This is my 11th and last Joanie story. I hope you have liked them. I'm even older now than I am portrayed in my stories, but the memories are clear as a bell. One does not forget these things easily, if ever. Thank you for having stuck with me and read the stories, if indeed you have. If this is your first Joanie story, you might want to read some of the others before reading this one.
**********
If you have read my ten stories of my college years, you know I had some pretty wild times, and that I was cruelly used by men for their own needs, be it promotions, money, or just plain sex. The common theme was that they exploited my two weaknesses, both tied to being drunk, those being exhibitionism and too easy to get into bed. At times I was even much too easy. Basically, when drunk I am a slut. I grew up too fast, I think.
Well I'm out of college now, even out of graduate school. I'm 27 years old, single, and I still have a great body. And I'm still short, only now I call it petite. I've joined the workforce, and I am providing computer security for, you guessed it, a bank in New York. I dye my hair blonde, changed how I wear it, and I go by my middle name. I call myself Susie, and nobody at this particular bank has yet fingered me for being "Joanie of Zurich," thank God.
I'm very careful about exhibitionism at work. My colleagues think I don't like alcoholic drinks. They respect that. I don't date my colleagues. I don't think I come off as a cold bitch or anything, just perhaps a private and reserved person who gets the job done. So far, the men I work with have respected that. Mostly they are geeks, anyway, a different breed of people than private bankers, traders and the like.
I have stopped several denial of service attacks, and prevented numerous people and criminal gangs from hacking into people's accounts. I even stopped the Russians and the Chinese, and that's not easy. I'm quite proud of myself. Even better, the bank realized just what I've done for it and desperately wants to keep me happy. Traders and private bankers having naked pictures of me, or pictures of me in sexual acts on people's computers is not the way to do that.
Anyway, those pictures date back 7 years ago, and 7 years is a long time. I was a foolish and carefree 20-year-old then, and I like to think, and hope, that I am more mature now.
I get paid good money, too. That's why I work at a bank.
The weekends are different. Indeed, sometimes they are very different. I don't have a boyfriend, really, although there are around three men who are after me. Of the three, Luke is my favorite. He's not a banker; he's a lawyer, quite a successful one. The big drag is that he is much older, being 38; that's an 11-year difference.
Last weekend he took me to the Hamptons, out on Long Island, to the most remote "Hampton," called Montauk, where he has a small place. He calls it The Chateau, ironically since it is anything but a chateau. Nevertheless, even a small place out there on the beach is worth millions. Montauk is at the Eastern end of the island, and the island is long, over 100 miles long. So at times out there I feel as if I am at the end of the earth.
It was a warm day, so we went to the beach. I wore my bikini, and he got interested. We began to make out together, as if we were still teenagers. But we're not, so when he tried to remove my top and stick his hand into my bottoms, I gently stopped him both times. I said, "Wait. Wait until we're back in the chateau."
"Susie," he said, "There's nobody around. We're alone on the beach. That's the advantage of living out here." I looked him in the eye, and then he tried again to remove my bikini top. I was not drunk at all, I had not a drop of alcohol since the previous weekend, but I let him do it.
He continued to kiss me, and clearly being pleased with himself for having gotten my top off, he fondled my breasts. It felt nice. I could feel him smiling through the kiss. We continued like this for a while. It was exciting for me to be topless on the beach.
He climbed on top of me and I could feel his erection through his swim trunks. He began to remove my bottoms, too. That would make me naked underneath him, and I knew Luke well enough to know that meant that inevitably we would be fucking on the beach. I pushed him off, stood up, and said, "If you are going to keep at this, Luke, you had better buy me a few cocktails first."
As I stood over him, topless, he was looking up at me, enjoying the view. I did not realize my bikini bottom had been pushed down so that it was barely hiding anything. I saw a flash of light, looked carefully, and could barely make out our neighbor, ogling me with a pair of binoculars. A lens had reflected the sun, and that's why I saw the flash. We had a voyeur.
It was then that I noticed the top of my vagina was poking out of my bottoms, and I instinctively moved my arms to pull it back up, when my arms just stopped. We had a voyeur. All the better, let him look. So I left it like that, and I began to get aroused.
All the old feelings from college came rushing back, and I got wet at the idea of having a voyeur, even if it was probably just our neighbor. Thinking back, I guess I got aroused especially because it might be our neighbor. He was a hunk, and I had a crush on him.
If he was the voyeur, we could do lots of things for him. Ideas raced through my head.
I walked back to the chateau topless, not to titillate Luke although it clearly did, but to give more of a show to the voyeur. Aroused still, I wore no bra under my blouse when I dressed for town. I had not done that since college. Luke did not even notice, he was so used to my conservative way of dressing it did not enter the realm of possibility in his brain.
I kept one short skirt out at the chateau. Twenty-seven year old professional women who work in banks don't wear mini skirts like I did routinely in college, but for my usual wardrobe, this was fairly short. I also went without panties. Luke did not know that, either.
I had had some sort of brain freeze out there on the beach, and was acting like my old exhibitionist self from 6 years earlier. It felt good. I knew I would not do this again, it was too risky, but I wanted to make the most of this one time.
Luke took me to Southhampton, party central for the Hamptons, and he took me to a bar where boys meet girls, girls meet boys, girls meet girls, and boys meet boys. It's also where NYC professionals go to get their ya-ya's out on the weekends. A lot of drinking happens in those bars, and a lot of girls get drunk and get laid. I wished Luke were not there; I wanted to go native, to go wild, to get drunk and get laid.
I saw one girl who was really drunk. She was around 24, 25. I thought she was pretty, but there was a sadness in her eyes. Her blouse was unbuttoned and her bra was unclasped. Two men, one on each side of her, had a hand on each boob. She was kissing a third man while they felt her up, and giggling when she was not kissing.
She did not have a care in the world; the booze had removed them. I had the feeling though except for tonight, she had a troubled soul. The men exploiting her drunken availability obviously did not care what the hell her concerns were, or even if she had any, as long as nothing impeded their goal to use her. She gave every indication that all three of them might reach that goal that very evening. For a fleeting moment, I wished I were she.
Later she left with the three men. They did not get far. I looked out the window and saw one of them fucking her right there on the sidewalk, while the other two looked as if they were waiting their turns. I told Luke I needed another drink.
I was getting seriously drunk, and began to play a game with myself. I decided with each drink I would unbutton a button on my blouse. I told Luke and he approved. Luke said I already had had three drinks, and I was holding my fourth, so he unbuttoned three buttons.
There was a mirror behind the bar. There usually is in bars, and often it reflects the bottles lined up in front of it. I always find it a pretty, appealing effect. That's probably why all bars do it, I guess. I looked at myself using that mirror, and I could see a lot of boob. I tried leaning forward, and I could see all of my boobs save the nipples. I looked forward to finishing my fourth drink; then I would really be on display. I took my time, though. A lot of the fun is the anticipation.
I said to Luke, "I'm feeling wild tonight. After I finish this drink and lose my fourth button, shall we pretend we're single? You try to pick up a girl, and I'll try to pick up a man. Let's see who wins first. The one who gets kissed first is the winner. What do you think?"
Luke is handsome, rich, and smooth. I was pretty sure he would get someone right away. There were a lot of NYC secretaries who came out on the weekends expressly with the hope of meeting someone like Luke. Many of them were here, and most of them were drunk. Quite a few were already paired up, but quite a few were not.
I have low standards, but to my eyes every one of the girls in the bar looked pretty. Most also looked sexually available. Not necessarily from the way they dressed, although there was certainly that aspect, but from the way they moved, and the looks in their eyes. I always think that the sexiest part of the body, man or woman, is the eyes. Broadcasting sexual availability in the eyes is the best way to get laid. I knew how to do that; it came naturally to me. It also did not hurt that my boobs were on display.
Indeed, pretty, drunk, unattached girls were in heavy supply that evening. I was sure I would lose to Luke. Also a lot of the men would prefer the young tarts to a 27-year-old professional woman. But I would have fun trying. What I did not realize was the effect exposing my breasts in a tantalizing way would have.
Luke said, "Okay, I'm game. But he has to kiss you. You cannot kiss him first, or ask for a kiss; that's cheating. And we need a prize. How about whoever wins, we bring him or her home for a threesome? Assuming the victim is willing, of course."