexually. But this was embarrassing.

While Jackson was in the bathroom, I looked for my towel. It was nowhere around. I knew now that he really was messing with me. That got me even more excited, but I decided to get dressed before he came out of the shower. I was overstimulated and had to calm down. This was only day three and I was about to explode.

Over a fast-food breakfast on our way to the first school of the day, I brought up what was most on my mind.

“So, Brandon told you ALL about me?”

“Not really,” he said, blowing me off.

He then turned the topic to our schedule for the day. I learned that he was just as interested in our little games as I was, but that would have to wait until after work. He wanted to, or had to, focus on the shows during the day. We were dealing with dramatically different worlds – working with kids all day, and sexy games at night.

As the day went on, I decided I would not ask Jackson more about what he had learned or thought of me. I wanted to keep some mystery around our play. And I didn’t want to spoil my feeling that I could still surprise him. I had also thought about calling Brandon, but for the same reasons, decided not to address the topic with him either. At least not yet.

That evening we had a long drive and arrived in the next town very late. So, when we got into the room to find only one bed, we were both too tired to find another room. Jackson said he would sleep on the floor, but I told him it was fine. We could share. When I said that, I knew we were both wondering if I would sleep nude.

I took a quick shower and came out in a towel. I could feel Jackson watching me. It just seemed like too much. I wanted to, but I couldn’t bring myself to drop the towel and climb naked into the bed we would share. So, I walked over to my suitcase and changed into a tee shirt and panties. But as tired as I was, I felt the urges building in me. I still wanted to play.

Jackson climbed into bed in a tee shirt and boxer shorts. I walked over to my side of the bed and pulled back the covers. He gave me a hard look and reached up to the lamp, but before turning it off, he delivered a most sarcastic statement disguised as a question.

“You need something on this time?”

Already on the edge, the opportunity to offer a clever retort was all I needed to commit. My answer was simple and abrupt.

“No.”

I pulled my tee shirt over my head, slid my panties off, and got into bed while adding a demand of questionable sincerity.

“No funny business.”

I knew he was shocked. But I wasn’t sure if he knew that I was giddy with delight. The lamp went out and we didn’t say another word all night.

In the morning, I woke to feel that my bottom was pushed up against Jackson. I thought I should move, but was stimulated by the sensations. I was so much in the mood for my morning routine, although doubting I could get away with it. I slid my hand between my legs but could only tease myself a little without being too obvious. When Jackson began to stir, I moved away. Now we were both under the covers, lying on our backs, and I noticed he was no longer wearing a shirt. He opened his eyes to see me staring at him.

“Are you naked?” I asked.

He answered, “No, are you?”

I rolled my eyes and complained that he had slept in his underwear every night until I was in his bed. But he insisted that he was wearing underwear. I was just having fun with him, but I stuck to my shtick.

“Show me,” I ordered.

He hesitated.

“I knew it!” I exclaimed.

But again, he insisted he was not naked. When I was pushed up against him, I could tell it was not his bare skin. So, I felt pretty sure he was telling the truth, but I enjoyed watching him squirm.

“You need to show me right now.” I demanded.

He started to explain what happens to guys in the mornings. I stopped him as I already knew about this, and could relate. Nevertheless, I asked if it happens every morning, or if it is happening now because I am naked lying next to him. He finally caught on to the little game I was playing and mumbled a profanity as he got out of bed, still in his boxer shorts, trying to cover his erection as he made his way to the bathroom.

I gave it a few seconds before a final jab, “Whatcha doin’ in there?”

He replied, but I couldn’t quite understand him. I thought he was commenting on what I had been doing the morning prior. It didn’t matter. At this point, I was hoping he did catch me. Either way, I was teasing Jackson on so many levels, and I knew we were really enjoying each other.

When I first learned about this trip, I was very excited for the travel. But so far, we had only seen rundown elementary schools, in small industrial towns, between nights in dirty motels. But I was still having a great time.

The next few days and nights played out much like the previous, except that we did not have shows on the weekend. We were near Lake Erie in Northern Ohio when we reached the first Friday night. Not appreciating how long it takes to get to Niagara Falls, we decided to spend the weekend there. Neither of us had been before, and we both wanted to do some sightseeing. We didn’t think this through very well. A quick glance at the map and it seemed not too far. But a few hours of driving after a late evening start, we decided to stop and get a room for the night.

By this point, I had made it my habit to leave the bathroom door open when I showered. The design of most motel rooms allowed Jackson to either ignore me, or peek if he wanted. This was stimulating for me, and I think also for him. But the layout of this room was different. It had a mirror covering all of the far wall, reflecting the bathroom to most of the motel room. When I got out of the shower, I caught Jackson watching me in the mirror as I was toweling off. At first, I pretended not to notice because I enjoyed that he was watching. But when he realized that I knew, I had to say something.

"Take a picture, it will last longer." I joked.

Being the comedian that he was, he picked up his camera and took a picture.




I laughed and expected that would be it, but he kept taking pictures. The more he took it seemed less like a joke and more like he really wanted these pictures of me. With each picture, I got more excited. I was a little nervous to come out of the bathroom, but I was enjoying the attention. So, instead of wrapping myself up in a towel, I just came out naked.




He was no longer laughing or joking. He looked serious. This change in his demeanor was making me nervous.




I went to the foot of the bed and began to adjust the blankets, looking for something to do for the camera as he continued to take pictures.






But just as I thought to really start posing for him, the film ran out. He put the camera down, although I was too far gone to stop.

This was another occasion when we only had one bed. I laid down, on top of the covers, in the middle of our bed and stretched my arms above my head while turning my body just so and positioned my legs to complete what I hoped he would find to be an irresistibly sexy pose. He just stared at me and seemed to not know what to do.

“Is that it?” I asked… consentingly.

“What would you like?” he asked, somehow still needing reassurance.

“You can do whatever you want,” I offered… and he did just that.

We spent the next five weeks driving to the different towns, performing at the schools, and having intense motel sex every night. Maybe it is not accurate to call it sex. We were fucking. It was aggressive and uninhibited. I like to vocalize, but I am not usually a screamer exactly. Although, I took advantage of these motels with Jackson to really let go. Sometimes he would try to quiet me, but I enjoyed that our neighbors could hear my sexual mantra as I loudly and relentlessly begged him. On more than one occasion, we had our neighbors banging on the walls, which embarrassed him greatly, but elevated the whole experience for me.

I didn’t know if Jackson would tell Brandon about our dalliances. But thoughts of this fed my desire to be a wild and unforgettable experience for Jackson. I began to hope he would tell Brandon every lascivious detail.

As sex became expected daily, the thrills of exposing myself to Jackson lessened. But it was well worth it. It turned out that Jackson was a real horndog. My libido is far greater than most. I cannot effectively express how amazing it was for me to share a time with someone who also has such an elevated sex drive. And we did find other ways to amuse ourselves. I helped him fulfill a longtime desire to watch a girl get very naughty with one of his juggling pins. And we even carried out my idea to disburden ourselves of our clothes on several long drives. I started doing this regularly, but there were times that Jackson joined me. The two of us driving naked together along Indiana and Michigan farmland is one of my favorite memories from this trip. I think of it as my Kerouac experience.

After the six weeks, we returned to the office/apartment in Orlando. Jackson took Brandon and me out to dinner where we recounted various stories from our trip, but left out everything sexual. I thought Brandon knew what would, and did, happen. He knew Jackson well and had a pretty good knowledge of me. But I did not mention any of it, or that I knew what he had told, and shown, Jackson about me. However, years later, I learned from Brandon that Jackson had told him some things. I would love to have known exactly what they said about all of this, but he wouldn't tell me much.

I learned a lot on that trip with Jackson. Of course, I learned about him, more about Brandon, and a great deal more about myself. I loved the freedom, the constant pursuit of pleasure, and how completely I was exploring my desires. I was gaining strength and confidence with each new encounter. And at this point, I believed I understood the most significant thing I learned on my journey so far. No matter what my parents did or said, I was not going back to my husband.

Although Jackson and I had great fun together, we were not really into each other. It was entirely sexual. What I did with Jackson in those motel rooms across the mid-West was something that I think could only happen with a loose affiliation. It would have been different with someone I truly love. Nevertheless… it was fantastic!
-

(Mid 1980s) Taking not much more than the head in my mouth, I sucked it like a straw. He was excited, but that didn’t last. The mood turned. Knowing something was wrong, I tried sucking harder, as if from a frozen beverage, but this only made things worse. I was probably close to giving his penis a hickey when he stopped me. Nearly on the verge of tears, I confessed that this was my first time.

I had for years been exploring my sexuality, as young girls do. But during my tumultuous freshman year, I aggressively explored men. Or more accurately, boys. Arguably still a virgin when I arrived, and with no real female friends with whom I could discuss such matters, I was left to figure it out with help only from the guys I met at college.

I came to this with very little knowledge. My parents would never discuss such things, going out of their way to shield me from anything sexual. The only time my mother ever recognized anything relating to sex is when I was 15 and she took me to get birth control pills, but there was no conversation about it. I believe one of the reasons I am so open about sex now is due to that experience. It would have been much better for me if I had real knowledge of such matters when I was younger.

I did find it easy to forgive my parents, as I know I put them through a lot. I had a very high libido since I was young, and for a long time made no effort to hide it. My sexual experimentations were uninhibited and unrestrained. Everyone in my family knew, and that became too much for my parents, who sent me to counseling. But even there I learned very little about sex.

What I did know, or thought I knew, came mostly from overheard conversations, comments from peers, and a few movies. But everything was explained through vague phrases that left me in the dark. For example, I came to understand that nearly all guys love to have their dicks sucked. My apologies for being crass, but that specific verbiage was key to my misunderstanding what I was supposed to do.

This first time that I went down on a guy happened the week I arrived at college. I was in the car of a cute boy, Alejandro, who had asked me out. I didn’t find him very charming, but he was Cuban, and I had a life-long crush on Desi Arnaz. I wanted to be Ale’s Lucy enough to overlook his lack of charisma and find the courage to try this for the first time.

Going by what I understood from the description of the task, I thought I was supposed to suck it. So, that is what I did. But from Ale I learned that the description of “sucking” is a bit misleading, just as other terms I had heard, like “blow job.” I couldn’t make any sense of that either.

Now I realize why it can be better to refer to this activity in a nonspecific way. As I write this, I wish I could find a better description of what was desired. He wanted nothing unusual, but at that moment I was dismayed to learn how it works. The way I thought of it, he basically wanted to have sex with my mouth.

At first, I couldn’t understand why we not just have sex. I had come into this looking forward to the sucking, expecting to just rest my head in his lap while gently nursing and caressing – that is how I liked to think of it. My only prior concern was how to handle his finishing. I understood that I was supposed to swallow. Although I had ideas about making this work, it was frightening as I expected him to explode in my mouth.

The whole endeavor became overwhelming as I followed through with his request. It didn’t seem right. This was so raw and aggressive. I had to fight my impulses to reject him as he held me by my hair and thrust himself what seemed far too deep in my throat.

After the initial shock, I was able to calm a bit. Feeling my body adjust, I began to believe that I may be able to do this. I focused on what I felt beyond my fear, and there was much I found arousing. Letting him do as he pleased, putting myself out there just for his pleasure in such a dirty lascivious way made me feel wonderfully naughty. I had never surrendered to another’s urges to this degree. He took control, pulling my hair as he forcefully manipulated and used me for his needs.

He warned me when he was about to finish. I appreciated the warning, but I did not know then that he was giving me an option. I thought all girls swallowed. It is just what I was supposed to do. So, I took it in my mouth. Soon I would develop the techniques that allowed this to happen more gracefully, but this gagging first encounter was not the sexy doing I wished it to be. Nevertheless, as I sat up stiff tongued, trying not to taste for fear of rejecting what remained in my mouth, I swallowed.

His reaction was my first clue that not all girls did this. He was amazed. I savored the sensations from all the endorphins running through me. His delight fed my own. I offered him a spirited smile and said nothing of what I found unsettling about just having had my face fucked. It was all so unexpected, but I already knew it was worth it.

I did not see Ale for a long time after that. But he had been helpful to my discovering the thing that became my signature through college. (I was so naive. It is a miracle I survived the 1980s.)

I was not the prettiest girl, not very talented, and not at all skilled socially. And even after more experience with sex, I wasn’t very good with men. I knew that. At first, finding sex with others to be a lot of work, I didn’t pursue men for classic sexual satisfaction. I alone could bring myself to near ecstasy with so little effort. However, I discovered bringing pleasure to others was exhilarating. It was not for my orgasms but for this new and intoxicating gratification I found by offering myself completely for their desires.

Realizing that most girls did not do exactly what the boys wanted, I found my way. Willingness and desire to please guided my sexual development and experiences. I went wild, putting myself out there completely and openly in the pursuit of sexual pleasure. I became that naughty girl who would do anything. The one the boys would find at the end of the night when they didn’t get the girl they wanted at the party. In short time I had come so far from the inexperienced preacher’s kid that I had been just a few weeks ago. And I loved it.

This was the state of things my freshman year at the University of Florida when I began work on Gator Growl (the enormous student-run production detailed in Part 9). I performed on a float during the main presentation, but also had several other responsibilities. One of these was to log the extensive amount of video recorded at the event. I got this assignment because I said I had worked in my high school AV department. I lied. I had no idea what I was doing.

My deception was motivated by a rumor I had heard about the guy who was in charge of the video project, and was the camera man for much of what was recorded during the event. The rumor was enthralling and salacious. It was said that he had a two-way mirror in his bedroom, and he would let people watch when he had a girl in his room. Although I had not spoken to him for a while, I kind of knew that guy. It was Ale. And even though I thought this two-way mirror story couldn’t be true, I could not stop thinking about it. I became obsessed with the idea of Ale’s mirror and this sex show.

I wondered if my encounter with Ale in his car was an audition that I failed. This ate at me for days while I also became increasingly captivated by imagining these erotic performances for a secret crowd. I had to know if it was true. And if so, I was going to be a part of it.

I believed volunteering for the video project would mean working closely with Ale. I was right. We spent many hours together over several weeks. I started working my plan from the very beginning, hoping for the opportunity of a second audition for a role in Ale’s show. I wore my most revealing outfits (that I could get away with on campus). With this, and my exaggerated flirting, he soon realized my true interest was not in the video project.

To an early session in the video control room, I wore a top that barely contained my boobs. I knew it wouldn’t take much to “accidentally” encourage one of them out, which I hoped would focus his attention away from the video project. I had my hands in my lap, using my arms to squeeze my boobs together while leaning forward, pretending interest in what Ale was doing. I saw that one of my nipples was exposed and waited for him to notice. He finally did, while in mid-sentence, and lost his train of thought. That was all I needed. My patience had run out. I abruptly reached over and unbuttoned his pants, executing the improved techniques I had practiced over recent weeks, which included more than just the physical. I knew I still wasn’t very good with using my mouth in this way, so I added showmanship. Coquettish begging was most effective, and quite enjoyable for me as I had grown to take such pleasure from the reactions of the guys. I truly had developed a taste for it. And I am certain that this is what got an awkward nerdy girl invited to Ale’s apartment.

Ale had an apartment off campus. Most, if not all, of the building was occupied by students. On the way in we spent some time with his friends who were hanging out in the hallway. It was a large group that seemed to know each other well, but it was clear that I was now the center of attention. As I drank a beer they gave me, I started to get the feeling they were checking me out. Assessing the girl that Ale brought to the show tonight, I imagined.

When I entered Ale’s bedroom, I saw a large mirror on the wall above his dresser. My heart was pounding. Thinking the whole two-way mirror rumor may actually be true, I thought I should be appalled, but I was totally aroused. This was wrong, but I so wanted to be a part of it. Ale cleared off his bed and kicked some mess into the closet while I undressed. My focus was on the mirror. I wasn’t putting on a strip show, but I was trying to be sexy. If anyone was watching, they must have thought that I knew, or that I was really into myself. Just before turning my attention to Ale, I pushed my boobs up and stuck my tongue out at the mirror.

Ale expressed surprise that I was already naked. I had been so focused on my fascination with the two-way mirror that I had not let him work his moves or allow the evening to develop. So, I went with it and pushed him down on his bed. This changed the dynamic. I preferred to be submissive. But now, with Ale, I took on the dominant role and really gave it my all - while focusing on that mirror. I usually don’t like to be crude, but there is no better way to put it… I fucked him like people were watching.

I put all my energy and creativity into this experience, loudly vocalizing everything to make sure everyone within earshot knew what I was feeling and wanted to feel. Even though this was more of a performance than anything else, my elevated and aggressive efforts, combined with my thoughts of the people watching, brought me to a level I had not reached before. This resulted in the best sexual experience to that point in my life. The climax of which is one I do my best to repeat, even to this day. Wanting to put on the wildest and naughtiest show, when I felt him getting close, I loudly and repeatedly begged for him to cum inside me. This was incredible. It was there I learned how much I love to feel this commitment and release inside me. I want not only to feel him, but I want him to feel me. I often wrap my arms and legs around my lovers, as I did Ale that day, and keep them there long after they are finished. I want them to feel my contractions that go on long after they are finished. I love to feel the resistance of them inside me for as long as possible.

Over the next few weeks, I visited Ale’s room often and learned much more about my sexual self than at any other time in my early years.

The whole secret sex show idea, real or imagined, was bewitching. I found more evidence that it may be true. The people from next door were always hanging out in the hallway outside of his apartment. They were overly interested in me as I would come and go. Ale always left the lights on. I had found that the mirror was firmly attached to the wall, not just hanging. And there was an incident at my sorority house. One morning, while putting on my make-up in the bathroom mirror, one of my sisters (who didn’t like me) was next to me looking at herself in the mirror. She pushed her boobs up and stuck her tongue out at her reflection, then turned and walked away. That was my move! I had done that into Ale’s mirror several times.

I could not bring myself to just ask Ale or his friends about it. But I would engage his friends in conversation to see if they would reveal anything. I even tried to work my way into the neighboring apartment that was on the other side of Ale's bedroom wall. The door had been left open at one point when we were all hanging out in the hall. Several people were coming and going from that apartment. But my attempt failed. It seemed like they didn’t want me in there.

Eventually Ale lost interest in me. I never became Lucy to his Desi, or even learned if the two-way mirror was true. My visits to the exhibition room came to an end. I thought I might one day hear about him getting caught with his mirror trick. But that never happened. Although, after too many drinks at a party, I was working my signature move on one of the guys from Ale’s apartment building. I asked him about the mirror rumor. He thought this was very funny, and said it was not true. But he told me Ale would video tape girls with his camera hidden in his closet. He had seen some of Ale’s tapes, although he said he had not seen me.

Today, I’m convinced there was no two-way mirror. The expense, construction, and overall logistics just don’t seem plausible. And these guys could have never kept that secret. I have since seen two-way mirrors. Those I saw were easy to spot. Hard to see who or what is on the other side, although easy to tell something is back there. But for an 18-year-old college freshman, those few weeks provided a rollicking and exhilarating mystery. A sexy erotic adventure. And maybe Ale still has a tape of that weird assertive girl that liked to tease his mirror, and was seemingly obsessed with her own reflection, while giving him her all.
-

I have posted a few clips related to the videos mentioned, and I have linked them in the story below, where they are referenced. These include the fashion show and bubble bath videos, as well as one mostly explained during the telling of this story, titled in its description as, “Silly in the Kitchen.”
In the future, I’ll likely post other videos that relate to this story, as I have hours of recordings.


(Mid 1990s) I woke to voices from the next room. I first thought it was Mark and Brandon, the guys who were letting me use their office as my apartment while going through my divorce. Pretending to still be sleeping as their conversation continued, I became aroused by the idea that they may pass my open door and discover me naked on the bed.

“Is she here?”

A question came from a voice I didn’t recognize. Holding my breath, I struggled to hear more of the mutterings that were likely muted to not wake me. I was a bit panicked, imagining who may be in the office. It didn’t sound like intruders, but possibly people here to work with the guys on one of their projects. I had often worried that the guys may think my antics around their office/apartment could be a problem for when they have people over for business. After failing to understand more of what was being said, I quietly slid off the bed and tip toed my way to the door. I wanted to hear more, but not sure of who was there, I thought I should close the door. Before doing so, I heard clearly another question from the visitor.

“You mean naked?”

I froze with my hands on the door, ready to close and lock it, when I heard Mark answer with a chuckle.

“Sometimes.”

They went on with their discussion that was clearly about me and my shenanigans around them at the office.

This office was really just a small cheap apartment that Mark and Brandon found affordable to rent to house their video editing business. There was a main room, with a sofa and a large desk, where they had a couple of workstations. A built-in bookshelf partially separated this room from a small kitchen, off which was a laundry room that they soundproofed for recording. A tiny hallway connected the bathroom and bedroom, which I had taken over.

When I first moved in, I had no intentions beyond a short stay until I got back on my feet. They were incredibly kind to let me live there, particularly considering that they didn’t really know me well. But over several weeks, that changed.

Soon after I moved in, I came to understand that the guys, who weren’t even charging me rent, enjoyed having a girl living in their office. I enjoyed it too. I felt like Shirley MacLaine in the movie The Apartment. I tried to make it interesting, putting a girl’s touch on a few things, flirting a bit, and dressing sexy – as much as I could with very few clothes. Every time I did something that I thought they liked, I found myself wanting to take things further. That is just my nature. It wasn’t long until I started setting up exciting little situations, like arranging for them to “accidentally” walk in on me naked. After they gave me a gift card to Victoria’s Secret, as a thank you, and to show off what I bought, I made them a fashion show video that was really more of a striptease. Their wonderful reaction to that encouraged me to do more.

(A video of clips from the fashion show I made for them is linked here.)

I started going topless, and sometimes completely nude, while they were around. However, this was just in passing. I would wear a nightie, or something else cute, when I spent more time around them. An exception to this was that I also started making videos with Brandon. It was just a few days after he filmed me taking a bubble bath that I overheard this conversation with the visitor.

(A video of clips from that bubble bath video is linked here.)

I had mixed feelings while standing in the bedroom doorway listening to the guys tell the guest about me. It excited me whenever I thought about what they may say to others. I wondered whom they may tell of my doings, and if they were showing people the videos of me. I was aroused by what others may think, hoping they would be surprised, amazed, and turned on. But for some reason, in that doorway, I felt a little betrayed. I still couldn’t hear everything, as they were trying to be quiet, thinking I was still asleep. But I heard enough to know that they were trying to impress their friend with stories of the naked girl in their office. And more, it seemed they had brought him here to show me off. This was unpardonably audacious… and outrageously thrilling.

I waffled a bit about which way to take this, but quickly decided that if they want to impress their friend with a show, I’ll give them such a show - they won’t believe their eyes. I went to the mirror and fixed my hair while building up the courage to walk out and greet their guest completely naked and act like I don’t think anything of it. I imagined their reactions if I just passed by them with a nice greeting, announcing I was going for a walk, and went right out the front door. But I knew this would be too much. Although, that gave me an idea. After a few minutes in the mirror, I put on what I thought to be my sexiest panties, leopard print with the black lace, and paused in the doorway for a few deep breaths before walking out to greet our guest.

(Although this clip is from a different day, this is what I was wearing when I walked out to greet our guest.)

Normally I would have pretended that I didn’t know anyone was there as I walked out half naked. But I wanted Mark and Brandon to be sure that my topless display in front of their guest was intentional. I was a bit surprised to find not one but two other guys there with Mark and Brandon. The pressure I felt from the anxiety and excitement was numbing as I focused entirely on sounding casual to not reveal my true emotions.

“Hi,” I pleasantly offered, as if I had expected them to be there.

An exaggerated, “Well, good morning to you!” was returned by one of the guests.

The stunned expressions from everyone were as unsettling as satisfying. I made no acknowledgement of my nudity while I greeted them with false calm. But when all fell quiet for a moment, I feared they could see right through me. So, it was to my great relief when Brandon introduced his friends in a tone that suggested normalcy.

I was given both of their names, but was lost in my own trepidations and failed to absorb any information beyond my impressions of what they may be thinking. Although, I was with it enough to know that I couldn’t just stand there blatantly showing myself. I needed to keep moving, and to appear to just be going about my day.

In the bedroom I had come up with something I thought would be thrilling, but I was now too nervous to go through with it. Instead, I gave Mark a big ‘good morning’ hug (something I had never done before while topless), to be sure my guys knew that I intended to be exceptionally accommodating with their effort to show me off. I kept Mark in a tight embrace hoping the others may wonder if they would be next. Then I asked if anyone wanted something to drink as I moved to the kitchen while listing the few options.

At the refrigerator, I stood with the door open for much longer than necessary. The cold air on my body was stimulating and helped to bring my nerves under control. I considered what to do next, unsure if I could go through with my initial idea. Finding two Pepsis, I pictured myself handing over the sodas to our guests while going so far as to point out what the cold air from the refrigerator had done to my nipples. I wanted to be devilishly flirty, a winsome tease. But I knew such an obvious display would betray the ruse that I was oblivious of my vampish behavior.

Closing the refrigerator, I carried the Pepsis to our guests, who were still gawking in disbelief. Only one of them accepted the drink, so I kept the other and plopped down on the sofa as Brandon explained that the guys were here to do a voiceover. I promised to be quiet, establishing that I intended to stay right there with them. But now knowing they were actually here to work, I worried that these were not friends as much as people hired for their project. Maybe the guys were not trying to show off their office girl as much as warn them of what they may encounter here. However, my concern didn’t last as I thought more about what they had told our guests about me. They brought it up when they could have just warned me instead. So, I felt justified having some fun proving that they were not lying.

As the guys got to work, I spent most of my time trying to gauge everyone, particularly Mark and Brandon. They seemed on edge, aware that what I was doing exceeded my usual behavior. They must have realized I overheard their conversation. I loved making them squirm. When Mark led our guests into the soundproof laundry room, I took the opportunity alone with Brandon.

“Aren’t you going to tell them why there is a half-naked girl in your office? Or did you already do that?”

His back was to me, and he did not respond before Mark re-entered with one of the guys. For the next while, I sipped my Pepsi on the sofa, where I sat with my feet up, but pulled them in to make space for one of our guests. The other guest was reading lines in the laundry room while Brandon recorded at his computer and Mark gave directions from the door.

I tried to engage the guy with me on the sofa, but wasn’t allowed to talk while they were recording. I started to get bored. When no one was looking, I would put the cold Pepsi can to my nipples. I liked how it felt, and I thought they looked better when erect. Occasionally, I pressed my feet against the leg of my new friend on the sofa to get his attention. He would glance over at me, although he was clearly trying not to stare. But at one point he caught me teasing my nipples with the can. I gave him a knowing but coquettish smile. This was one of the few moments I gave any hint that I knew what I was doing. He returned a wide grin and nod of approval that I found exceedingly satisfying.

My ardor elevated, and with it my daring. For the situation my friends had wrought, and the so far rewarding response to my naughtiness, I felt free to do as I pleased with my sexy show. I was encouraged to continue escalating things. Wanting Brandon and Mark to fear what I might do, and be amazed at what I actually do, bolstered my decision to go through with the wild idea I had in the bedroom.

As soon as the guys took a break such that we could talk, I stood up, handed my Pepsi to my new friend on the sofa and walked over to Brandon where he sat at the computer. Leaning in, unnecessarily close, I made sure to press my breasts against him as I reached over him to the shelf where the mailbox key was kept. When Brandon looked up at me, I whispered.

“Watch this.”

I turned and announced to the room that I was going to check the mail. Still in just my panties, I opened the front door and paused only long enough to appreciate the astonishment of all, before closing the door as I headed out into the light of day.

Getting to the mailbox meant walking through the parking lot to a wide-open place in view of many buildings. I had no intention of going there.

The sprawling apartment complex was made up of one-story buildings. Our unit was at the end of a building at the end of the complex. It was possible to turn right from our front door to the windowless side of the building, with only a slight chance of being seen. This grassy side yard was blocked from the view of most apartments and was across from a thin line of trees with a creek beyond. Although not officially private, the only people to come through this area were occasional dog walkers, landscapers, anyone parking at the end of the lot, and an exhibitionist girl who made the yard her own private playground. Through the months I lived in the apartment, I took advantage of this semi-private yard, and the creek, almost every day. (Stories from my playtime in the yard are so extensive that I’ll have to include them another time.)

I knew I could hide at the side of our building while the boys inside thought I was walking around the complex in my panties. Standing out on the grass was kind of relaxing, as if I was taking a break from a challenging performance. But I could still feel my heart pounding from my significantly increased arousal for the risk of being caught outside, and for my imaginings of what the boys must be thinking.

I knew they may look out the window to watch me walk to the mailbox, but they wouldn’t be able to really see where I went. Then my heart nearly stopped as I heard our door open. If they came looking, they would discover me hiding just around the corner. So, I hurried to the backside of the building where they couldn’t see me. But now I was prancing around in front of the apartments behind ours. I didn’t go far before the reality of this exposure returned me to my hiding spot at the side of the building, relieved that the guys were not there.

Waiting just a bit, to be gone long enough to keep them guessing, I was somewhat hoping the inconsistently timed sprinklers would come on. The idea of returning wet seemed a nice escalation to the show, and perhaps an excuse to remove my panties. Ideas like this are common in my mind though my escapades. I am constantly having to decide where to draw the line, which I love. The range of thrilling possibilities stimulate me whether or not I go through with them.

The sprinklers did not come on before I felt I should go back inside. I started talking the second I opened the door, to fill any opportunity to be questioned, preferring that they just wonder. The four of them were standing in the middle of the room, wide-eyed. I knew I was interrupting their discussion, which was surely of me. I loved that.

Having no mail, I said that the mailbox was empty, which my guys knew was a lie. It was always full of junk. But I just kept talking about how hot it was out there and that I needed a shower. I returned the mailbox key as Brandon told me that the shower would be a problem while they were recording. They all probably saw me deflate as he foiled my next plan. Wondering if the shower would really interfere, or if Brandon was just trying to stop my little game, I retreated to the sofa to plot my next move.

Soon after the mailbox trip, I was confronted about my antics for the first time. My new friend with me on the sofa whispered between recordings. He was genuinely dumbfounded as he gestured toward the front door and asked if I always went around like this. I pretended not to understand and put my finger to my lips, using the need for quiet to avoid answering. I very much wanted his reaction to my true feelings and motivations, but at that moment such reality was sure to ruin the fantastic time I was having.

When the point was reached that we could make noise again, I jumped up and went to the kitchen offering to make lunch for everyone. I didn’t really have much food, but I was prepared to come up with something to continue the fun. Unfortunately, Mark said they had to go. I exchanged more everyday small talk with our guests before they went, enjoying that we could do that, but loving how we were all thinking things unspoken. The energy in the moment assured me that I had really made their day. And I felt a wonderful mischievous satisfaction that our guests had every reason to believe the stories Mark and Brandon told them about the girl living in their office.

Giving a little curtsy as Mark left with the guests, I was now alone in the office with Brandon. I did not know what to expect. A lecture, a confession, a high five, a spanking? I got none of that. But, in a somewhat demanding tone, he asked where I went. He had watched from the window and knew I didn’t go to the mailbox. I ignored his question and asked one of my own.

“Did you show them any videos of me?”

He didn’t answer. I had come to hope the guys would show people my videos, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. So, I leaned in and pointedly told him that he had better make sure I look good in any videos he shows to people. I headed for the shower while continuing.

“You wanted to show me off, so that’s what you got.” I wasn’t really mad, but was having such fun teasing him in this way.

“We needed them here and warned them that you might be… around.” he answered.

Peeking back around the corner from the bathroom, I complained, “You could have just warned me.”

Then Brandon said the best thing, “I don’t want you to be any different than you like.”
His statement struck me. It was foolish of him to not want to tell me we were having guests. It is not wrong to ask me to be dressed around other people, particularly those with which he works. But his attitude was such I had not experienced from anyone in a very long time, if ever. I didn’t know until he said it, but it was exactly what I wanted to hear at that moment. I just stood there trying not to cry. There was a lot I wanted to say, but little that I should say. Although, I needed him to know that I appreciated his sentiment. Not sure of the best words, I responded in my compulsive way. I took off my panties, threw them at him, and turned to the shower.

I was so worked up from my titillating encounter with the guests, and the aggressive conversation with Brandon, that I left the door open while I showered, hoping he might get his camera. He didn’t, and I became concerned that my comment about showing my videos may have discouraged him from filming me.

After that day with the guests, I experienced significant worry, fearing it would be more difficult to surprise and thrill the guys as I had. Taking things as far as I did – spending hours topless around strangers and walking outside for a while half-naked, how could I top that? I loved the look of astonishment I brought to their faces that day, and I was determined to see that again.

I decided it would be best to not let them see me naked for a while, allowing for later opportunities to surprise. But that was more difficult than I thought. Only a few days passed before I found myself with them in the office, fighting my urges.

One afternoon I was fully dressed on the sofa with a magazine, but more watching the guys as they worked at the desk. I enjoyed doing this, mostly entertained by their rambling conversations. At one point, Mark commented about an actress who he had seen in a movie last night. The topic then turned to nude scenes.

“I was nude in a movie.” I blurted.

From what they knew and had seen from me, I didn’t think this would be a big deal to them. But it was. I suddenly had their full attention, and went on to explain it was only a low budget independent film I did in Savanah one summer when I was home from college. But that didn’t lessen their interest. I told them more details about this, some things I did in the theater, for auditions, and highlights from a few other experiences. With each story, they grew increasingly fascinated. Realizing I could affect them in more ways was exciting, but I stopped my recounting with the excuse that I was distracting them from work. I really wanted to save stories to keep them curious.

It had been a long time since I had shared such stories with anyone. These were not the kind of things I could tell my husband. This is when I discovered that the pleasures of exhibitionism can be found in more than just showing my body. These guys were so openly interested and full of questions. This was an engaging dynamic, and different than how they behaved around me when I was nude.

Over the next few weeks, the guys took every opportunity to ask me more questions. It was so much fun to recount more stories, and their questions had me remembering so many things I had not thought about for a long time. This brought new energy to me and bolstered our interactions in a most refreshing way. They seemed as thrilled by this as my showing off physically. But it was different for me - wonderful, but different. I had not been naked around them for a while, and I did still crave those thrills.

One afternoon, the guys were in the office dismantling an enormous desk in the main room that took up most of the floor space. They had decided to replace it with smaller workstations. I was in the bedroom to keep out of the way as they were making quite a mess in the office.

Lying on the bed, in a tee shirt and panties, my mind was bouncing between sexy thoughts and what to do about lunch when I remembered some burgers that were in the freezer. Brandon had brought in some frozen specialty brand hamburger patties that his mother sent him. I didn’t want to eat more of his food, particularly in front of him. I wasn’t paying rent, and I really didn’t like how much I was imposing already. Considering what I could do in exchange, my thoughts came together.

Although feeling the urge intensely, I tossed and turned on the bed thinking that this probably wasn’t the right time. But the mode was getting the best of me. I got up and opened my bedroom door, hesitated, removed my tee shirt and panties, then flopped on the bed again with doubt. I thought to just stay like this on the bed until one of them passes my door, and I’d see what happens. But after a few minutes, I surrendered to my hunger and just went for it.

I got up, had a quick stretch and adjustment in the mirror, then walked right out to the half-dismantled desk, where they were both kneeling among the pieces on the floor. Standing over them, completely naked, I asked if they were hungry. They just looked up at me trying to figure out what I was really offering. I couldn’t help but laugh when I realized what they may be thinking, and added that I could cook those burgers for us.

In the big picture, I had only really taken a short break from showing off. And I never stopped playing my own little games around the apartment complex. But standing there naked in front of them now, feeling simultaneously bold and vulnerable, nearly to the point of ecstasy, I knew I would not take another hiatus. Even if it meant they would get bored with me. I wished to be forever naked in front of the world.

Keenly aware of their attention, I started in the kitchen. To this point, I had been thinking to put on a sexy little cooking show as they worked, but things took a bit of a turn. Brandon got out his video camera. I was relieved that we were not done making videos. But I had not considered this in my cooking plan. For the videos, I usually prepared and thought up ideas for posing and teasing. Now I was unprepared, trying to cook while feeling the pressure to entertain, and not only for the camera, but with Mark watching from the next room and seeing live the silly things I think of improvising while being filmed.

For years I dreamt of putting together a sexy burlesque style show where I could sing and tell jokes. I had long and elaborate fantasies for a supper club act. This is where my mind goes whenever I am in front of a camera. Without clear direction, I feel the need to perform and call back to my ideas for a fun and flirty show. But this usually comes out poorly with unrehearsed jokes and ridiculous antics. The video of me in the kitchen that day is a perfect example. My nerves and overall awkwardness are so evident in the video as I kept finding silly things to do and say while cooking and trying to reconcile all of the exhilarating sensations I was experiencing by being so exposed in front of the guys and the thousands of eyes I imagined in the camera lens.

(A video of clips of my being silly while cooking for my friends is linked here.)

I did relax a bit when I noticed Mark was regularly distracted by the football game on TV. Focusing on just Brandon and the camera was easier for me. And I had a great time playing around with my friends, confident I was pleasing them by providing several services. Cooking for them, serving them, performing for the video, all in a fun way that I knew was turning them on.

We ended up sitting on the floor to eat, using pieces of the desk as a table while we watched the football game. I paid little attention to the game, lost in the delight of lying there naked on the floor, next to my accepting friends, who I believed were equally satisfied that I indulged my urges and sought such pleasures.

The best part was my being wrong that I could overdo it, and that they would get bored of me. From that point, until I eventually moved out and on to other experiences, I shared with them everything I had with unabashed freedom and openness. This was the most liberating time in my life, and led to such self-awareness, excitement, joy, and contentment… as well as some wild adventures, and more videos. This was such a magical time for me as I felt I had truly found myself.
-

This picture is not directly related to this story, but was taken my freshman year, when these events took place.


(Mid 1980s) Gator Growl is basically the world’s largest pep rally. Held at the University of Florida, where tens of thousands gather to be entertained by a student-run production that includes a variety of entertainment and appearances by top entertainers. When I was there, the main acts were Bill Cosby, The Smothers Brothers, Billy Crystal, and one year I was the director of Gator Growl when the guest performer was Jay Leno.

My freshman year, I was nobody. I volunteered to help with the production and was assigned some low-level responsibilities. But before it was over, I landed a role in the production that led to a world class experience for an exhibitionist.

The weeks leading up to Gator Growl were a roller coaster. I was accepted into a sorority, and having grown up watching 70’s and 80’s comedies of sorority girls frolicking in lingerie while boys spied through the windows and plotted panty raids, I had prepared for something much different than I encountered, and this led me to a bit of trouble.

I arrived at college with the plan to break free from my conservative upbringing and ‘good girl’ reputation and prove I could be wild and daring. I started my campaign as soon as I arrived on campus, quickly gaining a certain reputation for how I dressed and had behaved at several parties, and some other activities. It was not long until I realized that I had vastly overcorrected. My new friends had not come to college already thinking of me as the preacher’s daughter. So, my extensive efforts were not only unnecessary, I also ended up alienating myself from my peers. After some early problems, I spent the rest of my freshman year trying to recover.

Most of the trouble had to do with boyfriends, but not my own. Guys were not allowed on the second floor of our sorority house, but they still end up there much of the time. In high school, I had learned my lesson about being naked around my girlfriends (Part 3), so I started wearing nighties at the sorority house. After a while, some of the girls asked that I not wear lingerie, particularly my see through stuff, around their boyfriends. I probably should have been more accommodating, but at the time I felt I was already covering up enough, and the boys were not supposed to be on the second floor anyway. As far as I was concerned, if they came upstairs, they would see what they saw.

I was also upset because of how much money I had spent on these nighties. I grew up in a nice house on Hilton Head Island, reaping the benefits of living in a resort community, with a membership to the county club, sailing on friend’s yachts, and traveling to Europe, Israel, Egypt, and dozens of other amazing places. But my family actually had very little money. These extravagances were only possible because my father was the minister for a wealthy community. Admissions were regularly granted, fees generally waved, and much of what we had was given to us, as is common in this type of arrangement through the church and its members.

When I left for college, my parents gave me money, but it was not very much, and I was expected to make it last. I immediately squandered it all. Never having been in control of any real money before, I spent it on fancy dinners for my new friends, and I bought a lot of clothes – but very little the type I could wear to class. Just a few weeks in, I realized it was necessary for me to get a job.

My first approach to landing a job only highlighted my foolishness and motivations at the time. It was an offbeat novelty shop that was hiring, and happened to sell a product I had been wanting to buy for a while. So, I went in and filled out the job application, had a brief interview, then bought a vibrator on the way out.

Besides the main purpose for which the device was designed, I also had other reasons that motivated my purchase. I saw it as a sign of maturity. And I didn’t want to feel ashamed of it, which I would have if I tried to hide it. I was determined to not be shy about buying, owning, or using it. So, I was open about it. I picked out the most colorful one I could find, proudly placed it on the counter, and purchased it from the same people with whom I had just interviewed for a job.

This shop was Spencer's Gifts, located in the middle of the mall. I was so proud of myself, and quite amused at the wide-eyed reaction of the people in Spencer’s, that I decided not to go straight back to the house. I carried my vibrator through the mall, throwing out the bag they put it in, and sat with the box on display next to me as I had lunch at the food court. I was such an idiot. (By the way… I didn’t get that job.)

At the sorority house, I kept the vibrator in its original box on the table next to my bed. Some of the girls thought this was amusing and strange, but the boys were fascinated. I was asked a lot of questions about it, and was happy to answer. I loved the attention and how bold and sexy it made me feel.

This was around the time things came to a climax at the house (no pun intended). A boy had asked me about the vibrator while his girlfriend, my roommate Kim, was out of the room. I showed it to him and gave a little pantomime while describing how I would use it. Kim didn’t like me already, but when she returned to find her boyfriend sitting on my bed with me in a nightie showing my techniques with my vibrator, all hell broke loose. I had never been in a fight before. If not for her boyfriend, she would have killed me. I felt bad for him. I never saw him on the second floor again.

I had been slapped in the face, literally and figuratively, with the realization that I needed to improve my behavior. First, I took a break from the house and started finding more activities outside of the sorority. One of these was volunteering to work on Gator Growl.

Most of my responsibilities were quite boring (nothing worth writing about). But one day I heard that a certain parade float was going to be cancelled. Part of the show would have floats paraded through the stadium. The float to be cancelled was the one I thought would be the best. The problem was that they could not find anyone to play the lead character in the skit that was to take place on the float. I was shocked. I thought this would be a dream role. I immediately volunteered.

The theme of the float was “McDonna, Over 50 Billion Served,” an amalgamation of Madonna and the then popular McDonald’s slogan. This was around the time Madonna had caused a bit of a sensation with her "Like a Virgin" performance at the MTV Video Music Awards. She writhed around and gyrated on the stage, and live television, while touching herself in a white “wedding dress” that was more like lingerie. (Please Google it if you have not seen it. For the time, it was quite scandalous.) I envied her. Most of my wardrobe at the time was inspired by Madonna. Playing her on the float, and in this way, was beyond anything I could have dreamed.

The float was to have McDonna writhing around in lingerie on a bed atop the float while groping, and being groped by, a group of beautiful men – under a McDonald’s like sign reading “Over 50 Billion Served.” My thoughts of performing with these guys in this way in front of a crowded football stadium, while advertising the idea that I had “served” 50 billion, was the most erotic and arousing thing I could have imagined. I prayed it would actually happen, as it was quite salacious, and we all knew it might not get approved.

Although I knew going through with this could work against my new effort to clean up my act and improve my relationship with my sorority sisters, I never wanted to do anything more than be McDonna. I decided that pretending to be a good girl to fit in at the sorority was wrong. I would embrace my true self.

This project was perfect for me. One of my early responsibilities was to demonstrate costume options. Of course, I took this too far. I went all white, choosing from my own new collection, a lacey bra and panties with thigh high stockings and garter. It was great fun having all the attention while demonstrating and working through these options with everyone as we put our ideas together. But eventually I was told that I needed to choose a different bra, as mine was too revealing (my nipples could be seen through the lace), and they insisted I cover my panties with a skirt.

I was disappointed but still found ways of keeping it sexy, going with a more opaque bra, but smaller than the first. I loved how it made my breasts look. And I added a short white tulle skirt, that I had originally purchased for ballet. But I had ideas to deal with the skirt as soon as the performance began.

During rehearsals, I noticed that the guys with whom I was performing were often coming close but not really touching me very much. I made it clear to them that I intended to go all out. I told them we needed to look wildly sexy. We had to be unrestrained, and they should not hold back. We agreed to go a little easy for the rehearsals, to avoid being cancelled, but we would really go for it at the show. I was as excited as I had ever been to do anything.

I feel certain that something like this act could not even be considered today, but back then it was still quite racy and a bit controversial. I relished being in the middle of it.

When the day came, and we were in the tunnel about to make our entrance, I told the guy who was the most into it, that I wanted him to rip off my skirt when we were out there. It was very loud, and the float started to move, so I didn’t get an answer. As we came out of the tunnel and the float was revealed to the stadium of 70,000 people, everyone went wild. The energy of the crowd fed my own, and that of my guys. We had hardly begun, and my skirt was already gone. It was far more physical and lascivious than even I had intended. I was so overcome, barely able to see or hear anything while simulating sex and being molested by my guys. At different times, I was aware that one or both of my boobs were out. But with all the groping, I think they stayed mostly obscured, and occasionally one of the guys would tuck me in.

There was a moment when time seemed to stand still. A moment I still picture clearly today, when I recognized what was really happening. I knew my boobs had popped out the top of my bra and I was there in my little white lacey panties, covered only by eight large, shirtless, athletic men, writhing on a huge bed as the center of attention while literally being paraded in front of a sold-out football stadium. Although this was something I had never imagined, it felt like my most amazing fantasy had come true.

For any aspiring exhibitionists out there, if you are ever presented with an opportunity to dress in your sexiest outfit and be ravaged by many in front of an incredibly high energy, screaming, and cheering crowd of 70,000… seize it!

The fallout at the sorority was not as bad as I had imagined it would be. By the end of the year, they knew what to expect from me, and just accepted it. I wish I could have gotten along better, but I felt good about being accepted for who I really am. If I had done any different, I would have missed out on one of the most incredible experiences of my life.
-

(Mid 1990s) For many years I worked in the entertainment department of a theme park in Central Florida. It did not pay well at all, but it was great fun. My co-workers were young adults, like me, all of us just wanting to have fun while finding ourselves. The nature of our job allowed us to spend more time hanging out on break than actually working. We performed in a 20-minute show four times a day, and found ways to entertain ourselves for the hours in between.

Our breakroom was a large trailer where there were usually about a dozen people hanging out most of the day, although who was around rotated, as we worked in shifts. Being young and energetic, we did find fun things to do, much of which not at all appropriate for work.

One day, I entered the trailer to find my friends gathered around the big table debating the rules of a game they had just devised. In the middle of the table was a small stack of papers (face down), which I was told were photocopies of the girl’s breasts. Apparently, several of the girls had gone into the office of the trailer and put their boobs on the photocopier, and the prints were now to be mixed up and pinned to the bulletin board for everyone to guess which boobs belonged to which girl. This was a bit racier than our usual games, but it was very rare to have anyone important come through our trailer. As it happens, I was in charge of our group most of the time. They knew I would not cause them any trouble. In fact, several people were aggressively trying to convince me to join the game.

I was still married to my first husband and had spent the past few years curtailing my exhibitionist escapades. We met during my senior year at the University of Florida. He was an older student who didn’t run in the same circles. He did not know about my lack of inhibition and the wild adventures I had through my college years.

When I first arrived for my freshman year of college, I wanted nothing more than to distance myself from my ‘good girl’ reputation that came with growing up a preacher’s daughter. I overcorrected, to say the least. After four years of trying almost anything, I had a new reputation for sure. But when I met my husband, I found his maturity, the way he looked at me, and the way he treated me to be such a refreshing change from all my relationships with men. I kept him in the dark about my time at college and took him home to meet my parents and see the good girl I could be. They loved him, and we married right after I graduated. But it wasn’t long until I started to feel phony. As much as I enjoyed the way he thought of me, I still experienced intense desires contrary to what he knew about his wife. I gradually began to introduce topics and situations with the hope he may harbor some similar fantasies and desires.

One of my first efforts was to wear a special one-piece bathing suit to a pool party with his friends in South Florida. I knew this suit became very see-through when wet. This episode led to our leaving the party early, and a long car ride home while I tried to convince him that I didn’t know my bathing suit was so transparent. We were both upset, but for different reasons. He thought my tears were from embarrassment, but it was my disappointment for his lack of want for such excitement.

Believing it was a mistake for my first effort to involve his friends, I tried for something more intimate. We were watching TV one evening in the living room of our apartment. This room had a door to the balcony that also joined the bedroom. I got up and went to the bedroom, undressed, went out on the balcony naked, exposed to the parking lot and neighboring apartment building. I knocked on the door to the living room. He answered the door to find me posed seductively, asking him to make love to me in the moonlight. He freaked out and roughly pulled me inside.

There were a few other times I tested him, but for the most part, I learned to keep secret my more salacious desires. I did still find opportunities to enjoy myself, but when he was not around. I took advantage of time home alone, while driving, and various adventures outdoors. I loved the risk of being seen, but now for my guilt, I mostly tried to avoid other people. I wasn’t perfect, but did my best to be good for him.

I had been married for several years when I walked into the break trailer with my friends and their boob game. Everyone was having such a good time. It was exactly the type of fun I lacked, and this brought out feelings and attitudes that I so missed. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to play. I went into the office, shut the door, lifted my shirt and bra, and pressed my boobs against the cold glass of the copy machine. I immediately knew I was in trouble. It had been so long since I did anything like this, and it was remarkably gratifying. I knew it would be so much harder now to keep my urges at bay.

I came out of the office and put my paper face down on the stack. They were mixed up, and a girl, who had declined to copy her boobs, agreed to pin the papers to the bulletin board. I couldn’t see the copies as she posted them, but just as she pinned the last one up, there was quite a commotion. I first thought someone important may have come in and we were in trouble. Everyone was going a little nuts, and I didn’t know why. But as soon as I saw the pictures, I understood. There were six pictures, but one of them was not like the others. Five of the pictures featured a variety of breasts… in a variety of bras. The sixth picture featured someone’s naked boobs. It did not take long for everyone to figure out whose grainy photocopied bare breasts were hanging on the trailer wall. My expression gave me away. I was not so much embarrassed for everyone to see my breasts in this way. That was part of the fun, which I expected going in. But I just felt so stupid.

Everyone was having a very good time at my expense, but the wiser of the group knew to take the pictures down before the wrong person came through the trailer. The copies were thrown away – or so I thought. As it turned out, someone made many copies of my boobs, and for weeks after I would find them everywhere; in my locker, on my windshield, in the refrigerator at work, etc. It was just as funny as it was embarrassing. But it got serious for me when I came home to find one of the copies on my kitchen counter – which my husband had put there. I had not told him about the incident, but someone had used the picture for a party invitation. And, of course, we were invited. My husband did not work at the parks, but there was some overlap with our circles of friends.

At first, I did not know if he knew the picture was of me. But when we discussed the party, he didn’t bring up the invitation, and he wasn’t angry, so I realized I was in the clear – as long as he didn’t go to this party.

To my relief, he wasn’t available the night of the party. So, I went alone. I knew the guy who threw the party and had made the invitation. We worked together regularly. I really gave him a piece of my mind in front of several people that night, and I knew I had embarrassed him. As the party went on, I started to feel bad. I actually was enjoying the attention very much. I was just worried about the situation with my husband. But before the night was over, I kind of apologized for yelling at him. It was when I was leaving the party, walking through his front yard full of cars. He came out onto his porch and called over to me asking if I was okay, and if we were good. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what to do. I flashed him my boobs.
-

(Mid 1980s) When I look back on some of the things I did in those days, I just can’t imagine what I was thinking. I know we all feel that way sometimes, but I am certain that not long into this story, you are going ask, “What the hell was she thinking?!”.

It was the summer before I left for college. It starts with my learning which way an egg is facing when it is laid by a chicken, and ends with my first significant sexual experience – with a boy.

From books, movies, and the talk at school, I had come to believe all the girls my age were having sex. Although, I was not. The preacher’s daughter had been working hard to break away, but had yet to make a significant connection with a boy. I think partly because I generally fell for boys beyond my reach, and I expected something meaningful. So, as my move to Gainesville to attend the University of Florida drew close, I was determined not to be the only virgin there. I set out to find a boy and just get it done.

I came close a couple of times through the summer, but something always went wrong. At the beach one night, I was straddling a guy I had admired for years. Passion was taking over with the kissing and rubbing only interrupted for the hasty and partial removal of clothes. But just at the critical moment was about to occur, I was literally pulled away by my father who had come looking for me past curfew. I was 18 years old, but this had no relevance to my father.

With the clock ticking, I turned my attention to a boy who I knew liked me all through high school. There was nothing really wrong with him, I just never felt that way about him. Nevertheless, I thought it would be nice for him to be seduced by his high school crush - and my problem would be solved.

I spent the morning in my room listening to one of my Billy Joel albums. The same song over and over. The lyrics were about a woman leaving her old life behind, but first had to make a stop along the way to complete a crucial step in her journey. It was not about losing her virginity, but the tone paralleled that of my venture. This song had become the theme for my endeavor. Although I was looking forward to it, I still needed to get worked up. I knew this day should be something special. I would remember it for the rest of my life. And I was worried about something that had happened not long ago. I knew it could be a real problem.

A few weeks earlier, I did something really stupid. It began like most trouble I caused around this time. I was home alone… with my urges. Having spent years in the same house, I had already tried about every idea that came to me. I can still visit my mother’s house today and see dozens of items I have had inside me. And I still sometimes like to visit with a favored doorknob in my old bedroom. But back in that summer, I was looking for something new I could use for stimulation. Wanting a break from my usual methods, I found myself at the refrigerator, and I decided on an egg. Yes, of all things, an egg. Like I said, sometimes I don’t know what I was thinking.

Lying naked on the kitchen floor, just as I was starting to really get into it, the egg was suddenly, for lack of a better word, slurped up inside me. I know I should have expected this, but it was not my plan. My worry became panic as I realized the egg was incredibly difficult to extract, particularly considering the way it was facing. Using spoons and other utensils, I made varied efforts to remove the egg. I was very concerned about the possibility of the egg breaking. What would the jagged shell fragments do to me?

After a long while of fruitless efforts with several devices and many awkward positions, I was sore and exhausted. I collapsed flat on my back and cried. I thought I would have to go to the hospital. This was devastating for me. My father would have to know. No doubt some of the hospital staff attended our church where he preached. I cried so hard while giving everything to make one more effort with the spoons.

As I lay there, I could see the vacuum stored away in the laundry room off the kitchen. From what I thought was working best so far, I believed that suction combined with the business end of a spoon just might work. I thought the suction could grab, or at least encourage the egg just enough. The tube at the end of the vacuum hose was quite large for where I needed it to go, so I added a narrow attachment, after giving it a thorough washing.

No pun intended; the vacuum idea sucked. As soon as I began this effort, I was startled by a stinging pinch as the vacuum aggressively sucked to my flesh. It was very painful as I worked to pull the hose away. For a moment, I thought I was stuck. I had just made everything so much worse. Wrestling with the spoon and nozzle, I began to cry harder. I was bawling and frightened when it finally occurred to me to just turn the vacuum off. But before I could, I saw through my tears, Michael standing on the back deck at the sliding glass door.

I had known Michael for years. I was aware he had a crush on me all through high school, from where we had both just recently graduated. His family was heavily involved in our church. But he and I were not very close. I don’t recall him having ever come to my house before.

My vision was distorted by the tears, but that was not enough to keep me from seeing the look of shock on Michael’s face. Before I could react, he ran. I wanted to stop him. Even in my current state, I was able to immediately recognize that this was incredibly bad. Our mutual friends, my church, even my parents would be likely to hear that I was having sex with the vacuum cleaner, while crying uncontrollably.

It had only been a few years since my father had sent me to counseling for being a “habitual self-stimulator” (as I was labeled). The frequency of my pleasuring was decided to be the problem, but I found it was more my openness about it. I knew my parents were against it, but I thought it was wonderful, and my whole family knew. I discussed it openly. It was an everyday thing for me, performed within ear shot, if not in the presence of others. I wasn't doing it at the dinner table, but I made no effort to hide it. My parents had had enough when my cousins reported me after a sleepover at which they knew I had pleasured myself with others in the room. What I learned from the counseling was to be more discreet. So, in recent months, I had been pretending that their intervention had helped curtail what they saw as my naughty behavior.

I needed to get to Michael before he got away. My new level of panic gave me the energy to just pull the nozzle from the hose. When free from the vacuum, I raced out the back door, but did not see Michael. I called for him in desperation, several times, but he was gone. Or maybe he was hiding. I don’t know why I expected he might return. It was quite a scene. I was naked, crying, clutching a vacuum nozzle, with the handle of a large spoon protruding from my vagina, while I was screaming his name. Not my best moment.

During my continued efforts to extract the egg, it broke. Dealing with the pieces was most uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had feared. My attention turned to the Michael problem. I called his house several times that afternoon, and no one answered. I eventually went over to his house and knocked on his door. His mom said he was not home. I wondered if she already knew.

By that night, I had decided to just wait and see what happens. I didn’t really know what to say to him anyway. And if word got out, I would just own it, like I had learned to do at the hotel when so much of my school saw me naked (Part 3 of my story). Michael was not at the hotel that night. I imagined he wished he was. But he saw me naked this time, and I imagined he wished he hadn’t.

Nothing ever came of it. No one said a word. I don’t know if he told anyone, but he certainly didn’t make a big deal about it. I respected him for that. I was never very attracted to him, but this made me feel good about the idea of making him my first.

In my room, listening to that same Billy Joel song repeatedly, I worked myself up into the right mood. When I felt it was time, I got on my bike and rode toward Michael’s house with the song still playing in my head as I thought more about the egg incident, and what I would say to Michael. I wondered if he had come to my back door that day with the same intention that was bringing me to his house now.

Anyone who has not seen the movie American Pie, you might want to skip this paragraph. The movie came out years after these events, but I related very well to a particular moment in the film. I saw a nerdy girl say something that very much reminded me of myself. I could appreciate the contrast between what seemed to be an innocent girl blurt out, “One time, at band camp, I stuck a flute in my pussy.” Watching that scene, I laughed so hard I cried. In the awkwardness of my inaccurately assumed innocent girlhood, I had once rehearsed a very similar confession. Many tears, happy and sad, came out of that egg incident.

As I rode my bike to Michael’s house, I decided I would just come out with it. “I put an egg in my pussy,” I said out loud, just to see if I could. A big part of owning it was to be honest and just put it into words. And I would rather he knew I was working to extract an egg than he believe I was having an intimate and emotional relationship with the vacuum cleaner.

I feel lucky that Michael was home that day. A beautiful summer afternoon on the island. It plays out in my mind now as if it were a dream. Michael did not ask what I had been doing that day in the kitchen. And for some reason, as soon as I saw him, I chose not to say anything about it. I don’t remember saying very much at all. I just led him to the woods near our school, where I understood this kind of thing happened.

When we were far enough from the trail, I undressed in front of him. Then I undressed him. He was hesitant and nervous. But he went along, as much as he could. I don’t know if I was too aggressive, or if he thought he could not compete with a Hoover Upright, but he could not maintain an erection. I still enjoyed the experience a great deal. Just lying on top of him, I loved the feel of our skin touching, the air on our bodies, and being out in nature in such a natural way. This began my fondness for making love outdoors.

When we heard people passing on the trail, he scrambled to get dressed. I tried to hold him there with me and let them pass, but it was just too much for him. I was thought by most to be a “good girl”, although I was far from that. But Michael was a “good boy.” I let him go.

I lay there alone in the woods for a long time, thinking about it all. How I would soon be leaving behind the island, this part of my life with my parents, and my girlhood. It was all so terrible and terrific. I got dressed and rode my bike home, with the Billy Joel song still playing in my head, while trying to determine if I was still a virgin. But eventually I did come to consider this my ‘Stop in Nevada’.

-

Prologue: This is the story behind my bubble bath video that I posted (and is linked here). I hesitated to put this part next because it is my third consecutive story related to water. I enjoy being wet, and how it has played in my adventures, but it is not as common a theme for me as these recent stories may suggest. But the order is important for the reader to make certain connections, so I beg you forgive the redundant theme.



(Mid 1990s) After I recorded my sexy little fashion show for Mark and Brandon (Part 2), Brandon asked if I would be interested in making more videos. He offered his services as camera man. I didn’t hesitate. I had left my husband in large part because I could not be myself in that relationship. When I tried to express my exhibitionist nature, he was not into it. It upset him. I went years being the wife he wanted and not able to even discuss by desires. Returning to who I am was goal number one for me.

Thanks to their kindness, I was now using Brandon and Mark’s office as my apartment, while going through my divorce. When I answered Brandon’s request to film me, I just said (albeit excitedly), “That would be fun.” But we did not make a plan, and several days went by without him bringing it up. So, I stepped up my naughtiness when he was around, hoping he would get out his camera. I went around barely dressed, and sometimes completely nude, thinking this would get his attention. It did. He and Mark both responded well to my shenanigans. This was quite rewarding for me, but still no mention of filming.

One afternoon, while Brandon was at his desk editing a video, it started to rain. This was one of those intense Florida afternoon showers. I had a game I liked to play sometimes when it rained. We had a laundry room in the office/apartment, but there were no machines. The guys had made it into a booth for recording audio for their projects. So, I had to use the community laundry room of the apartment complex. It was several buildings away.

I love to frolic in the rain, and it is always more fun when naked. But I didn’t think it would be good to do this in front of my apartment. So, I would put on a long tee shirt with nothing else except the laundry room key that was on a bright stretchy band I wore around my wrist. Then I would go out to dance and play in the rain.

There was a neighboring apartment complex next to some large open fields. This is mostly where I would play while wondering who may be watching me from the apartments. The wet revealing tee shirt felt wonderful against my otherwise naked body, like a refreshingly cool and saturated hug from Mother Nature. This, and all the sensations from the rain, often inspired me to be more daring, encouraging cartwheels and I would even attempt handstands. When doing so, the wet shirt would sometimes stick enough to keep me covered, and sometimes it wouldn’t. These and other games brought me wonderful thrills and joy.

After I became tired and drenched, I would usually make my way to the laundry room back at my complex. These walks to the room were amazing. As no one was usually out in the rain, I could take my time to really appreciate all the sensations of the water and splash in the puddles while knowing that the wet tee shirt was exposing me to any who may be watching from their windows. I loved how I could do this while still feeling somewhat innocent because I was just a girl caught in the rain.

Entering the laundry room, I would feel that exhilarating rush of endorphins as I knew I would soon dare to wait naked while my shirt was in the dryer. Sometimes I could not bring myself to go through with it, but often I did. I thought it was fairly safe, as I could see out the windows to watch for anyone coming. I hoped, if the right person came along, I might let myself get caught. And I knew I could quickly retrieve my shirt, if I thought I should. This was such an exciting game for me.

These afternoon Florida showers were usually less than an hour. So, it was rare that anyone would come to the laundry room while it was raining. But I did get caught a couple of times. The first time, I should have known better. When I got to the laundry room, I found that someone had clothes in one of the washing machines. I still decided to put my shirt in the dryer. Just as I did, I saw a guy running across the parking lot toward me. I panicked and went for my shirt. But if you have ever tried to untangle and put on a wet shirt, you know the trouble. I had no chance. He was at the door before I made any progress. I still struggled with the shirt but knew I was caught. Most of the door was glass, and the room was very shallow. I was only a few feet in front of him. No doubt he had seen me already. As I finally worked my head through the shirt, I realized he was leaving. A key was needed to enter, so I wondered if he had forgotten his key, or if after seeing me he thought it best to leave. I didn’t know. As soon as I was done struggling with my shirt, I ran for my apartment. One would think that would have deterred me from playing this game again. But I found the experience so arousing, I could hardly wait for the next rain.

The other time I was caught, my shirt had been in the dryer for only a minute when a car pulled up out front. I immediately grabbed my shirt and struggled into it. I had some time because the car just sat there for a while. I wondered if it was the police, as I had been frolicking in the rain, with and without my shirt, for about an hour. And the small room had large uncovered windows, with a door that was mostly glass. I thought no one could see in very well in the day time, unless they were close to the building. But now, watching this car, I thought I might be wrong. Perhaps someone in one of the apartments across the lot saw me and I was now in trouble.

I started working on the story I would give to the police as a well-dressed middle-aged man got out of the car and came up to the door. He looked through the window and knocked. I let him in, convinced I was caught. He only then realized this was the laundry room and explained that he thought it was the complex office. I told him where the office was, and he asked if he could wait inside until the rain passed.

I knew I looked as if I were in the middle of a wet tee shirt contest. He pointed out that I was drenched and looked me over while I explained that I had come in here to dry off. But it was obvious that I was up to something, standing there in nothing but a tee shirt, dripping wet, with none of the dryers running. I first thought to excuse myself and leave, but I didn’t want him to see what apartment I went to.

He made small talk with me, and I grew more comfortable. Whatever he thought about my doings, it seemed he was amused. Realizing this was just the kind of encounter for which I seek, I relaxed a bit, and even started to flirt. After a while I hopped up on a dryer to sit. I began to swing my legs and tried to look adorable while wondering if he could see that I wasn’t wearing panties.

We continued to chat well after the rain slowed. He was interested in me and I found it easy to share. I admitted to him that I had been out playing in the rain and went on about how much I loved that. He was quite entertained. I enjoyed confessing so much that I debated telling him what I was really doing in the laundry room, and even wondered if I could dare show him what I was doing in the laundry room. I took such pleasure from the sexual tension between us, and imagined how liberatingly free, sexy, and bold I would feel doing something so absolutely wild. I pictured myself later thrilling my friends with the story. I decided to go for it.

I asked if he would mind if I threw my shirt in the dryer. I could see him searching for what to say as I slid off the machine and onto my feet, hoping for the courage to pull my shirt off over my head in front of this man I only just met. He answered, but I caught none of it as I saw a young couple at the door. We froze, I think both feeling guilty of something, as the couple entered and saw us blushing - he in a suit, and me in nothing but a wet shirt. The couple, holding their laundry, apologized as we all felt very awkward. I rushed out past them, with a quick goodbye to my new friend, who followed close behind. I wondered with great amusement what the couple thought was going on as I ran off in the waning rain and he drove away.

It was not long after these experiences that I was alone with Brandon in the office/apartment when the rain began. I put on my tee shirt and tried to get his attention, announcing I was going out to play in the rain. He noticed me in my tee shirt and smiled. As I went out the door, I flashed him my bare bottom to be sure he knew I wore nothing under the shirt - but I didn’t know if he saw. This time I splashed and danced around just outside the door, hoping he would get his camera. But no luck.

After a few minutes, I went back inside and continued to push for his attention. I could hear how obvious and silly I sounded as I made statements about how wet I was, and how much I love to frolic in the rain. He watched from his desk as I pulled off my shirt in the kitchen and wrung it out over the sink. But to my nudity he offered nothing more than an approving smirk before returning to his project.

I went in the bathroom to pout while drying and fixing my hair. But as I did, I became frustrated with myself for my ridiculous behavior. I had the courage to parade around naked in front of my friends, even making them a sexy video in which I pleasured myself, but I could not just say what I wanted. I became determined. Dropping my hairbrush in the sink, I marched out to the office, slammed my hands down on his desk, leaned in such to push my boobs together for full effect, and said, “I’m going to take a bubble bath… Do you want to make a video?”

This was the first video we made together. Going in, I knew that I would love the attention. But soon I realized so many more wonderful aspects to his filming me. He made me feel like a real model. Instead of my just coming up with things to do for the camera as I took a bath, Brandon worked out the lighting and other elements to help the setting and atmosphere. He lit a candle and gave me a glass of wine and a cigarette for props. I didn’t smoke, but I did feel sexy pretending. Brandon offered great suggestions and gave me real direction. I felt so desired and important. It was a different experience to have someone give me such help and attention. Sometimes he would pose me himself. I was already overstimulated by my sexy posturing in the soapy water while imagining how many people may one day see the video. So, when his hand would incidentally caress me as he moved the bubbles around to cover or reveal, I became dizzy with titillation. I knew I was at the point that I would do anything he asked, and I started to fantasize about what that could be. But soon we were interrupted. We heard Mark enter the office. Brandon and I were both a little embarrassed as Mark was clearly amused by having caught us making a video in the bath. Mark began making jokes. But I followed Brandon’s lead, and we kept recording as Mark went to his desk.

When we finished, I wanted to watch the tape, but Brandon said he would edit it and add music. I well knew the pleasure of being seen, but being filmed took things to another level. I was elated by my thoughts of having a tape, cut to the better parts, that was made with the approval and care of someone else, while not knowing how many would see it over what could be many years.

At one point while I was posing in the bath, I did think about my husband and the fact that I was officially still married. This made what I was doing feel a little wrong. I learned something more about myself then, as those thoughts got me so much more excited and aroused. I had no idea what I would do next, but for the moment, I felt as sexy and free as ever.
-

(Mid 1980s) It was the summer before I left for college. I was at my parents’ house on Hilton Head Island, lying in bed, naked, revving myself up while waiting to hear my parents leave for work. Mornings like this were when the little voice in my head is most vocal with the naughtiest suggestions. She is always full of ideas for various wild escapades in which she thinks I should engage. Most of her ideas are far too wild for me, but on this morning she touched on something with which I had been fascinated for years.

We had an outdoor shower at the side of our house, next to the utility yard. It was uncovered because it was intended to be used by people in swimsuits rinsing off the sand when returning from the beach (common in resort communities like ours). For years I fantasized about having a proper shower outdoors. That morning my naughty little voice was insisting that I finally go for it.

By the time both my parents had gone, I was so worked up that I knew, unlike many of the suggestions from my naughty little voice, I was going to go through with this. I got out of bed, grabbed the soap and shampoo from the bathroom and boldly walked right out the back door. After rebounding from my experience at the hotel (Part 3), I was in a special mood, brimming with confidence. I did not bring a towel, or even peek out the windows first to be sure the coast was clear. Completely naked, I just bravely walked out with purpose.

As I turned the corner to the side of the house where the shower was located, I did look up to assess how well I could be seen from the street or neighbors. But not so much because I was afraid to be seen. I wanted to be seen. In that moment I fantasized about continuing out and doing cartwheels in my front yard. I so wanted to just go for it. But I knew I could not. My parents would surely be told if I were caught like that, and I could not possibly begin to tell them of my intense erotic desires to be so exposed. But having a shower at the side of the house would be easier to explain – or so I convinced myself. I imagined telling my mom that I had so much sand in my bathing suit that I had to take it off, and I thought I would be safe with the reasonably private shower.

The shower could not easily be seen by the neighbors for the trees, and was mostly blocked from the street because of the walls around our utility yard. That is where the trash cans were hidden behind little walls to keep the resort community looking nice. My being caught was unlikely, but enough of a possibility to keep me intensely aroused.

I started the shower and found the noise of the running water helped isolate me from my surroundings in a most relaxing way. Although I took great pleasure from the idea of being discovered, I was still quite nervous. Closing my eyes and stepping under the water, now unable to see or hear if anyone was coming, allowed me to completely surrender to the experience and release any remaining worry for the risks.

The shower was a strange combination - relaxing and exhilarating. I could have stayed out there all day if it wasn’t for the extremely cold water. I was soon shivering uncontrollably and had to cut my otherwise thrilling experience short.

Shortly after dripping my way back into the house, I heard the garbage truck. My heart raced. I had given no thought to that it was trash day. We were not allowed to put the cans out near the street. The garbage men had to retrieve the trash from everyone’s utility yard. If I had taken my shower a bit later, the garbage men would have walked right up beside me. I wondered if I would have heard the truck over the running water.

I debated if I could bring myself to run back out to the shower before they get to my house. The notion hit me physically. I felt lightheaded and tingly, having to drop to my knees at the front window as I watched for the truck and tried to build my courage to go for it. But I couldn’t do it. Although I had been so excited thinking that people could be watching me shower, my nerves were abated by my knowing it is unlikely I was seen. Leaving everything to chance adds to the thrill, and also makes committing to such risks easier. Knowing I would be caught for sure by running out now and having a naked outdoor shower just a few feet from the garbage men would take a level of daring I only wish I had.

I watched from our dining room, still on my knees, but with my upper half exposed through the window. As the garbage truck stopped out front, I bolstered my courage to remain there, unsure how well anyone could see in the window in the daylight. Two men came from the truck and went around the side of the house, never looking my way. By the time they brought out the cans and emptied them, I was feeling my disappointment growing. This was the kind of opportunity about which I endlessly fantasized, and I just knelt there watching them go by.

As the men returned the cans, I became determined to make something of it. I stood to now have my whole body completely exposed at the window. Their backs were to me as they returned to their truck, but my resolve for their attention woke my naughty little voice.

“Run out onto the front porch and wave goodbye.” She urged.

Her suggestions were always the most fun, but there was no way I could run naked out my front door and wave at the garbage men. But such thoughts dramatically increased my arousal, and I now desperately wanted the men to see me at the window. I began slapping my palm on the glass to get their attention, but they didn’t hear me over the sound of the truck. As they moved on to the neighbors, I collapsed on the carpet and lamented that it would be a full week before they returned.

Over the next days, I could not stop thinking about the shower, and the garbage men. As was common that summer, I spent most of my time at home finding sexy fun. My standards were naked chores, sunbathing, endless and varied pleasuring, and playing in the backyard. But now I was taking increasing risks and going more around the side and front of the house, in view of the street and neighbors, to satiate my urges for intensified thrills. I played in the outdoor shower a few more times, always imagining I’m being watched. It was there under the cold water, while looking at the utility yard entrance just a few feet away, that I heard my little voice again. This time I knew she was right. I just had to do it.

I was so impatient for the next trash collection day. My excitement was building every minute. This would be my first time completely nude in front of strangers while close enough to touch. I was titillated and terrified for all the possibilities. I wondered if the men would report me, but doubted that would happen. And if they did, I was convinced that the experience would be worth it, even if I had to tell my sandy bathing suit fib to my mother.

Knowing I would be just around the corner from the trash cans, right next to the men, while naked and soapy wet, got me dizzy with excitement. As brazen as this was, I knew I would go through with it. Not even the cold water would deter me. I planned to pretend I could not hear them because of the running water and would just keep showering. My fantasy was to be seen – watched. But I knew, and worried, that it was very possible they would quickly duck away with embarrassment when they discovered me.

The day finally arrived, and I ran outside the minute my parents had both left the house. I placed the shampoo bottle on the ground next to the shower, because I wanted to be soapy for the encounter. Then I went inside to the front window and waited nervously, sometimes dancing to shake off all my nervous energy.

After what seemed like forever, I heard the truck. As it made its way down our street, I ran out the back door and around the side of the house to the shower. Turning on the water, I began to work the shampoo up into lively suds while in such a state that I don’t even remember the water being cold. I showered for quite a while, waiting for the men to arrive at our house. I didn’t want to look, thinking it would be better if they thought I didn’t know they discovered me. So, I tried catching sly glimpses in the direction of the utility yard, but saw no sign of them.

After a while, I decided it had been too long. I feared they may have turned back when they heard the shower. So, I started to look up and caught sight of a pair of boots near the door to the utility yard. They were pointed right at me. He was so close. Quickly looking way, I was hit with a pounding pressure in my head and great tingling through my body. I thought I was going to burst. I kept showering but was so nervous I stopped breathing and had to focus just to catch my breath. It was incredibly intense. With no doubt he had seen me, I was overwhelmed with erotic stimulation. It was far more powerful than I had imagined. I felt close to orgasm, and truly feared I would pass out.

Soon I heard the cans being moved. The pressure slightly ebbed. They had caught me, and were just continuing with their job. I began to catch my breath, but my head was still pounding. I thought to peek up a bit more to see them taking the cans to their truck, but as I started to look, I could see he was still there watching me. Thrilling for sure, he was only a few feet away, but this was when I realized things could go much different than I had planned. What if he enjoyed my show too much and decided to do something about it? Is that what I wanted? I was filled with so many conflicting emotions.

I kept showering, pretending I had not seen him, while wondering what to do now. I began rinsing the shampoo from my hair, turning this way and that, hoping to appear sexy, but also to turn my head for another peek in his direction. As I did, I realized he was gone. I looked up more, thinking they were leaving, but saw no one. This was my chance to retreat… but I couldn’t. The overwhelming satisfaction overtook my fear. I could not end it.

I stood on my tippy toes to see over the little wall of the utility yard and saw one of them looking right at me. Locking eyes with him, I let out a little involuntary screech and covered my mouth. He looked off to the side and put both his hands up, as if I had a gun. Neither of us moved for a moment. He seemed more scared than I. His partner was coming up the walk toward us, returning the cans.

They could not see much of me now as I was tucked up tight to the little wall I was peeking over. Not knowing what to do next, I just smiled at them. The one in front of me smiled back with eyebrows raised, but kept his hands up. The partner just kept looking down and shook his head while replacing the cans. I could tell they were afraid. This is not exactly what I wanted, or imagined would happen, but it relaxed me. They seemed harmless, allowing me to feel empowered, yet wonderfully vulnerable, caught naked and wet by these strangers.

“Thank you.” I said in my most coquettish way, wanting them to know everything was okay.

They both backed away while waving their hands – not in the way of goodbye, but more as if to shoo me away. I think they were trying to gesture away any guilt on their part, or were perhaps suggesting I should not be out here naked. They said nothing, although their expressions told me that they found this a confusing but enlivening encounter.

After they turned and moved farther down the walk, I realized all had gone better than I hoped. I did not want it to end. Before they reached their truck, I stepped out from behind the wall, in case they looked back one more time. They did. I struck a cute pose and gave a little wave. The more engaging one raised his hand to his forehead and continued to his truck.

I jumped up and down with excitement, turned off the water and scurried around the corner into the house. From the front window I watched the truck continue down the street. Then I dropped to the floor and rolled around on my mother’s soft white carpet, overwhelmed with excitement and pleasure. It could not have gone better.

I immediately began plotting to do it again next week. That thought lasted for a few days, but I eventually decided not to push my luck. Probably best they thought it was an accident. Although, I knew there was plenty more teasing in my future. And when lying in bed each morning, I would still kick off the covers and fantasize about being discovered there by the boys I liked, or Tom Selleck – or now, sometimes, a couple of shy sanitation workers…

It is rare to have all go as well or better than planned. And even though I would go on to much more daring and intense adventures, this remains one of my most stimulating experiences ever.

-

[img] [img]


(Mid 1990s) Early in our relationship I learned that my first husband was not open to my exhibitionist escapades. So, I downplayed my activities of the past and spent the years with him trying to be a good wife. I would avoid situations where I knew I would get myself in trouble or do something to upset him. Occasionally I would take advantage of the times he was not around, although mostly it was a period that I did very little in this way. But my desires were still intense, and this hiatus caused my yearnings to spiral. Eventually I reached a breaking point.

In the months before I left my husband, I was working on a small independent film project with a few friends from work. It was not long until I found myself growing close to this group. We all had real jobs, most of us working together at theme parks in Central Florida, which were full of want-to-be actresses, actors, filmmakers, singers, etc. Many of us took on special projects, like this film, with the hope of building a career. My husband didn’t like that I was spending my time this way, but he gave me no real problem about it. I think because he was a writer, who hadn’t sold anything in years. So, I was the only one bringing in money. He knew he couldn’t complain much that I had an unpaid job on the film.

This group of filmmakers included my future landlord, and eventual best friend, Brandon. Although, I hardly knew him at the time. I was closer to our mutual friends who were more interested in partying and hanging out together than working on the films.

One night I was asked to come over to Eric’s apartment for a read through of the script. Eric was a friend from work, and a major contributor to the projects. He was very funny and helped write many of their scripts. Eric lived in the same apartment complex as Brandon and a few of our other friends that worked at theme parks and on the films. There were about 10 or so people at this read through, including an instigator named Ben. I didn’t like Ben very much, but he became key to me returning to my exhibitionist exploits. Ben was the loudest member of the group. He worked on the films and helped produce them with money he inherited from his grandfather, but he never worked very hard. He was only in it for fun.

Different mixtures from our large circle of friends from the parks would hang out almost every night. If we weren’t at some bar for darts, pool, or karaoke, then we were at somebody’s house party, which seemed to happen every few days. Ben could be found at most of these parties trying to convince the girls to get naked. His approach was to volunteer to go first. I kind of admired him for this. He was straightforward and daring. But I was quite aware that he could be real trouble for me. Anyway, we all knew that if you stayed at a party long enough, particularly if there was a pool, you would be treated to a show of Ben and whichever girls gave in. For my efforts to be a good wife, I left most of these parties early.

At our read through, Ben was at it again. While most of us were trying to get through the script, he was working to convince everyone to go to the pool. Eventually some people, including Brandon, had to leave and the meeting wound down. I was in no hurry to get home and found myself with Ben, Eric, and three other male members of the group (John, Randy, and Matthew). All were now up for going to the pool. No one had yet suggested skinny dipping, but with Ben leading things, I knew where this was going. After years of avoiding this kind of fun, I finally broke and decided to go to the pool and just see what happens.

I brought up the fact that I did not have a swimsuit and a couple of the guys said they were just going to swim in their underwear. So, I had to confess that I was not wearing underwear. Eric gave me a shirt that was quite large for me but would work as something of a swimming dress. I changed in his bedroom, and we all went to the complex’s pool.

I noticed two important factors as soon as we got to the pool. Although the gate was not locked, the sign stated that the pool should be closed at this hour. And it was closely surrounded by several apartment buildings. There must have been 40 or 50 windows with a good view of the pool. I questioned this and the guys reassured me that they often swam at night with no trouble.

As soon as I got into the water, I saw Ben was already naked, and noticed the shirt I was given, now wet, was not leaving much to the imagination. I very much enjoyed these friendships, and did not want to ruin that. But I was aroused by the idea of playing with the guys, who I sensed were already trying to figure out how far I would go. I wasn’t sure about this myself.

Ben started in with his suggestions. He was campaigning for me to take off the shirt. I didn’t have a chance to respond before a couple of the others came to my defense. They thought Ben was making me uncomfortable. As they argued, I eventually interrupted with an offer that I would take off the shirt only after all of them got naked.

I had quickly come to realize that deep down I wanted this to happen, but it just seemed best that I not make it easy. I thought it was unlikely all of them would be willing to get naked - particularly Matthew. Although a very talented contributor to the films, he was always more serious and a bit shy. But I was wrong about him at that moment. They all removed their shorts and tossed them out of the pool. Now I felt it. The intense conflicting feelings that were common in my early years. I was craving this, but equally anxious. In some ways I had them at my mercy, but in some ways, they had me at theirs.

I sunk down low and removed the shirt, keeping it near me while I stayed chin level in the water. Ben grabbed the shirt and threw it far. I heard it hit the fence with a soggy thud. The guys were like sharks treading around me as they thought of silly things to say while trying to get a better look. But I was doing the same.

I considered myself to be good at determining the shape and size of a guy’s penis by his general frame and features. I still do this with most guys, even if I know I will never see his penis. But with the movement of the water, and that they would not stop touching themselves, I could only see distortions and hands. At the time, I thought they were touching themselves because I excited them. But I later understood that they were trying to overcome the effect of the cold water.

We were all suggesting different games we should play. Most of the guy’s suggestions would result in me getting out of the water. I eventually agreed to play chicken. But none of them would put another guy on their shoulders. After much debate, I interjected, telling them that I understood the real goal. If they lined up on the steps, above the water where I could see them, I would then do the same. Most of them agreed immediately. But it took several minutes to convince Matthew, then another few minutes of stroking and stalling as they prepared. But, eventually, they all went through with it.

Other than Ben, who I had seen before, my penis predictions were not very accurate this time. It was really something to see the 5 of them lined up in this way just for me. I felt as though I had a certain control over them. I loved it. Ben enjoyed being on display, but I think the others were only going through with it so they could see me.

When it became my turn, I felt a level of nervous excitement I had not in years. I waded toward the steps, and knew I was in serious trouble. The sensations were so intense. As I raised up out of the water and turned to stand exposed to the men, and the many windows of the surrounding apartment buildings, I felt the overwhelming erotic pleasure that I had obsessively sought through all my years before marriage. I wanted nothing more than to completely surrender and indulge all my desires. The endorphins passed through me like a drug that I could not refuse. I both relished and feared that there would be no turning back.

I stood naked and wet in the cool night air appreciating the gaze of my admirers and scanning the windows for more onlookers. I wanted to keep going, and to escalate, so I stayed above the water striking every pose I thought sexy. But soon Ben moved close and submerged, coming up under me to carry me on his shoulders.

For the next half hour or so, I let them take turns carrying me around on their shoulders while I teased and flirted. All the physical contact between us made me giddy with excitement. Being handled and admired by the guys as they each picked me up, sometimes with help from the others, brought me pleasures I had long craved. We all had great fun laughing, wrestling, and splashing around, but I knew they couldn’t possibly know the level sexual arousal I was experiencing.

The whole time I was aware that we were being quite loud, and I couldn’t stop wondering how many people may be watching from the windows. This exceedingly elevated the experience for me. Several times I asked the guys if they thought anyone was watching. They told me not to worry about it, and that everything was fine – wrongly assuming that I didn’t want others to see me. But I still enjoyed hearing them try to convince me to keep frolicking with them.

Matthew was the only one who seemed concerned about how exposed we were. He kept telling us to quiet down. Although my laughter and playful screams were sometime involuntary, I could have tried to be quieter. I just didn’t want to. This was the first time since college that I had done anything like this. I was going to make the most of it. I was elated to be so free and daring, and I wanted everyone to know. But when I looked out from the pool and saw someone at the fence, I screamed - before I realized it was Brandon. He was just returning home. This was the first time he saw me naked. I was above the water on Eric’s shoulders. At the time, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him seeing me like this. Brandon was the motivated leader of our group and the film projects. I wanted him to respect me, but I was lost in my joy and wasn’t about to stop now. I waved and called for Brandon to join us. He answered that he would be out in a minute, and I watched him look back at me approvingly as he went into his apartment, which was right beside the pool.

Before Brandon returned, I saw Matthew jump out of the water and run for his clothes. I knew that was not good. Then someone announced they saw a cop. I turned to see a police officer at the fence, trying to find the gate. I dropped into the water and watched as all the guys rushed for their clothes and ran out through the adjoining laundry room. I sank down in the water, not sure what to do. I thought I might try to run if the police followed the guys. But two male officers came in through the gate and up to the edge of the pool. They ordered me out of the water. I told them I didn’t know where my clothes were, and pointed in the direction I thought, asking if they could retrieve my shirt. One of them shined his light around and found the shirt but didn’t pick it up. He told me to get out of the pool.

For as much as I had been enjoying the thoughts of others catching us at our little skinny-dipping party, this is not what I had imagined. I was so much more afraid than excited knowing I would have to parade completely naked in front of the police. I hesitated, but their demands for me to get out and get dressed became more aggressive.

I first tried to get out at the edge of the pool closest to my shirt, but after some struggling to pull myself up, I had to wade down to the stairs and walk all the way around while they shined their lights on me. I had never felt more vulnerable. The whole time I thought I would be arrested and imagined all the trouble this would bring.

What will it be like in jail?

Will I go there in just a wet shirt?

Will I make it to work tomorrow?

What would I tell my husband?!

But as the officers kept their lights on me and watched as I untangled the wet shirt, the tone had changed. They started to make small talk.

“You’ve been havin’ some fun tonight?” One of the officers asked, seemingly amused, if not delighted.

I started to think that I may not be going to jail, and that they could possibly get in trouble for this. Making me stand naked in their lights while struggling to get dressed. They could have kicked the shirt over to me while I was in the water, and not have me walking around like this in front of them and whoever may be watching from the windows.

I began to take my time with the shirt, hoping to extend the incident of their ogling to something they would not want to have to explain. Even though I was cold and scared, I enjoyed the sensations that washed over me as I appreciated the contrasts of their powerful authority in crisp uniforms with their large chests and arms looming over my meek, nude, soft, wet, shivering self.

They asked if I lived there, and if I had been drinking. I answered “No” to both questions as I finally worked the uncooperative garment down over my body. Then they told me to go home.

Fearing they would follow me to Eric’s apartment, bringing trouble to the others, I thought to get in my car and drive around until they left. I could not go home to my husband in only some guy’s wet shirt. But before I got to my car, I realized my keys were with my clothes in Eric’s apartment. So, I just aimlessly walked around the apartment complex waiting for the police to leave. A few people had come out to see what was going on. I felt very aware of myself, in nothing but my wet shirt, as I passed them on the sidewalk, wondering how long they had been watching, and if they called the police.

Eventually, I returned to Eric’s apartment and pounded on the door. I was a little mad that they ran off and left me, but I was really just wanting to have some fun with them. I knew what they had done was probably best. The guys would have been much more likely to get arrested, or maybe evicted.

When Eric answered the door, I pretended to be angrier than I was. Only Eric, Ben, and John were still there. I entered the living room shouting at them for leaving me. I dramatically pulled off the shirt and threw the still wet and heavy thing in Eric’s chest before storming into his bedroom to retrieve my clothes. They followed, trying to calm me down. My charade was working, and I wanted to keep it going.

I’ve always been more of a follower, trying to please others, and almost never express anger. Yelling at the guys, while naked and only pretending anger, was surprisingly stimulating. I started throwing my clothes at them instead of getting dressed. But after making a bit more of it, my joy became too obvious, and they knew I was joking.

I told them what happened with the police, and we all enjoyed the excitement and eventual relief of the whole experience - before I had to return home to my restrictive world.

I had already been thinking about leaving my husband. Feeling the negative turn of my mood driving home that night, I started to believe it really could be the right thing to do. I was facilitating my husband’s ability to not work, and for all of our differences I had grown to believe we were just not good for each other. Although unintentional, my friends were reminding me how exciting and wonderful life can be. I felt like this night was the first time in years I had really done what I wanted - reveling in just being me.
-

(Mid 1980s) In our lives we all suffer embarrassing moments. Some more than others, and to different extremes. But with each experience I believe there is something we can learn about ourselves and possibly take the opportunity to grow. I venture to say that what I long thought of as my most embarrassing experience eventually became something for which I am grateful.

I turned 18 in February, was accepted to the University of Florida, and started to really feel the excitement for everything new on the horizon. But I still had to finish my senior year of high school, as the preacher’s kid, among my friends and classmates who I thought didn’t really know me.

My whole life to this point I had been known as sweet little innocent Amy. The girl with the braces that, other than her cheerleading uniform, wore only what her mother chose. But recently I had developed quite a bit – although no one seemed to notice. That March, just a couple of months before graduation, I experienced an event that I believe affected the rest of my life.

I was out of town at an away game for my school’s basketball team. It was the boy’s team, for which I was a cheerleader. We were at the hotel. Our group consisted of the team, the cheerleaders, a few chaperones, some family members, and a few hardcore fans from school. I don’t know if we were all housed on the same floor, but it seemed that way. We had our doors propped open and moved around the floor from room to room for hours with that youthful excitement for an out-of-town adventure. At some point, the chaperones, and probably the entire hotel, had had enough of the antics, and we were xxxxxxxxxx to retire to our rooms. The girls were housed four to a room.

Earlier in my story, I told of how I came to always sleep in the nude. It made a significant impression on me when I overheard a boy at school tell his friends that he did this. I was not only intrigued by the act itself, but I wished to also be so bold to tell others of this. Although, other than my family discovering, I had told no one.

I did not come on this trip with any determination to sleep naked. I don’t remember if I packed pajamas or considered these logistics at all. I had a crush on one of the basketball players, and this distraction occupied most of my thoughts.

In the room with my three roommates getting ready for bed, I was confronted with this decision for which I had not prepared. As a burgeoning exhibitionist, I never had a problem in those moments when others would see me changing, etc. In fact, I made the most of such opportunities, although these had been few of late. I had not been invited to a sleepover or anything like that since I started sleeping naked. I was rarely invited to such events - I think because of my “good girl” reputation from my religious upbringing. They probably thought that I would bring the party down. I wanted to show that I was not what everyone assumed.

My first inclination was to strip naked right there in front of my roommates and announce that I always slept nude. I so much wanted to prove how bold and free I really could be. But as I stood watching the others prepare for bed in their night shirts and such, I lost my nerve and walked over to my bed fully clothed.

To this point it had been a great trip. But now I was saddened by what I saw as my failure to be so daring and do as I pleased. I began to consider getting under the covers before undressing. But that seemed weak, and would appear as though I wanted to hide. That was the opposite of how I wanted to be seen. As I thought more about the possible reaction the others might have if I just got naked right there in front of them, I imagined their impressions of me would change. Whispers may spread through the school such to change everyone’s impression of me in the way I had long hoped. So, I did it. I took a deep breath and stripped down completely, right next to the bed, and got in.

My roommates noticed. At first, we all just looked at each other. I started to explain that this is just the way I sleep, hoping they would find it as bold as I had. But that was not the case. I did not think this through with enough consideration for the girl with whom I shared the bed. (Four girls to a room, but only two beds.)

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” My bedmate demanded an answer as she jumped up.

My explanation was interrupted as the others got involved. I struggled to hang on but had no chance as they pulled the covers away with great force. At first, I couldn’t help but laugh as they seemed playfully excited while they assessed the situation. This was not going as I had hoped, but it was thrilling fun.

I worked to continue to explain myself through my nervous laughter while my friends began a discussion of what they should do with me. The answer was terrifying. My laughter mixed with screams as they pulled me from the bed. I didn’t think any of us knew if they were serious or just being playful. I was overwhelmed with giggles, screams, terror, and titillation as we wrestled.

I was in the best shape of my life, but probably the least athletic cheerleader of all time. Even the burst of energy I gained when I realized they were serious and opened the door to our room was not enough to keep them from dragging me out. With a final shove they broke away and slammed the door shut, leaving me completely naked in the hotel hallway. Immediately other doors began to open and people poured out into the hallway to investigate the commotion.

Now, even at this age, my exhibitionist propensities were intense. Opportunities were regularly sought, even if less frequently carried out. But there is a pattern to these experiences. It starts with an idea that builds to a fantasy. Then a period of anticipation filled with mixed feelings of fear, arousal, daring, pride, shame, confidence, desire, stimulation, titillation, and wonder… to name just a few. The build up to one of these events is as much, if not more, important than the act itself. It is a totally different experience when literally thrust into the situation. I was mortified!

First my pleas to be let in where a shouted whisper accompanied by light but frantic slapping on the door. I huddled up close to try to hide from view. But more and more people came out to investigate. Some started calling to me or for their friends. I began to plead and bang louder. I felt naked in front of the world, and I wanted to run. Our door was in front of the elevator, but this was no good, so I decided on the stairwell. As I turned, I could see the hallway was filling up and the stairway was far. So, I dove back into the little recess of our doorway and pleaded more. I heard someone call for a blanket at the same time I heard the elevator arrive at our floor. I thought it best to run the gauntlet to the stairwell when our door opened, and my roommates pulled me in.

The girls landed in big trouble. I did not complain or pursue any punishment, but that was the last away game for all the cheerleaders. For me, the fallout was complicated. It began that night, after I finally got to bed and lay contemplating how I would face everyone in the morning. My school was very small. Not a private school, but run as such. My graduating class was only 31 people. So, those that saw me completely naked in the hallway represented a significant percentage of my school, and included my crush.

Like most people, I had been caught doing embarrassing things – aside from my intentional activities. I found that if you try to hide, lie, cover up, or otherwise downplay what occurred, it only makes you look worse. People are more likely to think less of you. And usually, the act itself is probably like something most people do in private anyway, so they’ll understand. For example, when caught pleasuring yourself, instead of pretending that is not what happened, or awkwardly avoiding the topic, just own it. Just go out and say “You sure walked in at the wrong time. I was really going at it!” Joke with them, “I didn't even get to finish!”

So, after my episode in the hotel hallway, I owned it. I played it proud. I acted like everyone was lucky to catch the show. I did have a nice body at the time, and up till then, I don’t think anyone knew. I had been the preacher’s daughter in braces and thick sweaters. But my braces had come off recently, and now they saw me without the sweater, to say the least. I started to believe this would be the turning point for me. I would finally gain distance from that “good girl.”

I did get more attention from the boys, but truth is, little changed. And for those that did look at me in a new way, I don’t think it was so much what happened in the hallway. I think it was the confidence with which I emerged from the incident. I took this lesson with me and had many new and wonderful experiences. And looking back, I am no longer embarrassed… it just turns me on.

Not long after this I was set to leave for college. I purposely chose to go far from home, and to a university that none of my classmates would be attending. I was determined to build a whole new persona.
-