I don’t think of myself as an exhibitionist.
This is strange, considering how much I love having sex in public. (So. Much.) The potential of being seen – not actually being seen, but just the possibility – makes my knickers slicker than a snake oil salesman. When The Texan suggested we go off the trail while hiking for a quickie, I almost died of pure joy. Seeing a hiker off in the distance – not close enough to see us, but close enough to want to investigate should we make more noise – made me clench around him tighter.
There was an evening a couple of years ago when I was walking around a playground taking pictures with a partner when he suddenly reached under my dress to slide my red panties off (putting them in his breast pocket like a gentleman), sat me down on a piece of equipment, pushed my skirt up, and started lapping at me; I think I came in under a minute, and it was incredibly intense. It was the only time I ever had an orgasm from oral sex with that partner (whom I otherwise had a MILLION vaginal orgasms with); he thought for sure it was because we were outside where people might see us. I shrugged that idea off – until I started taking naked photos of myself.
I cannot get through a photo shoot without wanking. Something about knowing that I’m taking these photos to show other people – that I’m exposing myself to someone who at the time of the shoot is unseen, someone who might be turned on by those pictures – arouses me to no end. If you’ve seen Sinful Sunday photos of me, you can be sure that a) my cunt was shiny and slippery at the time, and b) I stopped taking photos at some point in order to rub one out.
I love walking around my apartment naked and fucking in windows, always wondering if anyone is looking up or over and then won’t be able to get it out of their head for weeks; I also have stranger gangbang fantasies that I don’t actually want to enact.
Still – I don’t consider myself an exhibitionist. I don’t want to watch other people watching me. I don’t want to directly expose myself to people without their consent, my sexual gratification isn’t reliant on other people’s reactions, etc. The idea of going to orgies or swinger’s clubs doesn’t really appeal to me except as a novelty.
Thinking about someone happening to look over from their apartment to see my sweaty body pressed against the 18th story window as I was getting pounded from behind this summer in my friend’s apartment – hoping that it’s a catalyst for a wave of desire that then consumes that person and carries over into their sexual relationships – makes my pulse quicken.
Riding The Texan on a picnic bench in the dark last year, his dick barely out of his jeans and my dress hitched up around my waist, knowing that anyone could stumble into the area of the park we were in at any moment – even if it was highly unlikely – engulfed me in a desperate, greedy lust.
Not seeing you, but knowing you’re there – invisible, but felt – makes my body stand on edge, warm and wanting.