Even though I'd been masturbating to orgasm since I was thirteen, I didn't discover the awesome intensity of squirting and blackout orgasms until shortly after my nineteenth birthday. Both scared me the first time it happened, but after that, I would be disappointed with just having normal orgasms.
A few weeks earlier, at home from college, I was in my room, naked on my bed, and masturbating. It was early on a Saturday afternoon and I had the house to myself. My parents were playing golf, and my younger brother by a year was off somewhere with his friends.
I had my eyes closed and my whole brain was focused on my clit. It was like the rest of me didn't exist. I was just a clit—a huge, swollen, throbbing clit, and I was being rubbed faster and faster by fingers slickened by my own juices.
It was a great orgasm and it took me a long while to come down from it. I still hadn't gotten my breathing back under total control when I opened my eyes. My brother and one of his friends were standing in the doorway of my room. I screamed, "Jason! What are you—get the fuck out—right now!"
They left without closing my door. I waited until I heard the back door close, and then peeked out the window. Jason and his friend were just leaving our yard through the back gate, so I headed for the shower.
During my shower, all I could see in my mind's eye was the look on their faces, my brother and his friend. They were obviously both stunned and totally engrossed in seeing the scene I'm sure neither of them had expected to see while passing my room.
For some reason, the memory of the look in their eyes pleased me greatly, but I wasn't sure why. I was very accustomed to boys—men even, staring at me, ogling me, undressing me with their eyes. I must confess to taking some degree of pride in that, in knowing that the opposite sex found me attractive—sexy even. I must confess further that men and boys ogling me almost always made me horny. But those times weren't the same. Those men and boys hadn't seen me totally naked in my most intimate moment. My brother and his friend had.
Prior to turning off the water, I played with myself only briefly, and achieved another great orgasm after only a couple of minutes.
* * *
Dry and back in my room, I stood in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door and admired myself. I loved the look of my body—especially my rounded butt and my upturned breasts that, at 36Ds, were a bit larger than would be considered proportionate on my 5'6" and otherwise slender frame. They were the first things most people noticed about me, but I didn't mind. I actually enjoyed it. I didn't have large nipples, but the light pink nubs contrasted nicely against my darker areolas—and they were long enough to announce their presence through a shirt or blouse when I went braless, even when not taut. When they were hard, they screamed their presence. My long dark hair went well with my always tanned face and body. I always worked hard to keep a nice tan, but it wasn't that difficult in South Florida.
I didn't date much, even though I'd been asked plenty of times by some of the hottest boys in school. I'd turned down a chance to try out for the cheerleading squad. I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't that interested in those things. The other hot girls thought I was a bitch—a stuck up prude, as did many of the jocks, but I didn't care.
I knew I could have almost any boy I wanted, but I considered most of them to be dumb jocks. I considered most of the other hot girls to be airheads. They didn't just want the attention—they needed it. They stupidly garnered their sense of worth from how hot the boy was they were dating at the time, the hotter the boy, the higher their esteem.
I wasn't like that. I was just fine without it. I knew my day would come, but I wasn't there yet. Most of my real friends were just average to below average kids—in looks, I mean. Most of them were far more intelligent than me, which put them light years smarter than the dumb jocks and airheads, and I loved being around them. They didn't pester me for dates. They considered me out of their league, although I purposefully avoided saying or doing anything that would make them think that. In fact, the few boys I did date came from that group, and they were perfect gentlemen when with me.
That night in bed, I thought back to what had happened earlier. Why didn't it really embarrass me that I'd been seen like that? Why did it result in me having another orgasm in the shower? Why didn't I want to kill my younger brother? And why, after hours of thinking about it, did I wish I could experience it again?
I once read the autobiography of a serious alcoholic. My main take-a-way from the book was something he said, "My drinking took a serious turn for the worse when I finally acknowledged to myself that I was an alcoholic. Now I had an excuse to drink, and I took full advantage of it. I didn't have to feel guilty for drinking any longer. It wasn't me. It was my condition. I had an excuse."
When I recalled his words, it hit me like a sledgehammer slamming into my forehead. "I'm an exhibitionist."
Once I acknowledged my "condition" and accepted it, my course was clear. It would be my task to feed my addiction. I had to insert myself into situations that satisfied my need to be seen in the most personal and private of circumstances. I simply had no choice. It was my duty to feed my addiction.
* * *
I had been to the movies and hamburger stand with David on more than one occasion. He was a true gentleman, and one of the most intelligent people I'd ever met. He was quite overweight and his face was littered with pimples. We could indulge in long discussions on too many topics to list, so I knew I could count on him. I invited him to accompany me to Sonic for a burger on me. I chose Sonic because we would be eating in the car where it would be more private.
"I have a huge problem." I explained to David even before our order arrived at my car window. I told him quite frankly about what had happened with my brother and his friend. I knew I didn't have to be embarrassed about the fact that I masturbated myself to orgasm. Like I said, David was the most intelligent person I'd ever met, so I knew I wouldn't have to explain to him that girls do that too.
"Davie, the whole thing turned me on so much, I had to get myself off again a few minutes later in the shower. Do you know what that means?"
He nodded after giving my story his full measure of consideration. "I'm pretty sure it means that you're an exhibitionist." He said flatly.
"Yes, that was my conclusion too. I never would have thought that about myself, but after that incident and the affect it had on me, I'm convinced that I am."
His brow knotted, "I'm not sure you should make such a final conclusion after one such incident. It could have been a fluke, or the particular mood you were in at the time. Was there something in particular you were thinking about while you were masturbating—a particular fantasy?"
I pondered his question for a moment before responding, "Not really. I just remember falling into this kind of mental thing where I was a giant clit being rubbed by slick fingers. I can't remember any fantasy or anything else that caused me to start masturbating, or while doing it."
"I know the feeling. Sometimes I don't need a fantasy either. I just feel the urge to do it."
I giggled, "Hell, all boys need is the wind to change directions. Am I right?"
"Yeah, that's pretty much the way of things." He said with a chuckle.
"So?" I asked him, "What do I do now?"
He shrugged, "I'm not sure. I think you probably need to test your hypothesis to make sure it wasn't a one time thing."
Our food arrived and I paid the roller-skating carhop. When she was gone and we had begun eating, I asked, "Any ideas on how I should test it?"
He shrugged again, "I'm not sure. How close are you and your brother? Can you confide in him without him taking advantage of your dilemma?"
"Probably not, but I'm not sure."
"Then you'll have to be patient and wait for an impromptu opportunity to take advantage of."
While both of us were busy eating our burgers and fries, I said, "I'm very proud of you, David."
"For what?"
"You know for what. Don't play coy with me. It's beneath you."
"Oh, you mean for not offering to be part of your test?"
"Of course that's what I'm referring to, and you know it. You don't pull off playing dumb very well."
He seemed to be calculating his response, but he finally said, "Let's see. I'd have to be a total idiot not to want to be a part of that test, but we both know I'm not a total idiot. So the only logical conclusion is that I would love to be a part of it, but I didn't bring it up for some other reason."
"Respect?"
"Yep, you nailed it. I would love to see you naked, masturbating or not, but I'd much rather have your respect. That means much more to me than a few seconds or even minutes of indulging myself in what we both know wouldn't lead to anything meaningful—other than me needing to masturbate soon after."
"David" I said in a very serious and heart-felt tone.
"Yes?"
"You not offering to do it proves to me that my trust in you is not misplaced. And beyond that, I feel that we already have something meaningful. If this thing . . . this exhibitionist thing—if it proves to be real, I'm going to need a lot of help dealing with it. I don't have to ask if you'll help me. I know you will. And that is very much meaningful—the fact that I know it without asking."
David's face lit up. "I'd kiss you right now, if you'd let me, but I ordered extra onions and jalapeños not anticipating that I'd get the chance."
"Next time then—hold the onions and jalapeños."
* * *
Two weeks went by without my getting the chance to conduct my experiment. I was convinced it would never happen, so I was forced to take desperate measures. Jason and I didn't argue and fight like some siblings, and we'd always been fairly open with each other about personal things, so I felt only a modest degree of embarrassment while broaching the subject with him.
That Friday evening when our parents were out to dinner with friends, I laid what I'm sure he thought was a bombshell on my brother. "Tomorrow, while mom and dad are playing golf, I'm going to be sunbathing nude in the backyard."
He showed me a questioning look, "Okay, what time? I'll make sure I'm gone so you can have your privacy. And about the thing that happened a couple of weeks ago, I-"
