Joanie: The Epilogue

After that, and the weekend in the Hamptons, my weakness for exhibitionism resurfaced, and I did not have to be drunk to enjoy it. On the weekends, I began to go without a bra, but only in the morning. I would go out for walk, and find reasons to bend over a lot, giving strangers a chance - should they be so inclined - to look down my blouse.

I did an informal survey. I would say ¾ of the men, older and younger, were very much inclined to benefit from my "carefree" nature. I would go braless. unbutton a bit at times, and have a morning coffee in a coffee shop. I would choose a table when possible near a spot where people would naturally be standing, for example the line to order and pay.

Some cafés, not many, had tables perfectly positioned for me. Those are the cafés that got my business. I would bring a good book, one I could get lost in. Sometimes I would feel a presence near me, and take short break from my book, and notice a man was "blouse downlooking."

I would instantly return to my book, and then squirm a bit in my seat in just the right way so that my blouse would billow out the right amount to give him a full breast view, nipple included. It was a movement I became highly skilled at. I even practiced it at home, with a group of mirrors I had set up. I was (modesty aside) an expert at this.

I know a lot of women like to flash pussy. That seemed more dangerous to me, and also challenging. Nevertheless one day I decided to try. If you take the East Side subway express train and exit at 59th Street, there is a long escalator, always preferred to hiking up an equally long flight of stairs. So on this fateful day, I wore no panties, and a mini skirt. I figured anyone a couple of escalator stairs below me would have an escalator-ride-long view of my pussy.

To remove doubt, while standing on the escalator, I bent over to adjust the strap on my sandal, and I'm sure the man below me, if he were looking, got a nice view of my bare ass and my pussy. I don't shave it, so he saw a hairy bush.

Then I did something that was in equal measures both daring and stupid. I bent over to adjust my strap immediately after exiting the escalator. This gave the man behind me an excuse to bump into me by accident, right up against my bare ass.

He took the chance! He bumped into me, almost knocking me off my feet. Had he indeed knocked me off my feet, my plan was to fall sprawling, exposing myself to a clutch of people at once. However he prevented me from falling and profusely apologized, and helped to steady me, "accidentally" touching my ass with his hand.

I could tell he was scared to see how I would react. There is a big campaign being waged against "inappropriate touching" by the subway commission, and there are a lot of cops all about, mostly due to terrorist threats. Potentially I could have made trouble for him.

Instead I smiled a big smile and said, "Thank you for your help. It's nice to find a Good Samaritan in such a big city." He smiled back at me, a big smile from him, too, and we parted ways. New York City is a great place to remain anonymous.

I live on the 10th floor of a 15-story building. Recently just for fun, and even though I am no longer drinking, I have been flashing the windows when it is dark out. It's winter, so it gets dark early. It began innocently, when I got undressed in the bedroom, and then the phone rang. The phone is in the living room, with its big picture windows. Dressed in my bra and panties, I went to answer the phone.

It was my sister and we had a nice and fairly long conversation. As we were talking I gradually realized I was on display. The chair was facing the window and the blinds were up. Nobody from the street could see in, since I am too high up. However all the lights were on so anyone from a neighboring building, particularly from a floor higher than mine, could easily see me sitting there, talking on the phone in my bra and panties.

I pretended the bra was uncomfortable (which was true to a small extent, anyway), put the phone down while my sister was blabbing away, and took it off. I picked up the phone again and continued with the call, now topless, sitting in the window. I felt myself getting aroused. I felt my cunt through my panties and yes, it was definitely wet.

I made a habit of speaking on the phone in that chair only, and always being topless when I did. I did it in the day as well as the night, even though it was unlikely anyone could see me during the daytime. It was a gesture of vestigial exhibitionism.

This made me nostalgic for an earlier life. But those days were gone. I knew that. A week later I was in the local coffee house reading a novel and letting a cup of coffee get cold. There are quite a few coffee houses in my neighborhood but I always favor one in particular for some reason. A nice looking guy entered around my age, maybe a little older. All the tables were taken, and he used that as an excuse to ask if he could share my table.

I say he used it as an excuse, because there were lots of single occupancy tables, but he chose mine. I was by far the most attractive woman at any of the tables (modesty aside). Also most of the other girls were in their were late teens or in their early 20s.

We got to talking. He had often seen me in this coffee house he said, but this was the first time he had the chance to introduce himself. We hit it off, and I agreed to go to dinner with him that very night. At dinner I passed on the alcohol, but was able to flirt seriously even sober. It was harder for me to do, even a lot harder, and I was out of practice, but it helped a lot that he was clearly interested in me.

He had been single for a year after a brutal breakup. No children were involved. That's an issue when you're dating men in their 30s. He was off women the way I was off alcohol, but something clicked he said when he saw me repeatedly in the coffee house.

Of course, it is inevitable. Fate is like that. He lived in the building across the street on the 12th floor. I idly wondered if he had seen me topless on home on the phone, but I did not really want to know.

Making small talk he told me there was a young woman exhibitionist living in the building across the street from him. He guessed she was in her early 20s. I liked when he said that. He had seen me, but he did not know it was I he saw.

He continued, telling me that she sometimes spoke on the telephone topless. He also told me she had gorgeous breasts, as only a teenager can. He quickly added he knew it was wrong to look at her, but he could not help himself. Every night he sat by the window, hoping to see her.

I said, "New York is a big city. All sorts of people live here, no doubt even exhibitionists. And voyeurs." I smiled as I added that last tease.

I told him not to worry. Being a voyeur like that was harmless enough. If the woman did not want to be seen, she could draw her curtains or lower her blinds, right? I told him he should enjoy the show; pretend he was at the movies.

"I could make some popcorn," he said.

"Exactly," I replied.

He was taking a risk telling me all this; I could have been grossed out had I not been the girl in question. I wondered, was he hinting that it was me?

I asked if he had bought binoculars for a better look? He laughed and said he was not really a voyeur; it was just that this woman had perfect breasts. He said, "Actually, maybe I will. So far I have not been able to make out her face."

I replied, "Are you sure it's her face you are interested in?"

"You're right," he said. "I could only be disappointed after seeing your face here at the table with me tonight. Susie, you are a beautiful woman."

I blushed and demurred my eyes. Very feminine and coquettish, I know. But hey, I'm a girl.

He continued, "I'm sure your breasts are just as lovely as hers are, too."

I said, "Well, life is full of surprises. Let's change the subject." He immediately realized he had been inappropriate, especially on a first date. But I was wondering if he already I was the mystery woman. Perhaps he is just playing with me. That's okay, I thought. If he does know, then obviously he does not mind, and is not grossed out. That's good, because I was falling for him already. Hard.

New York has strange conventions. I don't tell men where I live until I know them well. I never do on a first date. So when the evening ended I had him walk me to the subway station. We kissed goodnight. I liked the way he kissed, so when he asked I gave him my cell phone number and said I hoped I would see him again. He said, "Definitely, Susie!" and he kissed me again.

As a parting gesture, I said, "Check out your exhibitionist across the street tonight at precisely midnight." Then I ran down to catch my train which I heard rumbling into the station. It did not go to my apartment, but to the East Side. This was a dodge. I live on the West Side. But this is also routine for me; there are some strange men out there.

I got off at Grand Central Station, where there it's easy to catch a cab, and grabbed a taxi to go home.

I got home at 11:30pm and turned on all the lights. I undressed until I was nude in my bedroom, and at precisely midnight I walked into the main room where the telephone is. I walked back and forth naked, so he could see my boobs jiggle, and then I finally simply stood still, naked, giving the window (and him, if he were watching) a full frontal. I held it a few minutes, and then smiled a big smile, and waved.

He called me a few minutes after I finished, saying he hoped it was not too late to call. I took the call and said, "Just a minute while I sit down and get comfortable." I sat down in the chair and spoke with him while I was naked. This made it all the more obvious he was dating his exhibitionist.

He did not however mention the mysterious exhibitionist or how I knew she would do this tonight at midnight precisely. But we both knew he knew it was I, of course. He invited me out the next night, and I agreed.

The next night, when I was back home, I masturbated in the window for him. When I was done I blew him some air kisses. The subsequent night I inserted a dildo. Both nights I got a call, and more dates.

After the masturbation night, when he called and asked me out and I accepted, we made some small talk. He said, "I took your idea and bought a pair of binoculars."

I was taken aback. I said, "Oh. You did?" Okay, it was not my most poetic moment.

He said, "Yes. I can almost make out the features of my exhibitionist's face."

"I'm beginning to worry about you, my friend. After what you just told me about her masturbation, which sounded fairly entertaining, you were looking at her face? I would think your attention would have been elsewhere."

"Oh yes, it was," he quickly said. "I masturbated along with her, I confess." This got me excited. "But I love to look at a woman's face when she enjoys sexual pleasure. It's really quite erotic, you know," he added.

I said, "Thank you, but I'm primarily into men's faces in those situations, "I said. Then I giggled.

The fourth night I let him take me home. He feigned surprise when he discovered I lived right across the street from him. He never mentioned the exhibitionism, and neither did I, but that night I let him undress me in the same window, just in case he had voyeur friends in his building. I think he realized that, and he was into it.

A week later he fucked me in that same window. He took me doggie style. I had two orgasms, and screamed loudly both times. He was hooked. So was I.

The next night we each masturbated, facing each other, in the same window. Damned if he didn't look at my face, too. I got aroused doing this in front of him, and then I realized that doubtless a lot of other men live in his building across the street. I climaxed after that thought, earlier than I had planned. Then I crawled over, my boobs swaying around below me as I crawled. I opened my mouth, and helped him to climax, too.

A romance blossomed around our shared secret. A year later we were married, and now as I write this I am a new mother. It's funny, his name is Mike, the same name as my first true love who turned me into an exhibitionist and was a misogynist and did horrible things to me. Of course, he also taught me all I know about sexual perversions. There is still a lot to learn out there, but a girl does not have to know everything.

In contrast, my new true love, my new Mike, is a loving, wholesome man. He enjoys my exhibitionism, but differently. He is not misogynistic, so much as simply accepting.

We never discuss my exhibitionism, but he seems OK with me being naked occasionally in front of the windows. He even repeated fucking me in the window a few times. He finds unspoken ways to encourage me, when I show myself off a little, later the sex is inspired.

At times I wonder how people will respond to possible sneak peaks of my private areas, which I am pushing a baby carriage? I figure I will start by wearing think yoga pants without panties, and bend over my baby from time to time. Mike does not know about this idea. I don't need to tell him everything, do I?

Mike has no idea how weird and sexually out of control I was in my early 20s and that more recent fateful day in Montauk. I figure he does not have to know. Still, I worry I might have a relapse some day. It's deep down in me, and I cannot get rid of my slutty urges. But I have free will, and so far I have successfully resisted them.

My new Mike is a professor of literature, and he has started a subspecialty of studying the use of exhibitionism in novels in the 19th century. We know why he chose that topic.

He tells me his classes are popular, especially with the coeds. He wants me to give a special lecture on digital privacy. Nobody could do that better than I, but so far I have resisted.

My sister Sarah and my parents have met him, and so far I have kept both my sister and my mother under control, thank goodness. Our child is a beautiful baby girl. I will have a talk with her about the birds and the bees like we all do, but as she matures, and before she heads off to college, I have a lot more to tell her about. Just in case it is genetic, you know? Time will tell.

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Coda: Some of you may be wondering what became of my former lover Philip. He is clearly an ambitious, evil man, willing to use anyone to get ahead. Once he no longer had me to use and abuse, he started farming out the sexual services of his beautiful wife Ursula, the mother of his children. He did this to get ahead, and because behind it all, he hates women.

They got divorced, and Ursula took the children to Sweden, as far from Philip as she could get them. He found a new slut, and continued his evil ways. Now is a senior vice president of his bank.

Life is not Hollywood. Assholes often come out on top. Philip is one of them. There are, however, hackers who can find out if he is embezzling. As it turns out, he is. He is not only ambitious, but greedy. The authorities have not yet learned of his criminal behavior, but it seems to me they will soon. They may get some help...