|
Plans for a Naughty Visit - Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Plans for a Naughty Visit: Prelude
Minor disguising details aside, this story is true. It
consists primarily of items from my e-chats with a good friend a
few months after the first anniversary of our getting in touch.
This was previously posted once on alt.sex.exhibitionism. It is
being crossposted on alt.sex.stories and alt.sex.exhibitionism
(to avoid requests for reposts) along with its sequel.
Please post responses rather than e-mailing me - that gets very awkward,
especially as I'm leaving the net soon.
Her: A gorgeous and brilliant woman, getting ready at the ripe age
of 24-25-26 to turn her back on her wicked past and resign
herself to her lot in life as an untenured prof at a church-
affiliated university in a very conservative part of the
country, and to the fact that in spite of her clear and
numerous assets she would likely never marry. [I know, it
sounded like a line to me to, until slowly the proofs
developed. I've seen personal pictures of her and pictures of
her as a bathing suit model in national magazines, although
she was a 'blonde' there and her hair is naturally a chestnut
red. She's also got dazzling green eyes, a beautiful face, a
gorgeous figure (with half-cantaloup sized breasts and superb
hips) an Irish lilt in her voice and a good PhD under her
belt.] Looking back on her past, it's clear that the
incredibly terrible childhood which may have led to her time
as a wild teenager (a 'fucking slut', as she's said with
pride) was related to the otherwise surprising fact that she'd
never been able to form a close, trusting, loving and enduring
relationship with any male ... until me.
Me: I'm another prof, but middle aged, married and in decent but
not superb shape. [I jog, play squash, eat, ...] Fortunately,
what I did offer her - honesty, affection, acceptance, and
perversions to match her own - was what she needed to treat
the festering wounds of her past, to let them heal, and
finally to find a guy her own age with whom she feel deeply in
love, after a few guys who didn't seem right for her at all.
[I've since learned that the other woman I was involved with
here, in a briefer and more volatile relationship, also feels
that our time together - before we were each semi-discovered
and had to cease being in regular contact - also feels that I
let her feel worthy and capable of a healthy loving
relationship with a man and she is getting married. Nice to
have learned, even though my motives were not that noble.]
Since where I live is rather important in the following,
I'll tell you that I live in a town ['Bush'] of about 120,000,
about 40 miles south of a large city, and close to some small
towns. The large city is Clinton, with a nearby suburb called
Hillary, which is threatening to be more successful and
powerful than Clinton. Yes, we at the University of Bush do
get kidded about the name - 'Everyone wants to get into Bush',
'Our students really get down to it', 'Our students can't be
licked' ... and of course there are the famous panties with
the slogan 'Read My Lips!' that so many of the coeds sport.
[Right, that's all nonsense, but I did need some names for
places and figured 'What the heck!']
Anything else before we get started? Oh yes, just as I had
trouble at first believing that she was gorgeous, young and
brilliant, she at times had trouble believing that I was male
- since she said that I understood women even better than she
understood men, and she felt that she really understood men
well. [At other times, though, she said that my Great Knowing
Male tendencies were all too evident.] I DO very much enjoy
women as friends, far more so than most men I know, and I do
understand their concerns and problems - in no small measure
thanks to a long and solid marriage with a prime quality woman
whom I love, respect and need. True, I did wander in this
relationship from total fidelity, but not all that far
relative to the tempting possibilities. For what it's worth,
and partly because of a concern about both the medical and
psychological consequences, I have never seriously physically
betrayed my wife.
Us: We met by accident on the net. She'd been chatting with
someone who was a sadistic jerk (the 'Avenging Rapist'- no
kidding!), but the closest thing to an articulate and
interesting male she'd found via 'alt.personal', and partial
copies of some of her mail via anon.penet.fi wound up coming
to me. I replied, thinking at first that she was someone
else. I was initially a pest and then an amusing pest and
eventually an important outlet for her; we both got pretty
addicted to writing. For a number of sound reasons including
the fact that the other guy started sending her really nasty
and threatening messages about making her his next victim
after she stopped writing to him (and he really knew his way
around the net and around computing systems) she was VERY
worried about her security, as I was, and she put up lots of
barriers and rules: I would never know her name, her location,
her job, her face, her voice, her touch, her body, her
innermost secrets and parts. That slowly changed as we
exchanged confidences and tales about our pasts. She'd had to
change in her 'real' life from being a fairly obvious slut to
being a closet exhibitionist - and slut. My own mild
exhibitionist leanings were secondary to my primary
perversions such as finding women interested in public
anonymous sex (mutual touching, stroking, groping,
masturbating), something I've been doing successfully for
about a third of a century. [For example, she enjoyed one of
my memories in my 8th floor hotel room beside a large highway
a few years ago. I was standing before a full length window,
facing a stream of traffic heading almost directly under my
window. Standing against and in front of me, and facing the
same way, was an attractive married blonde woman in her
thirties whom I had met a few hours previously on the shuttle
bus going to an art gallery we were both interested in. After
the art gallery, we decided to take a conducted bus tour of
the city, sitting near the back of the near empty bus. Now,
as she faced the traffic, with the sun shining on her, her
blouse was slowly unbuttoned and spread (her bra had come off
during the bus ride). Next, her skirt slowly slide up and was
tucked under the waistband of the skirt, and then her panties
slid to the floor and her knees parted. She ground her ass
against my cock and came repeatedly as we looked down at the
traffic heading towards us and as I stroked and fingered her
body and kissed her neck and hair. Shortly thereafter, I
grabbed my bathing suit and we raced down to her room to
change and head to the pool and sauna just in case security
came looking for us up there. Looking back, I realize that it
was probably a stupid and dangerous thing to do to the
drivers, but God it was fun.]
As we chatted, my pen pal grew more and more comfortable with
me and, more importantly, with herself. As part of her initial set
of rules, she'd insisted that if I ever knew how she was, she would
disappear. Somewhat later, when I muttered about how OTHER guys
got to see and perhaps even bed her, I would never; she commented
that that was the price I paid for the almost unlimited access she
was giving me to her mind and her past, something she guarded VERY
carefully. Later, she commented that if by chance we ever did
meet, she would immediately drop to her knees and shove her face to
the ground rather than face me, since she would be so overcome by
shame at what I knew about her. I replied that if that did happen,
I would drop to my knees beside her, hold her lightly, caress her,
and comfort her - and then stand up and continue introducing her as
our next speaker. That last bit apparently resulted in her
mouthful of coffee splattering her keyboard. Later, I commented on
a recurring memory of hers - walking near-naked down a long dorm
corridor at night, and told her about a dream of mine, in which I
found myself walking about two feet off to her right and behind
her. I knew that I could drop back and admire her gorgeous body;
instead I moved up beside her and took her hand, and we walked to
the door at the end of the hall together. In another 'If I ever
meet you' fantasy, again a remembered dream, I coped with her wish
for me never to see her with mine to be very physically close to
her by telling her that we would have arranged to meet during a
flight of mine, at a stop-over at her city's airport. I would
agree to stand at a window of the waiting room for my next flight,
looking out. Recognizing me by my clothes and my description, she
would approach me if and when she dared, keep behind me and put her
arms around me, murmur my name, lay her head against mine, and stay
like that until she wanted to leave. I would not turn around. She
replied that she suspected that I assumed that she would be so vain
as to _want_ me to look at her, which I denied, truthfully.
Eventually, she commented that she had come to know that she
could be naked before me or do ANY sex act or game or fun with or
for me and never feel ashamed or embarrassed - a far cry from her
crippling sense of shame and lack of real feeling of self-worth
when we first met. We talked about a variety of things, usually
but not always sexual. It was a delight, after wincing about the
losers that she sometimes seemed to get involved with, to learn of
her falling in love with Al, and I realized that he planned to
propose long before she dared believe it. One day, before she was
engaged, her chat took a different turn, as it had before. [Often,
she would blurt out some secret, some offer, some wish, and then
immediately take it back. I never forced her, although I made it
plain that I was always interested. Soon the relevant barrier(s)
would come down. It helped that she also knew how I respected
other secrets I'd been trusted with, and how I treated those I
cared about.]
The change in her chat was a continuation of an extended
fantasy about how we might meet, and how it would be. All at once,
it was not "Pretend that..." or "If .." but "Exactly when in June
...?" As soon as I had regained my balance and agreed,
enthusiastically, she made and paid for airline reservations for a
trip here, halfway across the continent (at her expense, and
requiring a chunk of her vacation time). She asked about how I
would feel about actually meeting her in the flesh, rather than as
a sexy mysterious phantom. [Her messages are indented in what
follows, mine aren't and my comments to you are in [] brackets.]
I confessed to some reciprocal concern about how she would feel
about meeting someone she'd preferred to consider a shadowy lover
and mentor, and reminded her that SHE had wanted to keep the
mysteries intact.
I continued:
You asked how I felt about you now that so much of the mystery
had vanished about you, and told me that you'd be equally
comfortable about [a lack of mystery about] me. I indicated that
I had no real trouble with that. My earlier concern resulted from
your frequently stated wish to keep me a mystery man as it added
considerably to my allure. I am who I am. Some women seem to find
that very attractive; others don't. I'd been willing to dispense
with the mysteries long before you were ready to. I recognize that
you're no longer worried about me as a threat, and any obliqueness
is simply you being you. Good to know.
"Obliqueness"? I'm weaving layers of mystery, sensuality,
intrigue, erotica, and all those other good things and then
you refer to it as obliqueness?
Sigh.
Oh well, as long as I get your curiosity up enough to come out
for a peek on the first of June. Speaking of which.... The
reason I originally started this letter. Would you be willing
to help make one of my fantasies could true?
As you know, among all my other sins I am an exhibitionist of
no small degree. I've teased and tortured erections from an
incredible number of men over the past decade and I think,
even if I do say so myself, I'm darned good at what I do. I'm
aware that this phase in my life is coming to an end. Maybe
not right away, maybe not for two or three years, and
hopefully it'll never go away completely. But as I get older,
or more accurately, as there come to be a lot more young
blatant sluts strutting their stuff, men will become less
likely to feast their eyes on me as much as they have for the
past decade. Plus, as I become more mature and respectable
(and a wife and mother!), my opportunities for exhibitionism
will get less and less. So, repeating myself a lot, I know
that my days as an exhibitionist are coming to an end and I
have no great regrets. Except one.
I've never been able to see what I look like from the point of
view of my victims. Am I really as sexy as I like to think?
Do the guys really enjoy it as much as I do? How do I look to
them and what's it like for them to hide and watch me? I
think back to the boys who used to hide in the bushes and
masturbate as they watching me tanning and I wonder how many
of them even remember me and what specifics do they remember?
Even though you've disavowed any interest, I'm also recalling
how many times in the past year or more you've implored me to
make a sexy video for you. Al has an extensive set of video
toys and probably has all the lights and gear and cameras to
make a better quality video than all the porn tapes you've
sent me. But let's face it, even though he's teased me (and I
you) with the prospect of making a sexy tape, it's very
unlikely that it's going to happen and even less likely that
I'd get a copy to send to you. See where all this is heading?
I wrote to you about my fantasy of you discovering me
sunbathing in a secluded spot and offering to rub oil on my
naked skin and seeing where that would lead. I've made the
foundation of that fantasy into a reality and you've correctly
pointed out that it's something you'd refuse to consummate.
I felt both irritated and disappointed at first, then enjoyed
the challenge of overcoming your resistance, then realized I
must respect your principles. To be honest, given how much
time and affection you have put into learning who I really am
inside and what my feelings are, I think I could easily spend
a few lazy hours making love to you under the sun without any
qualms of conscience. Whether I would still feel that way in
June is another question....
But now it's occurred to me this week that there's an
opportunity here that's too incredibly precious to waste. If
you haven't already guessed it from this long preamble (you
can tell when my phone's not ringing and nobody's barging in
here by how wordy and slow my prose becomes), let me update my
previous scenario:
Like before, you go to a prespecified location and find a
sexy, scantily dressed sunbather, totally oblivious to your
approach. Nearby is a small sportsbag and you walk up to it.
Tearing your eyes away from the delicious sight, you discover
there's a card on the bag saying "Hi, Bruce!". You snatch up
the bag and retreat back into the bushes. Inside, as
expected, you find a camcorder loaded with a fresh two hour
tape. You experiment for a few minutes until you become
confident with the camera's operation, then you creep back to
where you can spy on the sunbather. As you focus the camera
on her and start the tape rolling, she sits up and stretches.
Then, totally unaware that anyone is lurking nearby, she
begins to put on an amazing show...
[This show would undoubtedly include the realistic feeling/looking
U-shaped large-cock small-cock dildo that I'd sent her, and a
collection of her other toys and practices.]
There are lots of ways this [visit] could develop, and other
variations involving scanty attire and semi-public places or
even shopping malls, but the general theme is the same. I
would ensure that there was a supply of tapes in the bag and
you would ensure that neither of us would get the other into
trouble with the law or into embarrassing situations with
local acquaintances. You could remain distant and totally
silent, or we could meet and plan and maybe end up fucking in
the Dickmore Inn, or it could be anywhere in between these
extremes. At the end, the bag with the camera is given back
to me, the tapes are left with you. With one big commitment:
you have to make copies for me and write out your impressions
of everything you've captured on tape. Nothing will be said
or done on tape to reveal who I am, but local landmarks will
be included to prove that the filming was done in Bush.
I will finally have a chance to see exactly what my victims
have seen while I teased them (and can replay it over and over
to my horny, egotistical delight) and you will have a video
record of some anonymous slut who happened through town one
summer. What do you think? Are you willing to do this for
me? You are the only person on earth I can trust to do this,
both to feel safe while I'm exhibiting and to entrust the
tapes to afterwards, to say nothing of having the right
background and erotic eye to capture me properly on tape. Not
that I'm trying to pressure you into agreeing or anything....
Think it over. We've got over four months so you don't have
to say yes right away. But don't say no, please.
I'd already fantasized about filming you as you performed unaware
of me, but I preferred to leave the decision to do so totally up to
you, so that it would be very much the way I wanted you to do it -
totally voluntarily and even eagerly.
Certainly voluntarily and eagerly, but also warily. I know
that I can trust you completely, but it still takes a huge act
of faith on my part to commit to this. And let's be honest,
this might be a one-time-only chance of a lifetime and if I
don't leap at this, I might be kicking myself for years to
come. On the other hand, realize that I will be placing my
life and reputation in your hands, and you know just how true
that is given what you know of me.
Your various stipulations for each of us are things that we each
were pretty obviously ready to take for granted.
I don't know if I included my most important stipulation, or
I perhaps just glossed over it too quickly. I want an
on-the-spot commentary. While you are videotaping the
suntanning slut, you have to put the mike on and describe (in
that great soft, sexy voice) what you're watching and how it
makes you feel and what it makes you want to do. If you can
manage a virtual stream of consciousness type of commentary,
that would be perfect. This may sound absurd and egotistical
to you, but it's very important to me to hear the horny
thoughts of my audience, too!
The idea of 'secretly' taping you was one that I'd either mentioned
or contemplated and discarded as being something that you would
certainly NOT want me to do, or trust me to do.
I want you to do it and I trust you to guard the tapes with
your life. Because they will be, quite literally, my life.
I'll be perfectly honest with you and admit to having some
misgivings about this, but as I said earlier, I'll never have
an opportunity like this again.
I fear, though, that it might be necessary to spend more than one
time filming, given the various possible sites/sights.
I'm sure I can tear myself away from visiting all the local
art galleries long enough to arrange more than one shooting.
Part of the reason I'll be in your area for three days is
because I want to be sure to have at least one bright, sunny
day. But if we get three sunny days, then I'd want to put
them all to good use. Or if the weather is poor, there must
be lots of other places around your city (malls, campus
buildings, whatever) where a girl could discreetly enjoy
herself without being aware of a sneaky photographer catching
it all on tape.
To confirm a probable given, I naturally will at no stage do
anything to place you in any danger, threat of embarrassment, or
any situation that you would find distasteful - as judged by your
comments about what you do and do not find exciting.
And I will give you my promise that I will in turn treat you
the same way. In the months to come, however, I do want to
discuss the idea of "threat of embarrassment". There's a
great deal of enjoyment to be had (for me) from that threat,
plus I will have the greater freedom to place myself in
embarrassing situations and enjoy the thrills. If something
goes wrong and I become humiliated, I'll be on a plane soon
after and thousands of miles away with no chance of ever
facing my audience again. All of which gives me far greater
scope and opportunity. I'm much more concerned that YOU avoid
any embarrassment because you'll have to remain in the
community long after I've disappeared and become only a memory
and huge lump in some boy's pants...
That said, do you wish to be fully informed of my various plans
and schemes?
Definitely. It's not a matter of trust, it's just a basic
need on my part to know what's going to happen in any
situation and what's expected of me. And, who knows, perhaps
if I know your plans ahead of time, I can suggest improvements
or more interesting alternatives.
One thing that we should agree on is safewords like 'Doughnut" (=
Slow down/Cool it!), and "Chicken soup" (= STOP NOW!!!!), or
whatever. I don't think that either of us would likely need them,
but it might let us each be just a bit more comfortable.
Comfortable doing what? I'm not thinking of any bondage scenes
or threatening stunts. I was anticipating suntanning and all
the teases that go with that, and strutting my stuff around a
few malls or public places and getting in some exhibitionism.
Why will we need safewords? (These plans and schemes of yours
are sounding more intriguing all the time...)
[... Getting back to the initial meeting] Make sure that the
sunning areas are as secluded as possible but can be found
with simple directions. [The easiest way of doing this was to
send her lots of photographs of the route she'd follow, along
with a map.] Given my choice, I would very much like your
first glimpse of me to be when I am stretched out under the
sun and wearing as little as possible. Which is not to say
that I can't be stunning in a business suit or casual wear,
but after all I've written to you about my past, I want you to
first discover me as I'm suntanning in something I would never
wear in public.
What happens here is pretty well up to you, but it would help if
the camcorder had a viewer on the top, a fairly long battery life
and back up batteries. The best place I can think of for our
purposes is about a mile walk in from the road. Is that OK?
Okay by me, I'm in good shape and can walk for miles,
providing the terrain isn't too rough and there's no snakes.
[I assured her that the largest threat by far was from the
infamous and wide-spread Pink Pork Snake, which she claimed to
be experienced with.] All I'm really concerned about is that
I can find the exact spot easily from the map you'll make for
me. It would be a horrible joke (emphasis on the horrible)
for me to spend an entire day squirming horny in the sun while
you're stalking around somewhere else in the forest and unable
to find me because I'm in the wrong spot. [That was soon
sorted out.]
The camcorder should also have a small (1'?) tripod for hands-off
shooting. (There's a phrase for you!) In return, if and when I did
approach you sunning yourself, I intend to do so with a totally
ludicrous pickup line, one I hope you'll get a kick out of and play
along with as a totally naive bimbo.
I have lots of experience and a great talent for playing a
bimbo. Now you've really got my curiosity up. I only hope
that after waiting for a score of weeks to have my curiosity
sated, I can respond the way you want me to. If the line is
really as ludicrous as you claim, you may just crack me up and
find out firsthand if I really do laugh like a horse or not.
[The ludicrous pickup line was "What Mosquito Blocking Factor does
your sun tan lotion have?" followed by a stupid tale about how here
the mosquitos hunted in packs and particularly loved those moist
dark hidden parts of human anatomy, which could be severely damaged
by their assaults. Naturally, I'd just 'happen' to have a bottle
of (clearly amateurishly labelled) suntan lotion with a 69 MBF.]
One thing *I'd* like to consider is your having the camcorder in
disguise aiming out from between/beside your legs, to capture the
various sneaky peeks from passersby.
It's certainly a possibility, but to be honest it would hold
no special appeal to me. I'm also not sure how to go about
doing it or what kind of arrangements would be necessary to
pull it off. And wouldn't you wind up with a six hour tape
that has only a few minutes of glimpses of people walking past
the frame? Maybe it would be better for me to walk down the
street wearing something that I'm sure is rarely seen in Bush
and you can walk behind and tape the reactions of guys walking
towards me. Or, if you have sidewalk cafes, I could sit in an
advantageous spot, nursing my coffee and accidentally exposing
myself to guys while you sit somewhere nearby and tape their
reactions. I'm also concerned for your own reputation and
profile in your community. It might not look good for a local
prof to be seen walking down the street with a videocamera
behind a girl in a tight leather micro-mini...
The one thing wrong with that [camera between the thighs] is that
it has the potential for embarrassing snaps of colleagues.
You also want to ensure that you suffer no embarrassment
yourself from being seen with a videocamera or with me, and
especially both me and the camera together.
[After the meeting in the woods] the camcorder goes into The Bag,
with its lens against one end. The Bag is a small shoulder bag for
gym clothes or whatever, and is probably rather scruffy and cheap.
It has black end panels. Inside The Bag is enough padding to hold
the camcorder in an upright position, and perhaps tilted up
slightly, with the lens of the camcorder now covered by a light
nylon stocking (to reduce glare) and with the end of the bag having
a black mesh material glued over a suitable hole. The controls of
the camcorder are readily accessible, especially for someone who's
been mailed a copy of the operating instructions in order to make
best use of the device.
This sounds fascinating. You've really thought this through,
or else you've done this before. (Have you been fooling
around with other sluts before me? Tsk! Tsk!) How about,
I'll bring all the video stuff, you prepare The Bag?
[I now responded with a collection of possible ideas.]
The campus tour (Student Center, library, concert, arts grope):
Lots of stuff here. Our favorite slut is tastefully dressed in a
flouncy and translucent mini, and a quiet T, sweater or blouse.
No problem. I have a flouncy mini that I don't usually wear
since it looks a bit young on me and is too short to be seen
by anyone I know. It's about the length of a cheerleader's
skirt and is a light mint green. I've got a number of tops
that would go with it, ranging from respectable to ragged T,
and can keep my eye out for something new.
At the Student Center, there is a row of easy chairs facing a large
full-length window, with everyone sitting in them resting their
feet on a foot-high foot rest. Anyone in one of the chairs silly
enough to wear a miniskirt would be pretty exposed to the outside
world and yet could be oblivious to the fact.
This sounds ideal. I just LOVE situations like this,
especially when I won't have to search for them or scout out
the situation ahead of time. Your advice is going to be
fabulous. I'm SO glad that I've acted on this opportunity.
The seating in the eating areas provides some prime opportunities
for extended looks up skirts, and for knees to part dramatically as
bodies swing sideways out of chairs. A superwide stairway-like
seating area just outside the SC allows for a variety of positions
for aligning pussies and lines-of-sight. The Bag captures the
displays and, at other times, the reactions. Another possibility
is your sitting on the grass by the little stream that runs the
center of campus, staring at the water as your panties peek out at
passers-by on the path opposite.
This gets better by the minute! Especially if you're left
holding the bag and can film the best shots. It also appeals
to me to pass myself off as a coed again. I still find myself
replaying the incidents/accidents on campus in Txxxx when I'm
masturbating. It would be fabulous to play the sexy little
prickteasing coed again, especially if somebody could get it
all down on tape for me!
A classroom has steeply banked tiers of seats. A slut is one of the
first ones in after the end of the previous class and takes up a
seat on the aisle about a third of the way up, knees parted and
aiming at the door and the incoming students.
This wouldn't be one of the classrooms you normally use, would
it? This wouldn't just happen to be a fantasy of yours that
I would act out, perhaps? Maybe make one of your dreams come
true and let you tape it?
She's so deep in reviewing her notes or the day's paper, that she
totally fails to notice her exposure. Just before the class
starts, she gathers her stuff and walks out - from the previous
class, apparently.
Will there be classes on at the beginning of June? Will it
draw undue attention to you if you're lurking around with The
Bag in your own classroom? I'm happy to do all this, and
more, but I want to make absolutely certain that you're not
compromised or embarrassed in any way, and it'll be entirely
up to you to set those guidelines and let me know.
If there's an empty lecture theatre or classroom, we could put
it to good use if it's safe to do so. You could stand down
below with the camera out and I could ignore you and go in and
sit down and act like a student just normally waiting for a
class to start, then put on an accidental show that you'll
never forget. Or we could do it in your office or some place
very significant to you. Or I could just pretend to be a
scantily dressed coed who is studying somewhere semi-private
while your voyeuristic camera happens to zoom in on all sorts
of forbidden glimpses.
There's an outdoor noon-hour concert, with students standing or
sitting on the grass. The above mentioned slut is sufficiently
engrossed in the music that she fails to notice that sitting with
her knees under her chin doesn't conceal the fact that she's
wearing very bright panties - or none.
Another nice scenario, if there's sufficient numbers around.
I can also be as blatant as you want me to be (barring getting
arrested) since I'll be a thousand miles away from home and in
the area for only a few days.
The next recalls a fond memory of mine.
I'll be happy to reenact this memory, or any others that you
may have. I just LOVE accidental teasing and knowing that
somebody's taping it all will be an even greater kick.
I was walking to class when I passed a young woman standing at the
corner of LBJ Hall. She was obviously waiting for someone, since
she was nicely dressed: blue pill box hat, modest amount of makeup,
a bit of jewellery, blue-grey (wool?) jacket and skirt and good
shoes. She was facing roughly in my direction as I approached. I
noticed her first because of the attention she was receiving from
the passers-by; the attention was semi-concealed but wide-spread.
She was, at best, a shapely but plain looking girl, and the
attention that she and her very good outfit were attracting had
obviously been noticed by her, because she had an almost luminous
glow and her pleasure and excitement were concealed but still very
apparent. As I walked by, I wondered what to do. Should I
approach her myself, or approach some female student and ask her to
relay, tactfully, the message that the hem of the girl's short
flared mini had been caught in her panties and about two inches of
her translucent white panties were on display for all to see?
Prudence and my class prevailed and I left her to her fate.
I wonder what her fate was. I hope that her skirt fell (or
was tugged) down into place without her knowing it, or that
she found her exposure and corrected it without realizing that
that's what everyone had noticed her for.
I'd be interested in watching the reactions of passers-by to an
attractive woman in a similar dilemma, as she studied them from
behind sunglasses - probably with her panties getting increasingly
damp as she watched them watch her.
Then, it's off to the library, and more places to sit with one's
feet up and (fresh?) panties in view. Bending over straight
legged, or squatting spread-kneed to get to the lower shelves might
be fun and filmable.
Wouldn't it be fun to make a voyeur's delight film? I could
do all sorts of "normal" things around campus, acting like
just a silly young coed who dresses in unfashionably scanty
attire to beat the heat, while someone stalks me with a camera
and captures all sorts of shocking things on tape. I love it!
I'm getting horny just thinking about it! (Okay, so I've been
really horny for days just anticipating Saturday night, but
with the time so close I'm now feeling it / enjoying it a lot
more than I have all week.)
Then, there are all of those cute little study offices around the
perimeter of the various levels of the library that a prof might
get a key to and make available to a visitor. They ARE a bit
crowded for two, though.
Now, WHAT would we possibly want with one of those? I mean,
if I were to find myself in one of those places with a man who
has asked me not to break his marriage vows, what on earth
would I get up to? Suggestions?
Sean's trip
While our nosy prof waits outside on the second floor of the
Science Complex building and records a bit with the bag, our slut
wiggles into the unisex washroom down one corridor. Inside, she
washes all makeup off and undresses, changing into a bust
flattening bra, a baggy sweater, the pants and sneakers. ...
[Details deleted, since she replied as below.]
I have some misgivings about this. Maybe I'm just too
conceited or vain, but I think I'd really have a lot of
trouble passing myself of as anything but a woman. Taking off
makeup is a lot more than just a five minute operation and
while my figure might disappear under baggy clothing, my
posture and body language would surely still identify me as a
woman.
To Be Continued
[I'll be posting the followup in a day or two, so that the two parts
don't get out of sequence.]
|
|
