Since we married ten years ago, my husband and I have lived on a narrowboat. It suits our unhurried lifestyle and offers us everything we need. Mostly we tour via the Shropshire Union Canal. This waterway allows us to move sedately between the Midlands and the Northwest. Of course, we can traverse across the country by connecting to other waterways. We find that the Shropshire Canal gives us access to many remote moorings and the opportunity to visit the open countryside.
Over the years, I have found my husband's sexual excitement is proportional to the number of open fields surrounding the canal. The more remote we are, the sexier he gets. Often, we can be completely naked, knowing that we will not be noticed. Or, more precisely, I can get naked and satisfy his voyeuristic tendencies. In this respect, we are chalk and cheese. I am much more of an exhibitionist. One of my greatest turn-ons is being moored in a busy part of the canal and seeing or hearing people on the towpath while we noisily make love. I suppose that is why we get on so well. I like showing off, and he enjoys watching me show off.
My most significant moments of exhibitionism tend to be accidents of fortune. For example, last summer, we were moored near a small Cheshire town, and there was a steady stream of walkers, dog walkers, runners, and cyclists making the most of the latest lockdown. I guess they were enjoying the freedom to get out for exercise and not have to dash off to work.
Each day at 7:00 am, I would go onto the foredeck in my skimpy crop top and gym shorts. None of the tight constricting lycra gym wear that seems so fashionable today. I would do a range of aerobic and anaerobic moves, occasionally interrupted by a polite good morning from passers-by. After a few days, you get to recognise individuals. One particular guy would cycle by at 7:15 exactly. "Morning, miss," he would shout out.
"Hi," I would respond.
I would have put him in his mid-fifties. He was reasonably well-toned and dressed appropriately for riding his bright orange mountain bike. One morning, I decided I might have some fun. I would make sure that at 7:15, I would ensure my back was to the towpath while I stretched and touched my toes. I knew from experience this would make my loose top fall away from my body and expose the underside of my breasts.
"Morning, miss.... Oops, sorry."
I straightened up and watched him continue up the path. I'd obviously shaken him because I could see his bike wobbling more than expected. I'd set my plan in motion. Tomorrow, Mister Cyclist, I will make sure you stop and look.
The following morning, right on time, I could see him approaching along the towpath. As he approached the stern of our home, I flagged him down.
"Morning, Mr Cyclist. Why did you apologise yesterday?"
"Well, um... when I looked up, you were bent over, and I could see your um... boobs. I thought I should apologise."
I laughed, "My god, you are a polite cyclist, aren't you? No need to apologise. If I were concerned about people seeing up my top, I would wear something different or exercise indoors."
"I just felt that I was seeing something I shouldn't."
I took a deep breath and said, "What like this?" And I lifted my top to expose my breasts. He really didn't know which way to look. But he settled on staring directly at my exposure.
I lowered my top. "I can't keep calling you Mr Cyclist, and you can't keep calling me miss. I am Bobbie."
"Hello, Bobbie. I am Gary."
"Pleased to meet you, Gary. Do you travel far each day?"
"I try to do at least ten miles a day without stopping."
"Now it's my turn to apologise because I stopped you."
"That's OK. I think you compensated me." And he smiled.
"What like this?" And I lifted my top up to expose my breasts again."
