OverExposure

Lately I've been thinking about exposure. I've been thinking about how excited I get, butterflies-in-my-belly, swollen and wet, little impish smile excited when I either think about or, better yet, am asked to expose myself. This could be any degree of exposure. As open as fully undressed, legs spread, examination. Or as subtle as standing before my viewer, with my legs only slightly apart. And, anything in between. I am, once again, somewhat shocked at myself. I spent many prudish years not wanting to be seen at all. Practically no part of my body, no less my cunt! And now I crave it to be seen.

I know that there are lots of exhibitionists, with varying degrees of and desires for exposure. Some have to get it in public. Like the subway for example. I read somewhere that the R train in NYC has the highest rate of flashers, so depending on your mood, you may or may not want to take the R. Or in a park, or just walking down the street. I don't mind this, necessarily. I've progressed enough in my sexual education (and debauchery, of course) to be able to shrug off a cock being pulled out for the owners gratification. It's not exciting to me, but whatever. I've never been flashed by a woman. I'm waiting for that day!

I have no need to flash in public. Recently I was e-mailing and IM'ing with a man (whom I had a very boring date with so you'll not be hearing of him again) who proceeded to tell me of his fantasy to have me out with him, no panties, short skirt, on a bar stool, flashing other men in the bar...I don't need to finish. You get the gist of it. I don't find this exciting. I don't want to randomly flash men in a bar. I want the intimacy that comes with close, physical proximity. I want to see, not shock and delight from some guy who thinks he's seeing something he shouldn't, but excitement in the eyes of the beholder. Excitement and lust. Lust and want. Then need. A need to touch.

Recently I went out with a man who I met through craigslist. This man was the model for the subject in this story. He really did post an ad on CL similar to the one I describe in the story. And, I really did answer.

The story is fiction, based on fact. What did happen was dinner. A lovely dinner, on a hot summer night, at an outdoor cafe. We drank a bit, and talked a lot and flirted blatantly, both knowing what had brought us there. We talked around it. We talked about it. Moving towards some resolution, but we didn't know what.

I'm a little ashamed of what happened. A little ashamed, but also incredibly excited. The restaurant was emptying out and things were quieting down. After talking for some time about his "fetish" for large labia, and about my answer to his call (the only answer, by the way), he asked me if we should go into one of the small, unisex bathrooms. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to "see" me. I said yes.

After paying the bill, we headed for the restrooms and, luckily, they were both unoccupied. We went into the larger of the two and locked the door. And kissed. That was nice. And then, "Can I see?" I hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing full well that his simple question had me excited. Damp.

I unzipped my jeans, locked my thumbs on the sides and, grabbing my panties on the way down, pulled my clothes to my knees. As I stood up, he squatted down and, for a minute, just looked at me. I spread my legs a little wider, so that he could see them. The dark, wrinkled flesh that was the object of his desire. Without taking his eyes from my pussy he asked if he could touch.

He moved a hand forward and immediately held onto my lips. Touching them and squeezing them, and making me moan. "Perfect", he said. "Just what I was looking for."

For a few moments he tugged and squeezed my labia, until he could see, I suppose, the reaction he was creating. He pushed one, then two fingers up in to me and, there, in a small, not entirely clean, cafe bathroom on the Upper East Side, I came as quietly as I could as a man I'd never met finger-fucked me with not a small degree of skill.

And I wonder, is this the extent to which I'll go to expose myself? Is this how great my need is that I'll allow myself to participate in something that, for most, would be considered abject, at the worst, undignified, at the least? Do I have to censor my actions so as to keep myself from falling lower into some pit of loathsome behavior?

Perhaps.

Admittedly, though, I think of this often. I dwell on it, the picture of it in my head, the feeling of it between my legs, the gasp as his fingers first touched my full, swollen lips. I think and I masturbate and I want to do it again. I want to show myself to someone who wants to see me. Who wants to appreciate what I'm giving him.

It is, I realize, an incredibly submissive act. To be asked to show my pussy to someone simply because it excites him to see it. And to comply. The reasons for excitement are myriad and I love that. It excites him not only to see my naked cunt, but he's aroused by simply asking. By my saying yes. And, maybe he sees, for that fraction of a second, my struggle with the request. And that adds to his arousal because he knows this is, even if only slightly, hard for me to do. And, he's excited because he knows I'm excited. He knows, perhaps, that this act of exhibitionism stirs something in me. He knows it and can see it made manifest in the moisture on his fingers as he fondles my lips.

I want to do it again. Maybe with the same man, who can get a better look next time. Or, maybe with another. Someone who, with maybe a little more understanding, can make his request in such a way as to imply it is not a request at all.