That started my fetish. In the beginning, the bus and a few restaurants were where I gave little flashes of myself, but I’ve since moved on to the park. I like the smell of nature and the breeze on my flesh.
As I watch the guy across from me practically salivating, I can’t help but wish he were someone else. Someone with rich brown hair, melted-chocolate eyes, a deep gravelly voice, and a body I know I could spend hours worshiping.
I may get my kicks from showing my body to random strangers, but at night, when I slide my fingers between my legs and find my release, it’s to thoughts of Dr. Erikson.
I first sought out a psychologist at the urging of my friend, Layla, when I nearly got caught by the police in the park across town. Fortunately for me, just as I was handing the cop my license so he could write me a ticket for indecent exposure, he got a call on his radio and had to rush off. The experience scared the shit out of me, but not enough to keep me from finding another park the next week.
I didn’t know the psychologist I would be seeing would darn near knock me on my ass the first time I walked into his office. Sitting across from him every week for the past six months has been delicious torture. Never has the need to lift my skirt and show off what’s underneath been so strong as during my sessions. There’s been so many times I almost parted my legs, just enough to give him a glimpse and have him wanting more.
And I know I’m not the only one who feels the intense chemistry between us. If his eyes didn’t tell me he wanted me just as much as I want him, the hard bulge between his legs he always tries to hide would.
The only reason I haven’t given in to the need is fear of rejection. Dr. Erikson can want me all he wants. That doesn’t mean he’ll act on his desires. I’m not sure I could take him turning me away. Not to mention the chance of him stopping our appointments. I’m not ready to give up seeing him yet. Not because the sessions are helping, but because I genuinely enjoy being in his company.
I partially gave in to my need at my appointment last week, lifting my skirt just high enough to show my garter belt and the creamy skin of my upper thigh…. I was so wet when I left his office, I’m surprised I didn’t leave a spot on his chair. I had an emergency at work I had to take care of, but before I went to the office, I had to go home and relieve some of the built-up pressure.
My next appointment is tomorrow, and the anticipation of seeing Dr. Erikson again has my legs clamping shut as I rub them together. The guy on the bench is forgotten as I close my eyes and mentally wonder what my psychologist’s hands, tongue, and dick would feel like. Would he be a rough lover, or gentle? Would he be selfless and demand my own pleasure before seeking his? Would he fuck me from behind, pulling my hair as he slams into me? Or would he make sweet love to me as he gazes down into my eyes?
I open my eyes and realize my hand is only inches from my pussy. My gaze darts to the man on the bench. His mouth is open as he pants, and he looks seconds away from whipping out his dick and jacking off right here for everyone to see.
I gather my things and, after slipping on my blazer, I stand from the bench, pushing my skirt back down. The guy looks ready to approach me, but before he can do so, I briskly walk away.
Every step I take sends exquisite pleasure between my legs as I leave the park behind and head toward home.
3
Bryan
I cross my arms over my chest and lean my shoulder against the tree, my baseball cap and shades shielding me. My eyes zero in on the female across the sidewalk with her legs spread several inches. Her shirt is damn near see-through; enough that I can see her dark nipples. It’s a shame I don’t have a direct view of her pussy. I’m always forced to stand off to the side for fear of her seeing me, so I never get a good glimpse between her legs. Even so, I know she’s bare beneath her skirt.
My dick twitches, and I bite the inside of my cheek as a distraction from stalking over to her, falling to my knees, flipping up her skirt, and devouring the treasure I’m sure to find.
My gaze moves to the man she’s putting on a show for. I barely stop myself from going to him and plucking his eyeballs from his skull. The only reason I don’t is because what I’m doing is no better than what he’s doing.
When Charlotte told me the park she always goes to when the need to expose herself arises was only a few miles from my office, I went on a hunt. It took me two weeks to find the right area. I spent hours walking the park, my eyes peeled looking for her. When she finally appeared, I was completely mesmerized as I watched her in action. I damn near came the first time just from watching her. I jacked off three times at home that night.
Every day since then, I’ve been back. She only comes a few times a week, and I don’t know her routine, or if she even has one, but I’ll be damned if I miss an opportunity to watch her.
Yes, the justifications of my actions are shit ones, but I don’t give a fuck.
What I wouldn’t give to be the sole recipient of her show. For her to open her legs, beckon me with her eyes, and beg me with her words to give her body what it craves. I could spend hours devouring every inch of her delectable body.
All too soon, Charlotte grabs her things from the bench and hurriedly walks away. My eyes follow her and notice the stiff way she’s moving. A smile curves my lips, because I know it’s from the unsatisfied desire she’s feeling. At least in this, we’re the same. Lord knows I’ll be stiff in more ways than one until I get home.
As I make my way back to my car, I wonder what Charlotte’s next move will be. Will she go home and pretend she didn’t just leave a man with a huge case of blue balls? Or will she lie on her bed and relieve the ache I know she’s feeling? If I had to guess, I would say it’s the latter. Someone with her sexual nature would need that relief.
I only wish I could be there to witness it. On several occasions, I’ve been tempted to follow her home and try to sneak a peek in her window, but I’ve forced myself to limit my stalking to onl
y watching her while she’s in public, where she expects someone to watch her.
What I’m doing is wrong on every level imaginable. Having men look at her is what she wants, so I’m only giving her that….
Crossing an ankle over my knee, I lean back in the chair. I may appear relaxed and calm, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m strung tight, and my damn cock is so hard I could pick ice with it.
I regard the woman who’s taking up way too much space in my head lately. Today she has on a sleeveless light-gray shirt and a loose black skirt. Her black boots climb all the way to her knees. The outfit itself seems harmless enough, except for the fact that she’s not wearing a fucking bra, leaving her breasts to jiggle freely against the material every time she moves. Not to mention the skirt riding up her thighs, making me wonder if she’s wearing panties, a thong, or nothing at all. And those boots…. Those damn boots have me imagining what they would feel like digging into my back as I fuck her pussy raw.
I mentally shake those thoughts from my head and get back to the reason she’s here.
“Why don’t you tell me about the last time you felt the need to expose yourself?” I ask.