I’ve always had exhibitionist tendencies, I suppose. From my earliest days I can recall becoming excited by my own nakedness, particularly when someone – an unknown, unseen someone – could also see it. I remember as a young girl, probably about eight or nine, lying in the garden on an old rug and looking at the windows around me. There weren’t many, only about three or four houses in a row, but each window, anonymous and dark, held the promise of an unseen observer and I grew very excited as I imagined who might be watching. I folded the blanket over me and slipped out of my clothes, feeling a tremendous rush of what I now know as sexual energy as I peeled off my final sock and lay completely naked beneath the blanket, in full view of the neighbours. My nakedness – or at least the excitement it engendered – was almost physical, making my body tingle with anticipation. Anticipation of what I had no idea, being so young, but even then I knew that displaying my body was something I enjoyed.
That day I didn’t dare pull the blanket from me to reveal myself fully – that landmark in my sexual development came a few years later. I was a student in my first year at university, virginal and shy. I had had a sheltered upbringing and so, while in retrospect I can see I adapted and matured very quickly, at the time I felt gauche and inferior in comparison to my more experienced friends.
It was a particularly fine day, I guess at the end of September or early October, one of those days when autumn forgets itself and mimics the gentle promise of spring, with fresh sun and warm breeze and gentle, vivid air. I had taken myself out for a drive, investigating the craggy countryside. Avril, who had the room next to mine in our six-bedroom student flat, had brought a man home the previous evening, and I discovered for the first time how thin the walls were. The sounds of their lovemaking had gone on into the early hours and I lay next door, frustrated and curious, desperate for knowledge. Listening intently, I stroked my slit in rhythm with the lovers next door, but didn’t dare take myself to climax for fear of letting out a moan and alerting people to what I was doing. I can laugh now, but at the time I didn’t see any incongruity in my reticence.
And so, the next day, I was still feeling aroused and dissatisfied. As I drove I pressed my hand over my crotch, pushing my palm over my clitoris. I could feel the excitement filter through my body, raising my nipples erect and sensitive, flushing my face and neck and tingling down my arms and thighs. In my distracted state I feared I was becoming something of a traffic hazard and pulled over into the next layby.
I was highly sexually charged, and yet very inexperienced. I think that was a factor in what I did next: I had so much excitement running through my body I had to release it somehow and, not having experience of more conventional methods, invented my own. My initial thought was that I was going to masturbate in the car, bring myself off so I could continue with my drive unaffected by libidinous overload. There were lots of cars and lorries passing, however, and it felt impractical and unsatisfying. I had parked next to a wooded area, dark and secluded, and somehow the thought entered my head to go there to conduct my solo lovemaking. It’d be quieter and more sheltered than doing it in the car, I thought.
As soon as the idea entered my head it took over. My excitement doubled, trebled, my body trembling at the thought of masturbating outdoors. Although my first thought had been that the woods would offer more privacy than my car, it was the notion of being outdoors, in the open, which really galvanized me. I got out of the car and jumped over the crumbling wall into the wood. It was overgrown and unkempt, broken branches and the crumbly, fragrant residue of several years fallen growth scattered over the ground. I scrabbled through, fighting against increasingly dense undergrowth, beginning to regret my decision and trying to convince myself that I wouldn’t do what I had set out to.
But I knew I would.
As I walked on, deeper into the wood, I stroked myself through my jeans. I was tingling with anticipation, imagining playing with myself while sitting in the open woods. I undid my button and slid the zip down, feeling the air against my panties. With my hand pressed against my mons, fingers sliding across my slit, feeling my lips swell beneath the cotton of my panties, I walked on determinedly. My initial thought had simply been to find a broken tree to sit on while I frigged myself, but I was growing more horny with every step.
I’m going to strip, I thought. Completely naked.
I conducted an argument in my head, alternately convincing myself that I would indeed go through with it and that there was no need to worry because I would never do anything so foolish. Deep down, though, I think I knew what would happen, I think I knew which argument would prevail.
I came to a clearing. There was a big, fallen tree resting across it, offering a perfect perch. I looked around. Nothing, no noise but for the rustle of the remaining leaves and the solitary cries of a couple of birds. If I was going to do it, this would be the place. Negotiating with myself, I tried to reach a decision, all the while resting on the tree and pressing my palm against my clitoris. Quietly, I slid my jeans over my bum and dropped them to my knees. Unrestricted, I could now part my legs and settle my fingers against my slit. It was soaked, my juices oozing into my panties. I wanted to take them off, to reveal myself to the world. Looking round, feeling very exposed, I raised myself from the tree trunk and slid my panties down, gasping as the cool wind drew across my pussy lips for the first time.
My body began to respond as I stroked up and down my lips and played my thumb around my clitoris. I became flushed and aroused, quickly losing sight of common-sense. I wanted to be naked. I wanted to be exposed. Looking through the clearing once more, I gripped my T-shirt and raised it over my head. The coolness of the wind against my skin was electrifying. Reaching behind, I unclasped my bra and let it fall to the ground, and instantly my nipples swelled more stiffly than I had ever experienced. They were almost painfully erect, my puckered areolae enhancing the effect and making my nipples appear to stick out much further than ever before. By now I was concentrating almost exclusively on my clitoris, stroking my index finger round and round, dragging the nail against it, squeezing it between thumb and middle finger.
I stood up. This was the moment of no return. I knew now that I would go through with it, that within moments I would be completely naked. I undid my shoes and heaved them off, followed by my socks. Stopping for one final – and by now pointless – look around the clearing, I slid my jeans and panties down and stepped out of them.
I was totally naked.
An overwhelming rush of sexual arousal flew through my veins and nerves, leaving me gasping. I was senseless by now, overcome by the knowledge that I was completely naked, outdoors, and that anyone could see me. Somehow, it didn’t seem enough: I wasn’t exposed enough, because my clothes were at hand. If someone were to come I could make myself decent relatively quickly, and that wasn’t good enough. I was coming to understand the nature of my exhibitionism.
Picking my way gingerly over the rough ground, I walked to the far end of the clearing, away from my clothes, away from safety. The air against my skin was delicious, each gust of wind adding a frisson of excitment. Some thirty yards from where I had undressed I stopped and leaned against an old oak, bending and sitting on my haunches, legs spread wide. I closed my eyes and pressed my thumb hard to my clitoris, stroking my fingers furiously against my engorged lips. I began to moan and scream as an extraordinary set of reverberations, vibrations and whirling, whorling eddies began in my belly and womb and alighted across my arms, legs, fingers, toes, bursting through my head and hijacking my brain with visions of ecstasy and notions of lust.
My climax came, my body ripped asunder by wave after wave, my skin alive with lust. I continued to stroke myself gingerly, forgoing my now too sensitive clitoris and sliding against the sticky moistness of my lips. I opened my eyes.
And saw a man.
He was old, around fifty, I guess. He was watching me intently, making no attempt to conceal himself. I screamed and jumped up, my nakedness no longer an exciting indulgence but a fearful, humiliating encumbrance. The man appeared startled by my sudden movement and backed away. Stopping for one final look he turned – reluctantly, I fancied – and walked away.
But it was too late. I knew I should have felt ashamed. I knew that it should have taught me a lesson. But I also knew, deep in my soul, that what had occurred was the most exciting thing I had ever encountered. I had been caught, and I loved it.
I went back to the woods three times in the next couple of weeks. Each time, I tried to stop myself but I couldn’t. In rational moments, surrounded by my unsuspecting friends and the totems of normality, I knew what I was doing was foolish, and in those moments I could easily persuade myself that I would not succumb again; but then, alone and tortured by memories of the excitement of exposure, my resolve crumbled and I would find myself driving once more to the woods.
Of course, what I really craved was for the man to return. That would make my exhibition complete. Those three return visits were satisfactory, but failed to live up to the drama of my first encounter: without the denouement of discovery, they were merely a taster, foreplay before the main event. As I stripped and cavorted around the clearing, I would look for him, hoping beyond hope that he would reappear.
Finally, he did.
By my fifth trip to the woods, I had started to strip off as I walked. Barely beyond the wall beside the layby I peeled off my T-shirt and bra and sauntered, topless, into the depths of the wood. It was well into autumn by now, and the sharpness of the air added an extra dimension to my excitement, a frisson of coldness shivering around my body. I found my way to the clearing, my jeans and panties sliding over my backside, and settled on the toppled tree.
I was overtaken by the wanted sense of danger and adventure. My heart was racing, my ears pounding, and in my stomach the steady stirrings of excitement were presenting themselves. There are times when you know, an instant before it occurs, that something is about to happen. This was such an occasion: for some reason I knew the man was there. As I bent to untie my shoes I saw a movement in the distance. An immediate stab of panic speared my chest and my heart stopped for an instant. Without raising my head, I looked up and searched the trees.
It was him.
He was standing, as before, watching me impassively. I felt afraid, instantly cursing myself for my stupidity. But at the same time I felt a surge of sexual release, an intense excitement which was almost overwhelming. My heart was hammering in my chest – I fancied I could even see it – and I knew my face was flushed with embarrassment. It was difficult to understand the emotions welling inside me: part of me wanted to run away from this terrible situation, fearful and repulsed in equal measure; but another part of me was drawn to the danger and stimulation. There was no doubt, finally, which emotion would triumph. Slowly and methodically, I continued, forcing myself to do what I knew to be wrong. I slid off my left shoe and then the right, then peeled off my socks. Still giving no indication that I had seen my observer, I stood up and slid my jeans down to my ankles and stepped out of them. I didn’t know if he was still there or had disappeared as he did the time before, but somehow that uncertainty increased my excitement.
This was the moment of truth. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, bending and slipping them over first my left and then my right foot. Holding them in my right hand, I stretched my arm and let them dangle to my side. I looked up directly at where he had been, praying he would still be there.
He was.
Our eyes met and I smiled. I shook my panties provocatively and let them drop to the woodland floor and stood completely naked before my watcher. I walked away from my clothes, never letting my eyes leave his, towards an upturned tree stump and draped myself across it, leaning back and feeling the cold, hard edge of wood rasp against my skin. Drawing my hand towards my crotch, I let my fingers explore, seeking out my slit, parting my lips, coating them with my moisture, dragging upwards, up towards my swelling clitoris.
All the while, the man remained immobile, watching me. I felt such a peak of excitement that I fancied I was becoming detached from reality. The clearing began to spin and turn, twisting around me, until I felt I were floating, rising above myself, shucking free from my own body. I began to feel as though I were a spirit, watching myself – watching myself being watched, an observer of the observed. My body was electrified, my senses heightened to an unprecedented pitch. I thought I had achieved the ultimate satisfaction.
And then the man started to move. He began to walk steadily towards the clearing, treading carefully while still keeping his gaze on me. Panic and excitement can be almost indistinguishable emotions, firing the same neurons and afflicting the same senses. I don’t know which I felt at that moment – probably both. I knew I was in danger: I had no idea who this man was and yet I had allowed him to observe me masturbating and now remained still while he approached me. And yet, the danger was thrilling, inspiring in me an intense and deep-rooted sense of fulfilment.
The man was approaching my clothes, about twenty yards from me. He stopped beside the untidy pile and we stared at one another silently. I was still stretched back on the tree stump and I twisted myself to the right so that I was facing him directly. Slowly, I parted my legs. He nodded slightly, but made no other response.
I had no idea how things would resolve. I was afraid that he would approach, that he would wish to touch me, to join me. That wasn’t part of the game. With increasing agitation I watched as he bent and began to pick up my clothing. He took my panties and stuffed them into a pocket, then grabbed the rest of my belongings. Gathering them to his chest, he stood before me silently, almost challengingly, then turned and began to walk away.
I resisted the temptation to shout out, but only just. The situation was sliding out of my control but, I realized, wasn’t that exactly what I wanted? The man was toying with me – watching silently and then helping himself to my clothing. We both knew we were engaged in a game, and the excitement was derived from not understanding what the game was. Or how it would finish.
My hands were shaking and a constant tremble had settled in my thighs as I rose from the tree stump and began to follow the man. It was hard going, as I had nothing on my feet, but he walked slowly, looking back every so often. He was drawing me towards him and I was helpless, with no option but to follow. We were headed back in the direction of my car and gradually the wood began to thin, increasing shafts of daylight penetrating the high cover and basking us in cold sun. With each step my exposure felt more extreme and it was becoming increasingly difficult to prevent myself from shouting out to him to stop. He was leading and I wanted to follow, but my courage was slipping.
Still he marched on, and I realized that he intended to go all the way to the edge of the wood. As he reached the little stone wall at the layby he turned and faced me. I stood still, completely exposed, fear coursing through my body. The man felt in the pocket of my jeans and picked out my car keys. Mimicking the way I had dangled my panties before him, he swung them in front of me for a moment, then turned and climbed over the wall, out of the wood.
I almost screamed at that point. Fuck, I thought, he’s going to take my car, leave me stranded, with no clothes. I scrabbled up the slope towards the wall. I heard my car door open and close and began to cry as thoughts flashed through my mind of how I was going to extricate myself from this. I reached the wall and looked over, willing myself not to hear the sound of the engine starting.
The man was in the passenger seat, watching me. My clothes were piled on the roof of the car, on the far side nearest the road. Instantly, fear became excitement, those twin emotions alternating once more in my mind. The game was still on.
I readied myself and summoned up my reserves of courage. Listening for the sound of approaching traffic, I climbed over the wall and scrambled back onto the layby. As I did so a car passed, but it was travelling too fast and I was standing too far back in the layby for the driver to see me. Emboldened, I stood tall and walked towards the car. The man was watching me closely, observing my reactions, and I was determined to show no fear. I slowed my walk to a crawl, the fear of discovery by a passing vehicle creeping across my skin, but I refused to let it dominate me. I walked round the car and onto the main road, stopping by the rear passenger door. I looked up and down the road. There was a car approaching, a couple of hundred yards away and instinct yelled at me to get in my car and hide. The game dictated otherwise, and I made a great play of gathering my clothing from the roof of the car, securing it carefully to my breast before proceeding. As the car neared I opened the back door and slid in, out of sight. I was closing the door as it passed.
I looked up and faced the man in the passenger seat. He smiled.
He was in his mid-fifties, craggy-faced and impassive. Deep set eyes, brown and hard, appraised me carefully, his wide, thin mouth fixed certainly. He was handsome in the way that all confident men are, self-assurance ascribing a nobility to the features that, individually, they might not warrant. He was dressed casually, in browns and greens, a countryman with no sense of fashion. His body was strong, with a broad chest and enormous hands and long, thin legs. He watched me sardonically, but chose not to say anything. I was glad about that.
I felt immensely self-conscious, almost humiliated, seated in the back of my own car, completely naked while a stranger sat watching from the front. His gaze wandered over my body, and I felt his eyes bore into my breasts and down my stomach, towards my bush and the hidden features below. My body was tingling. My nipples were hardened and erect and my stomach was churning. I wanted him to see. I wanted him to see everything. I didn’t understand it, but it was important to me that I exposed myself completely to the watcher.
I slid down the seat and settled myself. Our eyes met, and slowly I looked downwards towards my pussy. His eyes followed and when he was staring directly at me I slowly began to part my legs, stretching them wide, opening myself before him. I slid forward once more and lay before him, totally exposed. An involuntary sigh rose from my chest as I played my hand towards my slit, running my fingers the length of my lips and parting them, easing them aside, opening up the pinkness and moistness within. All the while he stared intently, drinking up the vision before him. I began to stroke my fingers up and down my lips, sometimes outside, sometimes inside, feeling them swell with excitement, while my thumb circled my clitoris, round and round, tantalizingly, exquisitely. Hooking my left arm under my thigh, I stretched towards my backside and pressed my middle finger against my hole, probing and teasing, while my right hand continued to draw me towards a climax.
I forced myself not to close my eyes as the moment approached – I was determined to see the watcher’s reaction. My middle finger was in my arse by now, probing and twisting, and my thumb was pressed hard to my clitoris. I began to squeeze it and slide my fingers either side, pushing myself to the boundaries where pain and pleasure meet. I gasped as the first wave of my climax jolted out of my womb and down my thighs and into my toes. Another followed, and another, and then they began to merge into one another as my body was consumed by the fire of fulfilment. My eyes were closing automatically, but I forced myself to watch the watcher, an additional shiver of satisfaction sliding through me as I saw the sly contentment on his face. I was panting like a dog, mouth opened wide, the trauma of my delight etched in my expression, as the waves flooded through my veins and nerves, flesh and bone.
Slowly, the rush began to subside and I was left, tingling, hot and flushed, on the back seat. My inclination then was to cover myself, the moment over, but I chose not to. Rather, I stretched myself even wider apart, hooking my leg over the front seat and pulling my arse cheeks apart, so that the watcher had a clear view of everything. Somehow, that felt even more erotic. Before, I had been performing, indulging in a sexual act. Now, I was just wanton, spread casually before a stranger. It gave me the most extraordinary sense of humiliation and liberation, all at once. And at that moment – only at that moment – I felt complete, and satisfied.
The watcher seemed to sense this. He nodded, his expression unchanged, and yet I knew he was pleased. He took my panties from his pocket and kissed them. Watching me, following my expression, he slowly returned them to the pocket. I nodded.
The watcher opened the door and without looking back walked back into the woods.