Mature Exhibitionist Ch 01

Let me introduce myself. My name is Tina Cosgrove and I'm 57 years old and an only child. I'm single and I currently work from home as a book accountant for a couple of local companies and a charity. I have spent all of my adult life living in my family home. My father died when I was a child and I was a carer for my mother from the age of 19 until about six months ago. She had suffered from a degenerative neurological disorder for nearly 40 years up until her death.

I was brought up a Catholic and was taught to despise my body, my sexuality and my feelings. I was taught to believe in "no sex before marriage" and have only ever had three boyfriends in my lifetime and none since I was in my mid 40's. I had found it impossible to mix my mother's care needs with anything like a personal relationship. I've never had sex and have never seen a man naked in real life.

Physically I've got short grey hair, a plain homely face with a slightly bulbous nose and flay cheeks. I'm quite short and plump, a typical pear shape and quite overweight. I got large fat hips, fat legs and thighs patterned with cellulite. I've a belly which sits like a spare tire around my waist and hangs over my hips and groin area. My breasts are non-existent, barely a-cup, with large red crinkly areola and as I've gotten older they have flopped down and just hang from my chest like a couple of shrivelled fried eggs. Between my legs there is a large thatch of unkempt curly grey public hair.

I don't consider myself to be attractive or desirable in any way, an opinion confirmed every time I look in the mirror. I tend to wear shapeless clothes that hide my figure. I seldom put myself into any position where I would have to wear tight or revealing clothes. I haven't been to a gym in years, seldom go swimming and haven't been near a beach since I was a young girl. My main form of exercise is housework and walking.

After my mother's death I had a complete crisis of faith. It led to deterioration in my faith in God, church and its teaching. I became increasingly bitter about how my life has escaped me, how I've never found love, how I've never really enjoyed my body either in appearance or in feeling. I started to drink quite a lot and eat constantly. Around the same time I discovered the Internet and it helped start teaching me how to think for myself. It also introduced me to a different way to think about myself...

I remember the time it all changed for me. I was online one evening, most of the way through a bottle of wine, reading Cosmo or sort other woman's lifestyle magazine. The article I started reading was about Cap D'Agde, the naturist/nudist town in France. I was fascinated about these people who walked around nude without a care in the world, but if I had a slim tanned beautiful body like them I probably would do the same. But I wanted to know more and typed 'Cap D'Adge nudism' in Google search and disabled the safe search option.

And that the moment my life changed. The images that I saw were of people, lots of different types of people. Thin, fat, tall, short, beautiful, ugly, saggy, tight, slim, soft, curvy... I could go on. But no matter how they looked they were naked and exposing themselves to others with no regard for decency. This affected me in two ways. My upbringing and entire life screamed at me about how wrong this was and these people were immoral and sinful. Yet I felt sexually aroused and this was something I really wasn't used to. I felt butterflies in my stomach and an ache between my legs. Closing my PC and finishing my wine I made my way to bed and I remember dreaming that night of simply walking along a beach and feeling free as a bird.

A few days later and it was Saturday. After tidying the housed, doing some gardening and three glasses of wine I decided to go for a walk. It was a September afternoon and it was a warm end of summer type day so I just put on a pair or three quarter length jogging trousers, a loose v-neck tee shirt and my trainers. I headed out of my house, selected some music on my phone, put my headphones on and started walking towards Marlow Park. Marlow Park was a biggish park on the far side of town that had been there since at least when I was a girl. It contained a couple of football pitches, a bowling green, a children's play area and some woods at the back. Down one side was the old industrial estate (which was badly hit with the recession) and a main road which lead away from town into the country. The rest of it was surrounded by housing.

My walk brought me to the main entrance at the bottom of the park and I planned to walk through the park about one and a half miles to the top entrance which came out into Harris Avenue. I strolled through the main entrance and passed between two football pitches with a changing room block at the other side of one of them. Two football games were happening with the teams dressed in colourful kits. I carried on up to the kids play area on the left, with the new toilet block beside that and behind a bit further was the council facilities where they kept their park stuff. To the right was a big grass area and it was here that something caught my eye. Another game of football but this one was just between the some locals and they were mostly running around in only shorts and trainers. I slowed to watch and after a few minutes realised I had no interest in where the ball was. I was just looking at the variety of male bodies, from 15 to 50, running around and shouting and sweating. I snapped out of my reverie and automatically scolded myself for thinking like that before I remembered that I could look if I wanted too. Feeling confused and guilty I continued to walk on the path through the fields to the woods near the top of the park.

About half way through the woods I saw the old toilet block set back about 20 feet from the main path and realised I need to have a wee. I headed up the smaller track to the ladies, through the L shaped modesty wall (to stop people from being able to look straight into the toilets from outside) and through the open door. Ahead was a wall which was the side of the first cubicle. To my right was an old sink with dirty mirror and hand drier. A shimmy past the sink and around the front of the first stall and I saw all three cubicle doors were open. This wasn't surprising as this toilet was seldom used as far as I knew. I headed into the far cubicle, put my headphones in my pocket, half pulled down my track pants and hovered over the seat.

It was a great release to pass away the wine that I'd drunk earlier and my wee noisily splashed down into the bowl. As I finished I checked for toilet paper and saw there wasn't any there. I decided to dry between my legs as best I could with my hand and thento wash my hands in the sink. But then the strangest thing happened. As I stood up straight and tried to rub dry the thatch between my legs, images of the footballers running around topless jumped into my head. Closing my eyes I rubbed a bit faster and started imagining the footballers running around naked, just like the men on the nudist beaches.

I felt funny in my stomach, butterflies and churning, with one half of my brain feeling almost animal and base, and the other half screaming to control my behaviour and act like a normal person but the images were vivid and unmoving. One of my problems was that I had never really masturbated in my life as I'd been brought up to believe this was wrong and immoral and I would burn in hell for it. But with the powerful emotions conflicting in me, plus 50 years of repressed sexuality and three glasses of wine were messing my mind. I knew there was a pea between my legs that felt good when it was touched but I couldn't get my legs apart far enough because of the jog pants. Without real thought or reason I sat straight down onto the toilet (which I'd only hovered above earlier), pulled off my trainers and yanked my jog pants and knickers off my legs. I stood up again, spread my legs as wide as I could (with my right foot going under the 6 inch gap between the floor and partition there) leant forward with my left hand leaning on the closed door in front and started rubbing between my legs again. This time I was able to reach the little hard nub between my legs and I rubbed the edge of my hand up and down across this as hard as I could. The feeling was painful and euphoric. I imagined I was standing naked on the grass field surrounded by all the footballers.

Realising I was still partially clothed in the cubicle, not nude like in my head, I quickly stopped rubbing, straightened up and pulled my tee shirt over my head which then landed on the floor. I unhooked my bra and pulled it off as well. I looked down at my horrible body and started to wonder just what I was doing but my right hand worked its way back between my legs and my eyes closed once again. I could feel an intense pressure building up inside me and I rubbed harder and harder. My pea was throbbing now and I felt waves of intense energy start to ripple through my body. In my imagination the footballers all started to laugh and point at me. I could hear them saying how ugly I was with my hairy legs and saggy tits. I started crying at the same time that a massive wave of light pulsed through my body. I collapsed to my knees and stayed still until my head started to clear. I was weeping uncontrollably now and my pea was burning like I'd rubbed it raw. My right hand was soaking wet and it looked like I'd wet myself without noticing. I frantically got back up on my feet (not that easy) and went to get dressed. Where I'd dropped my tee shirt and bra on the floor I realised that they were patchy damp in places and the insides of my legs were dripping down as well. I could feel snot on my face as I pulled on my clothes and ran from the toilets not able to think clearly at all. I was home about twenty minutes later and immediately showered myself off, feeling absolutely degraded, disgusting and dirty. And yet as I cleaned between my legs I felt my pea react and twitch. Memories of the waves of energy rippling through my body unbidden back to my mind. I quickly finished washing and got dried and dressed.

It was later that evening after I'd calmed down and had another couple of glasses of wine that I switched on my PC and connected to the Internet. After a little reading I discovered that I'd had my first orgasm and I'd performed something called female ejaculation.