Exposed

Chapter One

The definition of an exhibitionist states, "an exhibitionist is one who acts or behaves in a way to attract attention or to display ones powers, personality, etc." So how does one become an exhibitionist? Particularly when they never exhibited any tendencies to show off while growing up.

Does this urge to expose one's self lie dormant inside of them until the right catalyst comes along to awaken it?

This is the story of one such woman's awakening.

I grew up in a large conservative family in the Midwest. I was the middle child of 11 and don't remember any desire to be noticed or to break away from the pack. It was much more typical of me to fit in as best I could as well as to help out as often as I could.

I have already mentioned being discovered by my parents playing a game of femme fatale with the boys in the neighborhood, where our hands were tied and arms extended above our heads attached to storage hooks in my garage. The boys had taken the opportunity to pull my girlfriend's and my shorts down around our ankles leaving us helpless exposing our flowered bikini panties. I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach watching them stare at me with my panties on display. It was a feeling of embarrassment mixed with exhilaration knowing that I was completely helpless and vulnerable. To this day I still get that funny feeling in my stomach anytime that I find myself in a similar situation.

How I find myself in a similar situation is a part of this story.

Everything that I had been told growing up made me believe that this was 'naughty' and not proper behavior for a "young lady", which may have added to the excitement of it all.

However when my parents discovered our game of exposure we all received a good scolding leaving me ashamed of myself and not wanting to disappoint my parents again. At the same time I yearned to recapture that feeling of vulnerability.

As every one of my girlfriends began to develop in late grade school, I remained as I was, soon becoming not only the smallest member of my grade, but also the least developed. Even when my breasts started to appear, they barely warranted a bra.

I state all of these things just to make the point that I was the least likely to ever transform into an exhibitionist. I basically had nothing to exhibit.

Then high school happened. I went to an all girls' religious academy, which turned many of us into rebels of one degree or another. My own method of rebellion as well as the group of girls that I hung out with was to roll the waistbands of our uniform plaid skirts until they transformed into micro minis. The nuns who monitored our behavior often singled us out making us kneel down on the floor. If our skirts did not touch the floor while kneeling we were sent to detention and made to say the rosary over and over again. We all smoked and when together on weekends would sneak liquor from our parents liquor cabinet and get slightly intoxicated.

It was our way to deal with the complexities of awakening womanhood and, of course, boys.

It is somewhat amusing for me to relate all of this as I quit smoking in my early 20's and hardly ever drink since I had children.

This was the extent of my rebellious nature. I was neither sexual nor promiscuous and the thought of someone seeing up my skirt was not even an option.

My desire to attract attention to myself was no more than any other young woman hoping to attract the attention of a young man. But I still craved that feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that accompanied my early exposure. It was the basis of many of my masturbatory sessions imagining myself outdoors stripped to just my panties. I never tried to understand this deep-seated desire thinking of it as pure fantasy.

Then I met my husband to be. He was one of those young men who noticed everything about a young woman. He has told me that after two dates he essentially knew what style of panties I wore, which were really nothing to brag about. My under attire consisted mostly of white or pastel nylon or cotton bikini briefs. My more daring panties had either flower appliqués or white on white patterns in the material. I never even gave a thought to colors or patterns, strings or thongs. These were for sexually active girls who wanted to exhibit themselves.

I was not that kind of girl.

I met him innocently enough. We were both in line with our respective friends to see a concert. Seats were on a first come, first serve basis, so the idea was to get there early. As we stood in line we did what most young people do. We flirted with each other, which led to us sitting together at the concert. We exchanged phone numbers at the concert.

I liked him. I liked him a lot. However something about him caused me to worry that he wasn't the right person for me. He had an aura or energy about him that made me feel submissive.

If I dated him I felt that he would challenge my way of thinking about things and doing things. He might bring out a side of me that I didn't want to have exposed. I had no idea that my subconscious self wanted to be exposed.

He called and we started to date, however the feeling of trepidation continued.

He was attending college at a nearby university and lived in one of the dormitories on campus. Our dates began to consist of him riding the bus to pick me up and then taking me back to his dorm room. We were both very naïve and inexperienced in our sexual development. Undoubtedly this was a good thing as we were virtually always alone in his room. We would start out sitting on his bed, which doubled as a couch listening to music.

It was almost like a game, a very sexy game. Soon he would put his arm around me rubbing my back. Just his touch brought my nipples to full erection. I would turn my body towards him and we would start to kiss. My entire body would become electrified with a sexual vibration. I loved how it felt and at the same time it scared me. It was so overwhelming and exciting to be so aroused without fully understanding it.

I wanted to be physical, however that wasn't how I was brought up.

Despite every part of me wanting to be touched, a good girl just didn't give in to her base nature.

As our kisses became more passionate, I would find myself lying down on his bed allowing his hands to explore my body to a point. I relished how his hand would cup my bottom encased in the tightest jeans that I could get on. My lower lips would swell and throb as his fingers lightly squeezed my cheeks through my jeans.

His other hand was finding other parts of me, as it would explore my upper torso.

It took a few dates but eventually he worked up the nerve to place his hand directly over my bra cup on top of my breast. Now my nipples throbbed with the same tempo as my lower lips.

I was so filled with conflict as my upbringing told me that good girls don't allow themselves to get groped in dorm rooms, but damn it, it felt so good.

I would always find myself on top of him moving my lower half so it was positioned directly on his erection.

I somehow kept myself from rubbing directly on it, but loved to push my lower abdomen against it. It made me very aware of how much I turned him on. It also made me notice a particular fixation of is.

As I would lie on top of him, one of his hands would very subtly explore my panties. Most women's jeans can fit very tightly around our hips and buttocks while at the same time gaping at our waist. My jeans would always do that providing a very tempting access to my lower back and the waistband of my bikini panties. Without fail his hand would reach down the gap and I could feel his fingers play with the nylon fabric of my panties.

As he touched my intimates the hard ridge pushing against my lower abdomen would become longer and more prominent.

He had a thing for my panties and I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Over the course of the school year his exploration would become more daring and eventually his hand totally disappeared down the back of my jeans somehow finding the room to take a hold of my nylon covered bottom. He would feel me all over essentially creating a visual image of my panties for himself. He would feel the stitching of the waistband, the sides that stretched tautly over my hips, how they covered my bottom, etc.

The entire time that he explored my undies I could feel his penis twitch and throb against my stomach. It was electrifying to feel his hand all over my intimates knowing that they excited him.

Once he knew that I wasn't going to object to his groping it was just a matter of time before his other hand found its way up and under my blouse or sweater and my bra and breasts received the same sensual treatment.

I wanted to say "no" to his explorations, however I had never had a boy want to grope me and I liked how it made me feel. It made me feel sexy and desirable, which was a strange feeling for me.

It was only our mutual inexperience that kept us from going further.

Although I really wanted to, I never explored his erection through his pants. Again my upbringing prevented me from doing what I really yearned to do.

Towards the end of the school year we graduated to what shaped my definition of what was sexy going forward. We started out as we always did, sitting together on his bed listening to music and talking. As always this evolved to kissing, heavier kissing, groping and again I found myself lying on top of him.

This time he was a bit more persistent in his exploration of my panties. After he had pushed his hand down inside my jeans and groped my entire bottom, he rolled me over to the side of him. While I stared at him directly in his eyes I felt his hand reach down to the front of my jeans, his fingers unsnapped the front snap of my pants. I bit my tongue to keep from moaning out loud feeling the cooler air caress my now exposed lower abdomen. I knew that very soon he would be able to see my undies; something that he obviously had wanted to for months.

It brought me back to the time in my garage as I helplessly watched my shorts being pulled down my legs.

Here I was again filled with the sense of vulnerability and helplessness. It unnerved me to realize how I craved these sensations.

I could have protested, but instead I sucked my stomach in to lessen the pressure on the zipper so it easily slid down the teeth opening up the front of my jeans completely. I stretched my arms above my head as if my hands were again tied above me.

I continued to watch his eyes as he looked down at the opening that he had created in the front of my jeans.

The change in his expression was unforgettable even to this day so many years later.

He relished every aspect of my unveiling, as my jeans were now open almost to my crotch revealing the entire front of my panties. They were sky blue nylon bikini panties. I had purposely picked them out to wear that night as if I had a premonition that they were going to be exposed.

I helped him pull my jeans down my legs reveling in his expression as he drank in my exposure. The littlest girl in her grade school, the girl with the smallest and least developed breasts, the girl that never drew any kind of attention, particularly male attention, was being visually examined one square inch of exposed flesh at a time. My lower lips clenched in a most delectable manner. I relished the feeling of being undressed. Having my jeans pulled off leaving me wearing nothing but a Guns N Roses t-shirt and panties in a men's dorm left me so vulnerable, defenseless, and apprehensive. The sound of activity just outside the door caused goose bumps to form on every inch of exposed skin. I had never felt such intense sensations. It was all so stimulating and thrilling to know that I at any time with a simple turning of a door handle I would be discovered in just my panties. Along with the look of unlimited pleasure that occupied his face, it was all so intoxicating to me. I wanted to feel this way and to see this look for the rest of my life.

It was like my deepest sexual fantasy come true.

He just looked at me as I lay with my jeans bunched at my feet. This may be hard to believe, but it never was about getting my pants off for anything else but to expose my panties and me. I didn't want anything else to happen and neither did he. That all came months later.

The sexual electricity coursing through me was already overwhelming.

Besides taking my jeans from me he had also exposed my deepest unspoken desires. I certainly wasn't going to share any of this with him especially since I didn't fully understand it myself.

For years afterwards despite my various exhibitionist activities I could never admit these desires even to myself.

I guess age allows many of us to drop our pretenses and admit who or what we truly are.

My goal from that point forward was to do whatever it took to experience that look over and over again. I didn't realize at the time that this desire to see 'the look' again would still play such a dominant role in my life almost 20 years later.