Angela Gradually Curates her Exhibitionism
**
It began at summer camp. It was my first time at a sleep-away camp, and I was both scared and excited. I tried hard to fit in, to do as the other girls did, which was mostly to talk about boys. I was young, but post puberty, and I was menstruating, so I knew the score. Nevertheless, I was young, and sex was still something foreign to me. I mean I knew it was out there and a near constant subject of conversation, but I wasn't ready for the whole boy-girl thing.
I saw some of the older girls changing clothes. They changed outside of their tents, flaunting (it seemed to me) their naked, mature bodies. If the boys at camp, across the river, had binoculars or just bionic eyesight, they could see whatever secret treasures the girls chose to display when they dressed in the morning.
I never forgot what those girls did, especially because it happened every year. It seemed to be some kind of a camp tradition among the older girls, and especially those with good bodies. When I got older and had not big, but bigger boobs, I thought about joining those girls who teased the boys, but I never had the courage. I dressed quietly in my tent, like almost all the other girls.
My last summer, however, when I was 18 and had reasonably nice boobs, a small waist, and child bearing hips, I took the leap. After my morning shower, I did not return to my tent to dress, wrapped up in a towel, as most of the other girls did. Instead, I dried myself, stark naked, on the shore of the river (really, it was just a creek; a tributary to the Russian River in Northern California), showing off my nude body to anyone who happened to be looking just then. I kept the tradition alive!
Mostly I was showing off to the other girls on our side of the creek, and a few of them seemed to be truly interested, and yes, in that way. Who I was really showing off to, however, was the boys across the river. The boys could tell there was a naked girl showing off as she dried herself, but unless they had bionic eyesight, none of them could tell who the girl was, or get a good enough look to (for example) enjoy the sight of her nipples or her pussy.
The exception of course was boys who owned binoculars. As the camp session wore on, more and more boys seemed to acquire binoculars. Where they got them, I have no idea. Maybe they told their parents everyone was bird watching with binoculars, and they wanted to join in? Who knows how they got them, but they did. They indubitably did. It was a lesson: Where there's a will, there's a way. Also, never underestimate the resourcefulness of teenage boys when it comes to sex!
As for me, I was thrilled to the core by my relatively harmless exhibitionism. It gave me a rush like you wouldn't believe! To hell with heroin (and yes, I had indeed tried it once, with Brian Kaplan in my high school), the rush from showing off my young body this way was even better!
No boy was going to cross the wide, and fast flowing creek, to come and molest me in front of all the fellow female campers. I was in much more danger from what was known among some of the campers as the Lesbian League. As it turned out, it was a danger I didn't mind. I turned into a lesbian for a summer, although I still, and always, longed for a boy's touch.
The point is, however, those times when I was showing off my naked body after my morning showers, thrilled me to the core. They made me tingle, got me wet down there, and I suspect might even had led to a small orgasm or two, and all of it without even touching myself in the obvious places.
I also discovered, however, that some exhibitionism that I thought to be harmless, was actually risky. Once the boys got good enough resolution on their binoculars, they could identify the girls who were showing off their naked bodies. They made the classic mistake, thinking that because we weren't shy, we were easy. That is, the five of us girls showing off our bodies were assumed to be sluts.
Well, if there's one thing a teenage boy wants, it's sex with a bonafide girl; any girl. Modesty aside, I was the prettiest of the five of us girls, although Tiffany had the biggest boobs. Only one of us, as it turned out, was a bit of a slut; that was Mary, and boy, did she become popular! The other four of us spent a lot of energy and time politely and delicately avoiding roaming hands.
**
Camp had a profound change in my personality. I became comfortable with my new adult, womanly body. When I was home, I tried to relive the thrills of camp, and I continued my behavior, although the audience was only imaginary. I dressed in my bedroom (with the door closed, of course, since my father or my brothers might have seen me otherwise). I first got naked, and then laid out my possible outfits for the day on the bed.
Each outfit had specially selected lingerie to go underneath it. As I contemplated what to wear, debating with myself between outfits, I stood there naked, pretending people could see me through my window. (I had curtains, but I never drew them closed.) Sometimes I would contemplate for quite some time, as I remained naked, imagining some boys from "across the creek" were watching me. Imagination is a wonderful thing.
Nobody could see me, I thought, except the gardener my father hired. However, he came at 10AM and he would leave when it got dark, or usually before, so he never was a threat to my virtue. The flashing of my nudity was strictly for my own benefit. Behind my window, you see, was a steep hill, nicely landscaped of course, and all I could see out of my window was the steep hill and the greenery it provided.
Never that good at physics, I didn't realize that the houses up the hill a piece, could see down into my room, fairly easily in fact, especially if I stood close to the window. Otherwise, they could see my reflection, via the large vanity mirror I liked to preen in front of.
At night, to the houses up the hill, my room must have resembled a yellow television screen, with a naked high school girl on display, especially when said student stood at the window, looking thoughtfully out into the darkness of the evening.
I suppose it was during those long winter nights that Bob Ferguson got a 35mm camera with a telephoto lens. One day, on the bus to school, he showed me his camera, but not his telephoto lens attachment. He showed it off in some kind of a meaningful way, as if I were supposed to know the significance of him having such a camera. I had no idea. Not a clue. One thing I did know, however, was that I was not a big fan of Bob Ferguson, who struck me as just a tad too freaky.
I did suspect, however, that Bob might have a crush on me, so I was always nice to him. I was that kind of girl, during my teenage years.
Like many teens, I was sexually frustrated. I had enjoyed sex once, so I was not a virgin, but that was when my Uncle Dante had visited us, and he snuck into my room and deflowered me. I should explain. Due to the long period when women are fertile, my Uncle Dante, who was my mother's brother, was only two years older than me. He was a change of life mistake by my maternal grandmother, whom we called Oma. He found me to be a very willing niece, since he was handsome, two years older, and I had had a crush on him since I was eleven years old.
