Hi everyone, this will be a much shorter story than usual, because this submission isn't fictional - every word here is true.
I was chatting to some other Literotica authors about story ideas, and we got on to discussing whether or not anyone had ever been involved in a story similar to the ones they write about. As an exclusively exhibitionist and voyeur writer I admitted that yes, I had indeed been somewhat of a quote unquote flasher when I was younger, and when I told my friends about my experience they encouraged me to share it here. And so, because I haven't uploaded in a while and I had an evening to kill, that's what I'm doing.
Back when I was in college I had a reduced timetable with lots of free lessons, something common for students in the UK. This meant that I was often home before my parents or siblings got back from work or school, so I had the odd hour here or there alone in the house. For some reason or other I would often spend that time completely naked, either lounging on the sofa watching TV, revising in the kitchen, or just walking around in the nude.
I definitely wouldn't describe myself as any kind of aspirational nudist or naturist, and I wouldn't say that I found being naked more comfortable, or relaxing, as so many of those people do. Instead I always found the sensation kind of exciting, in a naughty, taboo kind of way, and even when I was just sitting at the table, finishing off some homework, I was always mildly turned on by the fact I was naked. Lots of people on here seem to enjoy the same kind of thing, even if in real life no one seems to talk about it much.
In those days I would have described myself as a thrill seeker, not a full blown exhibitionist. The idea of people seeing my body appealed to me, and that was something I definitely fantasised about, but it wasn't something I ever actively worked towards. I didn't want to force anyone to see me, but I also became increasingly relaxed around my house - initially I would always shut the blinds in the living room when I was naked, but soon I started to leave them wide open, excited by the idea that someone might catch a glimpse of me as they walked past the window.
That was fun for a while, but soon I began to get bored. As any fellow risk seekers know, the issue is that you soon get comfortable and inevitably start searching for a bigger thrill, you get addicted to the danger. For me this manifested itself in naked morning work outs, where I would lift weights, stretch, and skip in my front room, right in front of the windows which looked out on to the street. If anyone ever came too close I would duck down and hide for a second, but if any cars or cyclists flew by then I was happy to risk them seeing me.
My second big escalation came when I ventured outside for the first time. This started innocently enough, when I would take out the recycling to the bins at the end of the garden wearing only a dressing gown. Over time I became more confident and let the dressing gown hang open at the front as I walked, and one cold winter morning I took the plunge by walking out of the back door completely naked.
Our back garden is overlooked by three different sets of neighbours (left side, right side, and one backing on to the end of the garden), but despite this my horny teenage brain decided that the risk was still worth it. I can still remember walking over the wet grass, hauling the bag of recycling into the bin, and then scampering back to the safety of my house, simultaneously scared and turned on to a level I hadn't known was possible. Despite the obvious dangers this soon became a regular habit of mine, and to this day I don't know if somehow none of my neighbours ever saw me, or if they did but just didn't know what to say.
Even being naked in my back garden eventually began to feel too conservative, and so I began to take more and more risks. I'd always really wanted to do one of those naked delivery dares, but could never bring myself to expose my body to a stranger like that - not because I'd have been too shy, but because they might have been offended. So instead I would just go to my front door, open it up, and stand in the doorway, looking up and down the street to see if anyone was coming.
My family live in London, on a back road which is relatively quiet, but still populated on both sides with rows of terraced housing. This meant that there would be periods where there were no cars or pedestrians to be seen, but soon enough someone would appear from somewhere. When they did I would just pull the front door closed, count to twenty, then peek my head out to see if they were gone - it was a fun game to play before I had to get dressed and go to college.
Over time I grew more confident, and would walk down the path which led to the pavement, then stand there with my hands behind my back. Again, looking back this was insane, because any of my neighbours on the opposite side of the road could have looked out of their front windows and seen me, but to my knowledge no one ever did.
The beginning of my downfall probably came when I mustered up the courage to go beyond my front garden, and out to the street. That was the first time I'd ever officially been naked in public, and the feeling was just as incredible as you can imagine. Again, I still wouldn't describe myself as a flasher, as I had to interest in being caught or seen. But at the same time just being naked wasn't the appeal, it was the fact that I was naked and someone might catch me - that was where all the adrenaline and excitement came from. It was a exciting way to challenge and push myself, carrying a very high risk, but also a very high reward.
In the final week before the Christmas holidays started I made it all the way across the street, crossing the road and touching the front gate of the house opposite. This felt like a huge moment, and a huge landmark, but it also felt quite bitter sweet. The issue was that I couldn't think of any way to escalate matters any further - I wanted some way of making my fun new game more extreme, but at the same time I wasn't insane enough to go wandering off down the street.
Things reached what should have been a natural conclusion when one morning I dashed across the road, as I had done a few times before, and then decided to walk up to the crossroads for the first time. We were the penultimate house on the end of our row, just down from the junction where our street met another. I'd never gone near this junction before, because it was so open and exposed, and because to reach it I'd have to stray further up the road than I felt was safe. But that day I was feeling brave enough to try it, so instead of going back across the street to my house I turned and headed along the pavement.
Standing at the edge of the crossroads, keeping my head on a swivel as I tried to keep tabs on four different directions in which people could be approaching, was predictably thrilling. I didn't stay there for long, I just enjoyed the sensation of the crisp December air on my skin, and the excitement of being so daring and bold. As horny and reckless as I obviously was, even I knew that I was really starting to push my luck, so before anything went wrong I decided to turn back and go home.
