Angela Discovers Exhibitionism

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.

Uncle Dante had insisted on having the lights on in my room, so I could lovingly watch his condom encased cock disappear inside me. I knew where his cock was at all times, however, with or without the lights on, I assure you. I replayed that first fuck in my mind countless times, usually before I went to bed.

To make my maiden fuck even more romantic, Uncle Dante happened to fuck me on Valentine's Day. He fucked me twice that day, and three times the next day, all while parts of my family were in the house. It was truly thrilling to me, and it was a Valentine's Day I'll never forget, as long as I live. I secretly went on the pill after those times with my uncle. Thank goodness for Planned Parenthood!

I also got a Valentine card from "a secret admirer." It was a beautiful card, and it intrigued me. Uncle Dante swore up and down it wasn't from him. I asked my boyfriend Rick, all of my brothers, and my Dad, and nobody would confess to being the sender of my mysterious Valentine card, so I figured it was a prank, most likely from my brother Fabien, but he refused to admit it, and secretly laughed at me together with our other brothers. I forgot about it.

The incest angle was of course troubling. I loved Uncle Dante with all my heart and all my soul, as much as any immature eighteen-year-old girl could love. However, Dante was my uncle, and we were having incest. I knew, therefore, that spending my life with Dante and having his babies was not a realistic possibility. Having protected sex with him, however, was quite realistic, and I enjoyed every fuck that long weekend, and wished we could have fucked even more!

Once Uncle Dante left and returned to college (where I assumed he had a girlfriend), I got a dildo, which I name Dante, and almost every night Dante the Dildo would plunge in and out of my welcoming pussy, pushed by my own hand, just as Uncle Dante himself had once done. Oh yes, it was always with the lights on, too. I wanted the re-creation to be as close to perfect as possible. My other hand played with my boobs, focusing on my nipples, just as Dante himself had done.

I would sit on the bed and face the window when Dante the Dildo would work his magic. I used the window as a mirror, and I had fun watching the dildo plunge into me, as I imagined the boys from across the creek would have enjoyed it, too.

As it turns out, Uncle Dante had a college girlfriend, and even though I adored my uncle, and I loved the kink of incest, I was just a convenient piece of ass for him when he was forced to visit our home for a family get-together. That was hard to come to terms with, but I'm a resilient girl, and as my Dad always said, everyone is replaceable, and no one is essential. He was referring to the employees of his business, of course, not to one's love life, but I took his maxim and applied it to all of my situations, including my romantic life.

**

Bob Ferguson became a renowned photographer at our school. He entered his pictures in contests, and they occasionally won prizes. The local newspaper had nature photography contests from time to time, and Bob would typically get an honorable mention with his photo entry, if he did not win them outright.

Bob would show off his pictures to his friends on the school bus, and quite frankly I was surprised how enthusiastic his friends would get just from pictures of nature. The ecology movement must have been stronger than I thought. I still thought Bob was freaky, but I couldn't help but admire how good he was at photography.

I had no idea Bob was showing the boys in the bus, with me right there sitting several rows closer to the front, pictures of me naked in my bedroom. It certainly explained the smirks I got from the boys, and the way they undressed me with their eyes. It seemed to me at the time that Bob's creepy nature was contagious. In a way, I guess it was.

Things came to a head when Uncle Dante arrived for another visit. I knew he was going to try to seduce me again, and I also knew I was looking forward to it, even if I was just a piece of ass for him. I did have a boyfriend at the time, a sweet, respectful, naïve high school peer named Rick, but I had not yet let Rick go "all the way." Only Uncle Dante enjoyed the privilege of carnal knowledge of my curvy body. I was in love with Rick, nevertheless.

Rick was pressuring me to have sex, real, full blown sex with him, harder than he used to do. I'm sure his newfound confidence and subsequent pressure was due to Bob Ferguson having told everybody I was not a virgin, and that 'he had proof.' To pacify Rick, I let him get me naked for the first time (and not just above the waist), and also, I gave him my first blowjob. (I had already given him countless hand jobs, but I had always kept my panties on.) I'm sure I was lousy at giving blowjobs, but Rick was beyond thrilled. It was his first blowjob, too.

Rick and Bob were casual friends. They were both in the marching band at our high school, and they both played the trumpet, so they had that in common. Apparently, Rick had told Bob about me giving him a blowjob, since boys love to discuss sex, and he was surprised how Bob was constantly urging Rick to get it on with me in my bedroom. Rick thought it strange that Bob seemed to have undertaken a relentless quest for Rick and me to get it on in the Biblical sense. Rick, provoked by Bob's taunts, wanted to see the "proof" he claimed to have that I had already had Biblical sex. Bob stalled him. Instead, Bob came to me. He first showed me the pictures of myself nude that he had taken of me when I was changing clothes in my private bedroom.

In a triumph of will that Leni Riefenstahl would have been proud of, I managed to show neither shock nor even surprise. I stayed outwardly perfectly calm and yet, within my internal bubbling rage, I somehow devised a strategy to deal with Bob and his damnable pictures. On that score, I felt a kinship with the late Princess Diana of British royalty renown.

I think, however, I shocked Bob to the core. From all appearances, it was a heart attack inducing kind of shock. Bob was young and strong, though, and not about to have a heart attack; but it was that kind of shock. I shocked him, to be precise, simply by not being upset with the existence of the pictures. In fact, I was channeling my time at summer camp when I revealed all on the shores of Austin Creek, in Sonoma County, in a redwood forest, near Cazadero, California.

"Bob, I've always thought you had immense talent with photography, but only for photographing nature. These candid shots of me dressing, and more, in my bedroom, however, are spectacular. You not only capture my mood and my sensuality, but I don't look fat, and you even make me look pretty in them. They're amazingly good photos. Good for you. Can I have copies?"

"Are you okay?" was the next utterance out of my mouth. I knew he wasn't expecting a reaction like that from me, all the more so because it was obvious, I should think, that my remarks were genuine. I meant every word. I had forced myself to exist in an alternate universe, or something.

Still, I was enjoying shocking him, the asshole. Peeping on a girl is not an admirable trait.

Bob was maintaining a stunned silence, so I continued.

"Maybe you'd take even better pictures up close? You could sneak into our backyard and take them from just outside my bedroom window? Let me know, and maybe I could pose for you? Would you like that? I could pose with my dildo, too, if you like? Or would posing destroy the Peeping Tom high you're getting? You're a bit of a pervert, you know, and kind of a creepy one," I proclaimed.

Bottom line: Bob having secretly taken those pictures of me, good as they were, was turning me on, something fierce. I was hoping Bob couldn't tell. Now, it seems, I was no longer so sure my carnal instincts could wait for Uncle Dante's next visit.

Bob finally spoke a bit, and he said, rather quietly, "There's more."

I figured he had to have seen me getting it on with my uncle, and since he had bragged he had proof I wasn't a virgin, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he had photos of Uncle Dante and me in flagrante delicto. I really wanted to see those, given the high quality of the photos so far.

So, in a brief spasm of reckless courage, I said, "Do you have extra photos taken of me having sex? I mean with someone else, not just with my dildo?"

I had developed a habit of getting myself off, on the edge of the bed, facing the window, which at night and with my lights on, served as a mirror so I could watch myself. This had unwittingly provided some rather spectacular X-rated shows for Bob and his telephoto lens. Bob doubtless had pictures of me suppressing noise with my hand over my mouth, as I drove myself to climaxes with Dante the Dildo, night after night after night.

I began to think I had a Narcissus complex, in love with how I looked in the window's mirror effect, together with how I appeared in great pictures, even if the pictures were humiliating, but sexy as hell.

"Yes," Bob replied.

"Well, let's see them. C'mon, Bob," I said, as he hesitated. Not surprisingly, his photos of Uncle Dante fucking me were great. I mean, they were Playboy and Penthouse quality. Unsurprisingly, he also had a short video of us having sex, suitable for You Porn.

"This one is my favorite," Bob said.

The photo was of Uncle Dante and me copulating, but with me sitting on Dante, my boobs were bouncing around in a manner Bob called 'delicious,' as I rose up and down, with Dante's hands on my hips. You could actually see Dante's cock partly inside me. There was absolutely no question, from that photo alone, that I wasn't a virgin.

"Fantastic picture, Bob," I said. "I want copies of everything, please. Oh yeah; please don't show them around, okay? I prefer that Rick not learn of them, nor my parents, you know?"

"I understand, Angela. Hey, would you like to see my studio?" Bob asked.

"You have a studio?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, it's in my parents' basement, but it's nicely done up. I hope to take professional portraits. Maybe you could pose for me there?"

"Fully clothed, right?" I asked. "I'm not in any danger with you, right?"

"Of course. However you want to pose is fine. I think you're beautiful and your beauty will always shine through. I'd love to take glamour shots of you, if you're willing."

I began to like Bob. A guy who thinks I'm beautiful and wants to capture my beauty in pictures? Who wouldn't like a guy like that? Also, to my happy surprise, he wasn't trying to extort anything from me, due to his having such compromising pictures of me. Any girl, myself included, would be horrified to have nude photos circulating among all the boys at school.

Perhaps I should elaborate about my Uncle Dante. I like calling Dante 'Uncle Dante,' since it re-inscribes how perverse it is to have an uncle just two years older than myself. Dante is the brother of my mother, and he was obviously a change of life accident; an unexpected pregnancy of his mother, who was 47 when he was born!

Dante was raised by the whole family, except for my own mother. She was the oldest, and she was away in college during Dante's infancy. By the time Dante was two, my own mother was pregnant with me. Dante and I grew up almost like brother and sister, until my Dad got a new (and better paid) job and we moved a few hundred miles away from the ancestral family home.

**

I decided to bring a girlfriend to Bob's proposed photo shoot, for protection, because I did not completely trust Bob. I knew he had been planning to blackmail me for money or sex with the pictures he took, but I had bamboozled him with my unexpected praise and enthusiasm. He was still, nevertheless, a peeper and a pervert, and not a man to be trusted.

Ever since I became aware of Bob Ferguson peeping on me, I closed my drapes when I changed clothes. He had enough compromising pictures of me already! He didn't need more. I needed to keep him happy, though, because in this digital age, one is only one Internet post away from scandal and public humiliation. Also, Bob is the type of guy who would have the pictures backed up in every cloud imaginable, so even if he deleted them right in front of me, I would never know if he was deleting all the copies, or not.

In the meantime, there was Rick. Yes, Rick. Rick really liked me and he had been pursuing me since the ninth grade. I was kind of an idée fixe for him, an obsession. His persistence won the day, and since everyone 'knew' I was Rick's girl, the other guys smiled at me, and were friends with me, but romantically they left me alone.