by Olivia Myers
In all of her years of being wanted by men – all the flowers and candy, all the dating and fucking – Catherine had never been more turned on as she was after that encounter. It was as if she was watching herself from outside her body; the sensation was so new to her that she simply had no comparison. Her body was on fire. Realizing that she wouldn’t be able to last another four hours away from her trusty vibrator, she took advantage of her friendly boss’s standing offer and borrowed the key to the private bathroom. She couldn’t get the door locked fast enough before she leaned against the sink and slipped two fingers inside of her dripping pussy. She fingered herself quickly and expertly, licking two fingers of her other hand to gently massage her clit. The last four minutes of Catherine’s life played in looping flashes in her mind, and she rode the wave of reliving it over and over again until the hardest orgasm she had ever known brought her to her knees on the bathroom floor.
Reason and reality slowly seeped back into her, and soon she picked herself up off the floor. She straightened her clothes and makeup and returned to her desk. As she sat at her desk that afternoon, Catherine knew that this was what she had been missing her whole sexual life. Feeling more like herself than ever before, she tackled her to-do list while plotting her new life as an exhibitionist.
After the accountant, there were many, many others: the fireman at the hook and ladder garage down the street from her townhouse, the very helpful librarian stationed across from her in the periodicals, the pizza delivery boy (one of her favorites – after she answered the door naked, she let him keep the pizza!). With each new conquest, Catherine lost more and more of the timid, submissive nature she had been programmed with. She was still very much a lady – she loved being wined and dined like the next girl – but she no longer took her body as a gift she had to give away to anyone. Instead, it was the tool she used to please her own sexual appetites. She wasn’t obligated to just one form of sexual expression. Catherine still enjoyed what many would describe as “traditional” intercourse with a lover, but now she focused on pleasing herself, giving her lovers the cues they needed to bring her to orgasm. She was never met with resistance to her new aggressive nature; since they wanted to make her cum, all of her lovers appreciated the guidance.
Even with her new attitude between the sheets being well received, exhibitionism was Catherine’s true sexual faith. As she learned more about other people like her – through their stories and email exchanges – she felt part of a community of people that had the ability to feel sexy beyond intercourse. The desire, the temptation, and the restriction of exhibitionism created a tension that made Catherine’s whole body vibrate with every adventure. She laughed out loud when she came across the fact that it was regarded as a mental disorder. This is normal for me, she thought. But if I’m crazy, then so be it!
Crazy. Many people would call Catherine’s next step into the world of exhibitionism just that. But for her, the thrill was all that mattered, and as she plotted her next adventure, she was certain that she was in for the biggest thrill yet.
Catherine’s next big idea came to her, of all places, at the dentist’s office. She was waiting for a routine cleaning, thumbing through last year’s swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. She always loved to look at the summer suits, if only to laugh and wonder how anyone would want to swim in the square millimeters of fabric that passed for bathing suits. Soon she came across her favorite section: the painted swimsuits. She couldn’t help but be amazed at the detail of the bikini strings, thongs, and tops that looked so realistic in the photos. Anyone would be fooled from far away, Catherine thought. That probably feels amazing…being completely naked in front of people, but they’d only realize it if they stared long enough. That must be—
Then it hit her. The ultimate adventure in exhibitionism was right there in front of her face. “Holy shit,” she muttered – louder than she should, as the scowl on the receptionist’s face helped her realize. She flashed an apologetic smile before pulling her phone out of her purse and hopping online. There has to be someone, Catherine thought, as she tore through her search engine for what she needed. In less than a minute she found a link, committed the street address to memory, and tapped the phone number to make a call.
“Hello, Student Art Collaborative,” said a cheery voice on the other line.
“Yes, hello,” Catherine said. “I have an odd project I was hoping to commission your group for.”
“Okay,” the voice said. “We’re just a group of young artists, though. We get together to work on really innovative projects in between our school assignments. We can’t promise amazing work, but we have fun working together.”
“I completely understand,” Catherine responded. By now she had rushed out of the dentist’s office and jumped into her car, deciding to talk the voice into taking the gig while she was driving towards their crosstown studio. She started the car and activated the speakerphone mode on her cell. “I don’t imagine that my idea is very difficult, but it would require a lot of people working together to get it done in time.”
“Well, how long would we have?” the voice asked.
Catherine glanced at her watch. “Well, the concert starts at 8pm, so about 7 hours.”
“Hold on lady.” The cheery tone was morphing quickly into frustration. “What exactly do you want us to paint?”
Catherine couldn’t help but chuckle about her big idea. “Me,” she responded. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
After a quick stop at her house for some much-needed accessories, Catherine arrived at the S.A.C. studio and met the artists that would give her the look she needed for her night out: three excited young girls named Jamie, Allison, and Paula. They did some quick introductions and Catherine stepped out of her clothes onto a drop cloth in the middle of the floor. After a few glasses of wine and some great mix CDs, the four women were satisfied with the end result: Catherine clad in a painted replica of a man’s tuxedo. The jet black paint for the lapels did a great job of hiding her nipples – along with the black pasties the girls cut out of latex and painted. Although the approving nods of the young artists were definite signs of a job well done, Catherine nearly ran to the nearest mirror, grabbing the bag of accessories on the way to the dressing area across the studio. She squealed with delight when she saw the product. The current fashion trend had brought back the androgynous look for women in men’s formal wear, and the suit cut to have these days fit snug and slim. It would make complete sense for Catherine to be seen in a suit like this, and anyone who wasn’t paying close attention would see her merely as another pretty girl doing what Vogue told her to do. She reached into her bag and slipped on the black heels and bow tie she brought along. Wow, even better, she thought.
Jamie brought over a black overcoat. “Here,” she said, as she motioned to Catherine to let her help her into the coat. “You have to borrow this. This will help keep you warm when you need to, and it will help strengthen the illusion of a real suit.”
“Guys, I couldn’t be happier,” Catherine said. “You did a great job.” She reached for her checkbook to pay the girls, adding an extra $100 to the agreed fee. “Promise me we’ll do this again?”
“Hell yeah,” said Paula. “We’ll be here. I just love what you’re all about, Cat. I hope I can find the balls to do what you’re doing someday.”
Catherine chuckled. “Trust me, you will. I got a feeling about it.” She dropped a quick kiss on each of their cheeks before heading out the door.
The show was starting in less than thirty minutes, and Catherine wanted to make sure her opening act went well.
Catherine floored it to the concert. She was so excited to start her night; the thought of stirring up some fun at such a rigid, traditional function gave her that warm feeling she had come to love and long for. The symphony wouldn’t have landed anywhere near her list of fun things to do, but the tickets were a last-minute perk from her boss, who had bought them before scheduling a trip to the firm’s London
offices. She didn’t think she’d actually end up using them, but now that she stood in the lobby of the ornate concert hall, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
The usher directed her to a section to the left of the stage, along the wall and surrounded by a cluster of boxes jutting from the walls off to the side. Her tickets reserved the last two seats from the far aisle, and a seemingly married couple already occupied the seats next to her, out for what looked like an obligatory date night. Jesus, Catherine thought. If that’s what marriage looks like, I’m so happy I was spared the abuse. Being an exhibitionist taught her a lot about reading people, but there was no secret to be kept about her seatmates – they were miserable.
Not to be done in by a challenge so early in the evening, Catherine took off her coat and draped it over the aisle seat. That left her sitting right next to the depressed husband, who finally noticed her when she slid into her seat. Catherine wasn’t paying attention to the man much anyway. In a room full of hundreds of people, Catherine was completely exposed, on display for anyone willing to take a look and expect something a little more than the mundane. She said hello to the husband next to her, who smiled back with a terse “hello.” His eyes darted everywhere except her face. As she settled in, Catherine could feel the labored breathing of the living statue next to her quicken a bit. She knew that the husband could be onto her at any second, but he was far too reserved – or turned on – to say anything.
I wonder if there’s anyone else who might suspect something, Catherine thought. In the bustle of the full house, everyone else seemed to be too involved with their own conversations to even notice the woman who came in alone. Because her seat was on the outer aisle, she practically sat underneath all of the box seats above her, except for the one closest to the stage. Catherine glanced up to see a handsome young man looking down. He turned away from her the moment she focused on him, as if he had been watching her and didn’t want to get caught. Even though the effect of the body paint was better perceived when further away, it was possible that with the right glare from the house lights, it would be pretty obvious that she was naked. The man turned before she could get a better look at him, but Catherine could swear there was something familiar about him.
The lights began to fade out, and the orchestra stopped their tuning. After a few beats of silence, the music began. Catherine was surprised at how much the music moved her; she was certainly not a classical music lover – unless the Rolling Stones counted. Taking it all in, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was being watched. At first she just chalked the feeling up to being anxious and excited about the possibility of being caught, but soon she recognized the feeling. She was being watched. Aside from the disgruntled husband – who seemed to mind less about the strange woman next to him – there was someone else in the house who couldn’t seem to stop watching her. She looked up again at the balcony above her, and again, the handsome man was turning away. Ah, it must be you, she thought. That’s okay, sexy. Look all you want. Catherine had a feeling she had found a new lover to claim, but in order to get his full attention she needed to give him the performance of a lifetime. The orchestra continued to play as Catherine composed her next move. After a few more minutes the music swelled to a gripping, intense conclusion, with the conductor pushing the pace with his baton. Just when the pace has reached its climax, the conductor signaled the orchestra, and the music stopped. The abrupt ending pushed the crowd off the edges of their seats, and the entire house erupted into a standing ovation. Without her overcoat, joining the applause would almost surely expose Catherine to the people sitting closest to her. Is that what I want? Catherine asked herself. If everyone knew, I might get kicked out of the concert. Almost immediately, her mind became flooded with the images of the streakers from her childhood memories. Everyone will think I’m just some nut, out to make a scene and leave people uncomfortable. Instead of joining the crowd, Catherine stayed seated and applauded. She wasn’t out to ruin anyone’s night, only to make a memorable one for her and the lucky man she chose as her next lover.
After the applause, the house lights began to rise, signaling the intermission. Catherine quickly slipped on her overcoat while sitting, and darted back out to the lobby to walk around a bit. She felt a bit more secure in her overcoat, which made her start to wonder if she’d pushed herself too far this time. Was the risk too much for her? Had she stepped too far out of her comfort zone, so much so that she was losing control of her reality? Catherine never considered that she could ever go that far, but the pressure of the crowd was getting to her. I need to get the hell out of here, Catherine thought. And just as she turned toward the exit, she saw a face descending from the mezzanine stairs that she could never forget. In fact, she had just seen that face on her way to the break room at the office yesterday. It was the face that reminded her of the first real orgasm she’d ever had.
It was the accountant.
He stopped in his tracks when he locked eyes with Catherine, almost as if he had seen a long-lost lover. After the fun in the courtyard, Catherine treated him as if nothing had happened; their customary greetings and exchanges in the halls of the office were no different from before, and they never spoke of or repeated their encounter. Even now, after they had clearly recognized one another, the game continued. The accountant was the one who finally broke the standoff, and finished making his way down the stairs to the restroom. He glanced over his shoulder to find Catherine looking at him again. This time, she slipped enough of her overcoat off to reveal her right shoulder. That move was enough to stop the accountant in his tracks once more. With her left finger, she rubbed a small portion of the paint off to reveal her skin. The accountant covered his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. Once he composed himself, he looked Catherine in the eyes, shot her the biggest grin, and mouthed the words, I knew it. Then he turned and walked into the men’s room.
Catherine wasn’t a believer in fate until she became an exhibitionist. But for her, that was the only explanation for running into the accountant just as she was giving up on her night. The lights in the lobby flickered, signaling the end of the intermission. Catherine turned on her heels and went back to settle into her seat. She hoped the musicians had as much of a rejuvenating concert break as she did. If that was true, then everyone in that room was about to witness one hell of a finale. She had finally located her audience, and she had one more trick up her painted sleeve.
The house lights were just finishing their final fade to black as Catherine slid back into her seat. The orchestra ramped back into the symphony, with the crowd enthralled. Catherine looked up, and there was the accountant, staring back at her. She had him once again, gripped by the spell her energy cast upon him. She wanted to feel that ache of longing from him, and now that she was bolder and wiser in the ways of showing off, she wanted to give him a special treat. Without breaking the accountant’s gaze, she reached over and put her hand on top of the grumpy husband’s thigh.
She closed her eyes when she felt the husband turn to look at her – she didn’t want to give the accountant away. Catherine then opened her eyes and look at the husband, who had already checked to make sure his wife hadn’t noticed anything. He looked into Catherine’s eyes, almost pleading with her for … something. She could tell he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity he had in front of him, but he didn’t know what to do.
Just like she planned, Catherine took the lead. She held his hand and brought it over to her thigh. His breath quickened as she inched him closer and closer to the center of her lap. She then parted her legs and let go, inviting him to explore her.
He glanced over quickly at his wife to make sure she wasn’t looking, while Catherine quickly looked up at the accountant to make sure that he was still looking.
Two of the husband’s quivering fingers entered Catherine, causing her to gasp with pleasure. She reached over to give his cock an approving squeeze, and the husband quickened his pace. Catherine responded by spreading her legs
wider, allowing him to stretch her enough to fit another finger inside of her. She breathed controlled, slow breaths to stop her from panting, but it wasn’t an easy task. The husband had clearly been without affection for a long, long time, but it was easy to guess that when he did fuck, he was very good at it. He played Catherine’s clit as expertly as any of the violinists onstage; even matching the ebbs and flows of his strumming with the music.
Since the husband had to pretend to watch the orchestra play in order to fool his wife, Catherine was able to keep looking up at the accountant, who was busy keeping himself quiet by biting his lip. She could see that his right shoulder was flexing up and down, and his hands were nowhere to be seen. Her eyes flashed with excitement. Nearly one hundred feet and one story apart from one another, Catherine and the accountant were making love, giving one another pleasure, longing, and the fleeting devotion that kept every interaction between them riddled with sexual energy.
The pressure soon became too much for Catherine to hold onto, and she allowed herself to cum all over the husband’s hand, drenching her seat. She shuddered and pulled her hips towards the back of the chair, taking herself off his hand. The husband smiled a devilish grin at Catherine before he realized that not only was his hand covered with the scent of another woman, but also a thin coat of black paint. As if on cue, the concert ended. Catherine grabbed her overcoat and scurried out of the theater as the audience gave the performance another standing ovation.
Catherine chuckled softly to herself, imagining how her seatmate was going to explain his hand to his wife. Good luck pal, but thanks for the memories, she thought as she strode towards the exit doors. On the way out she heard a familiar voice over the sound of rapidly tapping wingtips.