The Exposure of Jen

"Thanks, guys!" my sassy biker babe Jen blurted, "You've both been very sweet and a big help." We headed to the door for a big honkin' burger.

We noticed there seemed to be quite a few guys with the camera store's name tags that came in and sat nearby while we had lunch. We pretty much behaved ourselves and left quietly after lunch... except for maybe that stunt of Jen's when she squeezed a big glob of ketchup out of her burger. It ran down her chin, dripped to her chest and ran out of site into her jacket.

"OH!" she squeaked again. Then, as if nobody else were around, she set her burger down, unzipped the jacket to her navel and pulled the sides open wide to survey the path of the ketchup. Even I was shocked and agog at the "naive" yet brazen exposure of Jen's naked torso and breasts. There had to be eight guys in the place, all with their mouths hanging open and forgetting to breathe as Jen placed her finger on her belly under the dollup of ketchup and traced its path up between her breasts. She lifted her ketchup laden finger to her mouth and placed it between her lips.

Only then did Jen look up and scan the tables nearby. She paused for just a split second to look into each guy's eyes - a look that I'm certain they'll never forget. She pulled her finger from between her lips and coyly pulled the jacket closed. She looked at me and asked, "Can you get me some wet and dry napkins?"

Before I could slide out of the booth, three guys jumped up from nearby tables. One guy came straight over with a handful of dry napkins. The other two returned shortly. One handed her two saturated and dripping napkins. The other guy presented her with a cup of water and two packs of ketchup and pickle relish. Jen started giggling and the rest of us remembered to breathe.

After a bit of laughter from everyone nearby, Jen shook her head and said, "Ahh, what the hell, they've already had a good look." After wringing a wet napkin out into her tray, she fully unzipped the jacket and pulled it wide enough to drop from her shoulders. She meticulously wiped the remaining ketchup from between her breasts and down her belly. Jen wiped her chin and dropped the napkin to her tray. She took a dry napkin and dried the path of the ketchup.

With an impish smile, Jen laid a couple dry napkins in her lap. She then picked up the remaining saturated, dripping napkin and began sensuously wiping her neck and down her chest. Rivulets of water ran across her breasts and belly into the dry napkins at her waist. She ran the napkin over and around each breast, taking care to look down and examine each nipple as she rolled and tugged each of them in the napkin. She paid particular attention to the ring piercing her left nipple. She wiped the napkin under each breast, lifting each one. Finally, Jen wiped her belly and circled her navel several times with her napkin covered index finger. She dropped the wet napkin on her tray and reached to her lap. Taking a napkin from her lap in each hand and beginning at her waist, she patted herself dry up her torso, over her breasts and finally patting across her chest and up to her neck.

Jen dropped the napkins on the table top and looked down at her exposed front. She inhaled deeply, pursed her lips and blew slow and steadily down her front, turning her head from one breast to the other. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled almost as a sigh. She looked across the table at me, lifted the jacket back over her shoulders, took it between her fingers at the waist and reconnected the zipper.

"That was really refreshing!" she proclaimed as she pulled the zipper up to the base of her breasts.

She scanned the table, her tray and the remaining food for a moment. She then retrieved the napkins she'd used and laid them one by one individually at the edge of the table. Jen scanned her audience at the adjacent tables and advised, "You guys can have those if you like." It seemed like arms emerged from every direction and were gone as fast as they appeared. The napkins were gone.

I looked at my hottie and recommended, "I'm thinkin' maybe we ought'a get out'a here ... like now!" Jen giggled and slid out of the booth. I took her hand and we made fast tracks for the motorcycle. Minutes later we were roaring South on I-280.

[Okay, I'll be honest. It's all true except for the part in the hamburger joint - but wasn't that HOT!!?]

The Coffee Shop Tease:

The coffee shop tease went like this... As previously mentioned, I had a pretty nice motorcycle and, prior to that one, I had a smaller used bike that I rode for a number of years. When we lived in San Jose, we had a neighbor who was somewhat of a hybrid of the following cartoon characters; Ziggy, Mr Magoo, Charlie Brown, Bill the Cat, and Beatle Bailey. Despite that, he took himself pretty seriously. I was a middle to senior manager in the high-tech world and he was a middle manager with a monolithic player in the military industrial complex. He is an ultraconservative and I'm a centrist that leans slightly left. To an ultraconservative, anything left of an ultraconservative is a commie-fag-pinko-liberal-nutjob. My neighbor, Jack, and I were about as different as two guys could possibly be. Despite our differences, Jack and I had an odd respect for one another and an appreciation and empathy for the professional challenges we both faced. Jack also had a motorcycle, which he rode to work most everyday, rain or shine...mostly because he was cheap! I, on the other hand, was more a fair weather rider ... completely because I don't like getting wet, dealing with the extra danger of wet pavement and reduced visibility, and I especially don't like having to detail my shiny flashy motorcycle more than I have to. All that said, for ten of the twenty years we were neighbors, we hardly shared more than an occasional, "Hi. How are ya?" Until one day, out of the blue, he called me up - I didn't even know he had our number. Anyway, he explained that he'd recently lost a close friend and that he just needed to talk to somebody about it. He asked if I'd go get a beer with him and just listen. This was one of those times in life where you just don't say "no" no matter who it is. So he bought me a beer and I gave him an ear.

From that we came to realize that, despite our differences, we were a couple of old farts stumbling through life just trying to do the best we could with whatever talents and skills we had. We developed a mutual respect and did our best to avoid those topics where we knew we were strongly divided. It wasn't long before we had a regularly scheduled "You think that's bad? Listen to this..." coffee night.

After dinner, every Sunday, we'd haul the motorcycles out and ride to any one of a number of coffee spots. We'd sit there and sip at our coffee while complaining about the ignorance of our bosses, inequity, injustice, and the ineptitude with which, whatever the topic was, was being handled. We talked about the trials and tribulations our families were going through and the failing health of our fathers.

In the midst of those discussions, just like the pack of dogs in the movie "UP" whenever "Squirrel!" was mentioned, all conversation would stop and our attention was diverted whenever a lovely woman could be discerned or imagined roughly within the range of our failing, but mostly corrected, eyesight. Conversation would pause while we'd ogle and appreciate, comment on the most notable of assets or endowments, but at a deeper level lament the loss of, and long for the return of, the days when we were virile, fit, handsome, and had a full head of hair. To the extent to which we perceived beauty in the women who captured our attention and won, even so briefly in the passing of time, our longing and passionate interest, we yearned doubly that they might find an equal interest in us even were it for half the time.

Over a few years, this weekly night out stretched to twice a week and, for a time three times per week. There was some secret formula in it that made us feel more alive, more affirmed, as if we were more in control. And, lusting after unobtainable beauty somehow made us feel younger. It was into this formula that I chose to introduce Jen. I was honest with Jen and explained that I wanted her to join us as the third Musketeer to taunt and tease us with her physical charms and to tantalize our intellect with her wit, innuendo and double entendre.

Jack knew nothing of the depths of my relationship with Jen or the degree to which she'd respond to my perverse desires or the lengths to which she'd go to sexually tease a man. By this time in our relationship, Jen had bought a motorcycle of her own and would join us at least once a week on our coffee shop ride.

Early on, when she was with us, I'd urge Jen in advance to spend the evening teasing us with words. As one of the Musketeers, she was in no way an inhibitor in our appreciation of other members of the gentler gender. I urged her to use that as a source for her teasing. Through her taunting and teasing, Jen drew us out further in our lust and expressing what it was that attracted our attention to certain women. Why were they so desirable? We talked about eyes, lips, breasts, butts, legs, facial structure, hair, physical carriage and the total package. What she learned from our lust, she applied later to her tease.

In the next stage, I urged Jen to dress more provocatively and to do her best to shock Jack with her reveal, by taking off her leather jacket when we arrived at the coffee shop. This resulted in about eighteen months of at least one night per week of Jen making Jack and I crazy with her taught spandex top stretched across erect nipples revealing their texture, hue, elevation and the outline of the evening's nipple jewelry - ring, 3/4 ring, stud, spike, whatever. Other times it may have been a loose or tight fitting Harley Davidson tank top, always with out a bra. A thin light top revealed a lot. A dark top might not show much until she leaned down to retie her motorcycle boot. I loved watching Jack's reaction as he'd stare down into her sagging tank top at Jen's suspended breasts.

Jen also had a certain white knit top with about a hundred little clasps running about two thirds the way down the front. The clasps we sort of like the ones on the back of a bra. Depending upon how frisky Jen was feeling or how much she wanted to torture us, she'd decide how many or how few of the clasps to connect. Again, never was there a bra to obscure the view. So even if it was clasped top to bottom, the subtle curves and features of her breasts were well detailed by the knit fabric. The lower Jen would go with open clasps, the more skin she'd privilege us to see.

Sometimes she'd wear a button down Harley Davidson shirt or blouse that she could wear in a bunch of different ways. Jen would button it all the way up or hardly at all, tuck it in, or leave it out. Unbuttoned from the bottom and tie it at her midriff and decide on three, two, one or "God, yes, please!" no buttons done above the tie. Whenever and however she'd wear this top, I'd always urge her to sit to Jack's right so that, even if Jen had it buttoned, you could always see her breasts between the buttons. So she'd do it and drive him or both of us crazy - and often times other guys sitting nearby.

The absolute sexiest times were those few occasions when she wore this top in the summer time, tied high just under breasts with a single button done at the tie and all other buttons open above that. When she wore it that way we knew Jen intended to give us a major show. If she wanted to be certain we couldn't stand up without embarrassing ourselves, Jen'd cross her arms, one atop the other, at the edge of the table in front of her. Then she'd sort of set her breasts on top of her forearms and lean down. The more she'd press down, the more of her breasts that would rise out of the top of her shirt. If she rose up, her breasts would recede and the shirt would close up. Jen'd use this to tease us, and sometimes others, mercilessly. If somebody came by that might be a problem, might say something, or she just didn't want to allow a view of "the girls," she'd rise up and keep 'em out of sight. If Jen wanted to make us weak in the knees, or anyone else taking notice, she could almost roll those babies completely out over the top and show off every square inch of them, nipples, her piercing, the entire package.. Good God, she could drive us crazy.

Over the years, Jen became pretty comfortable with her exhibitionism. She'd never show off or expose herself if she was on her own, though. She'd only do so when I was with her because she felt both safe when I was there and she knew how much it turned me on to watch her and see the reaction of the guys she flashed or teased. As time passed, we both moved away from Silicon Valley to different parts of the country. We've stayed in touch and continue to tease each other with ideas of crazy things we could do the next time we get together. Not long ago she sent me a CD full of pictures, taken by her husband, of her posing nude in a multitude of National Parks around the country or on beaches around the world. I do miss her and her courage to expose her physical charms to the nerdly techie guys of Silicon Valley, the average guys at Home Depot or Lowes, and the outdoorsy types at REI and sporting goods stores. And, apparently now, the flora, fauna, hikers and sun worshipers of National Parks and the world's beaches.

Jen really taught me to appreciate the unfortunately few women who like to or are willing to tease and please us with vistas of their feminine charms. I've often wished there were some safe and subtle way of encouraging and thanking them, or encouraging other ladies to give it a try. For the few who may read this, thank you, from me and the other well mannered men who may have enjoyed the life affirming benefit and pleasure of your tease, flash and intentional exposure. We greatly appreciate you.