I Am a Female Exhibitionist
Here's just a moment in time from my last holiday. Nothing too spicy or outlandish, but something I keep in my mental purse because the memory makes me tingle.
I was on holiday with my husband in a complex of 30 apartments near the beach. It had its own gardens and a lovely pool shaped like two kidney-beans: one deep and one shallow. The beach outside was the usual stew of late-summer tourists and a pick-n-mix of couples, lads and lasses playing the posture and pick-up beach games of holiday romance.
The garden was quieter and more suited to thirty-somethings. Sometimes, I admit I'm in that club, but only just.
It was mostly couples and the occasional young family. Some had rented and some had bought their apartment as an investment. We had borrowed from a friend. The atmosphere was nice, the fountain trickled, and sparrows were bathing in the splashes. The grass was that thick, deep green sort that appears in Southern Spain and some well-placed palm trees offered shade if you wanted it. The world outside was no more than echoes of passing cars off the building. It was perfect for reading in the afternoon sun. I hope you get the picture.
I thank my mother's heritage for my skin tone. I tan easily if I'm careful in the first days, after which I don't worry much about sun blocking at all. My husband was reading a paper in the shade (or may have been asleep) and I walked to the edge of the deep pool to paddle my toes. I took my book but was more intent on people watching and daydreaming.
I sat just along from the diving board and enjoyed the warm caress of the less-intense 3 o'clock sun on my skin. I've omitted to say I was topless, but now you know and, in case you're interested, my lower half was in white and leaf-green bikini bottoms. I like my costumes small but tasteful, and I loathe thongs.
Two young guys, who turned out to be Dutch, were in the pool. We had spoken to them on a previous evening in a nearby bar and we knew they were on Summer break from their second year at university. This was the first time we'd met in the garden and although there was the usual jolt of being seen in mutual states of undress, it was no shock to say hello and exchange pleasantries. They were diving into the pool with varying degrees of success and I'll admit that their boyishness was fun to watch.
Before long, they swam over to where I was sitting and, while they trod water in the pool, we chatted about what I was reading, the weather, and my background. They were mischievous but polite and if there was a flirty undercurrent, it wasn't unwelcome.
They dared me to dive. I refused for long enough to convince them of my seniority before putting my book down and standing at the board. I doubt that any others were watching but it was at that point, with my arms at my sides and so very exposed in just my bikini bottoms, that I had that little rush of a thrill - like a mouse scurrying from my toes to my head - that tingling feeling that eyes were on my body.
I dived in, maintained my grace, and surfaced. My hair is just past my shoulders, wavy, and brown to the point of being black. Feeling that they were watching me and that my dive ought to have been the best in execution, if not in complexity, I swept it back with a flourish and side-stroked to the side of the pool.
We trod water together, laughed and chatted smalltalk for a moment. Then I climbed out again, stood by the poolside and wrung out my hair. I felt totally relaxed in my semi-nudity and, although I knew their eyes were probably stealing moments on my breasts, it wasn't lurid at all.
They climbed out, too - each being some way taller than my 5ft 5 and when my husband walked over to join us I felt like I was looking up as 3 skyscrapers. We chatted a while longer and then parted. For that much, the encounter had ended.
Back at our room, my husband was keen to make love and we were quickly naked, touching and making pillow talk.
He told me how he had watched the whole encounter and asked me how I felt about it. He knows me well and it took very little persuasion to admit that I liked them admiring me and that spending time chatting to them alone had been something of an ego boost.
He said he had watched them watching me and, through a natural veil of defensiveness, had enjoyed the scene of my small, exposed body juxtaposed against their size and youth. He said their glances at my body had been frequent and not well hidden to an onlooker.
Whether he felt he needed to repossess me, or whether he was genuinely turned on by the encounter is of no account. He entered me and we made love slowly and deliberately, guessing in whispers about the desires of our two young friends from Holland.
I felt delicious.
That's all.
I was on holiday with my husband in a complex of 30 apartments near the beach. It had its own gardens and a lovely pool shaped like two kidney-beans: one deep and one shallow. The beach outside was the usual stew of late-summer tourists and a pick-n-mix of couples, lads and lasses playing the posture and pick-up beach games of holiday romance.
The garden was quieter and more suited to thirty-somethings. Sometimes, I admit I'm in that club, but only just.
It was mostly couples and the occasional young family. Some had rented and some had bought their apartment as an investment. We had borrowed from a friend. The atmosphere was nice, the fountain trickled, and sparrows were bathing in the splashes. The grass was that thick, deep green sort that appears in Southern Spain and some well-placed palm trees offered shade if you wanted it. The world outside was no more than echoes of passing cars off the building. It was perfect for reading in the afternoon sun. I hope you get the picture.
I thank my mother's heritage for my skin tone. I tan easily if I'm careful in the first days, after which I don't worry much about sun blocking at all. My husband was reading a paper in the shade (or may have been asleep) and I walked to the edge of the deep pool to paddle my toes. I took my book but was more intent on people watching and daydreaming.
I sat just along from the diving board and enjoyed the warm caress of the less-intense 3 o'clock sun on my skin. I've omitted to say I was topless, but now you know and, in case you're interested, my lower half was in white and leaf-green bikini bottoms. I like my costumes small but tasteful, and I loathe thongs.
Two young guys, who turned out to be Dutch, were in the pool. We had spoken to them on a previous evening in a nearby bar and we knew they were on Summer break from their second year at university. This was the first time we'd met in the garden and although there was the usual jolt of being seen in mutual states of undress, it was no shock to say hello and exchange pleasantries. They were diving into the pool with varying degrees of success and I'll admit that their boyishness was fun to watch.
Before long, they swam over to where I was sitting and, while they trod water in the pool, we chatted about what I was reading, the weather, and my background. They were mischievous but polite and if there was a flirty undercurrent, it wasn't unwelcome.
They dared me to dive. I refused for long enough to convince them of my seniority before putting my book down and standing at the board. I doubt that any others were watching but it was at that point, with my arms at my sides and so very exposed in just my bikini bottoms, that I had that little rush of a thrill - like a mouse scurrying from my toes to my head - that tingling feeling that eyes were on my body.
I dived in, maintained my grace, and surfaced. My hair is just past my shoulders, wavy, and brown to the point of being black. Feeling that they were watching me and that my dive ought to have been the best in execution, if not in complexity, I swept it back with a flourish and side-stroked to the side of the pool.
We trod water together, laughed and chatted smalltalk for a moment. Then I climbed out again, stood by the poolside and wrung out my hair. I felt totally relaxed in my semi-nudity and, although I knew their eyes were probably stealing moments on my breasts, it wasn't lurid at all.
They climbed out, too - each being some way taller than my 5ft 5 and when my husband walked over to join us I felt like I was looking up as 3 skyscrapers. We chatted a while longer and then parted. For that much, the encounter had ended.
Back at our room, my husband was keen to make love and we were quickly naked, touching and making pillow talk.
He told me how he had watched the whole encounter and asked me how I felt about it. He knows me well and it took very little persuasion to admit that I liked them admiring me and that spending time chatting to them alone had been something of an ego boost.
He said he had watched them watching me and, through a natural veil of defensiveness, had enjoyed the scene of my small, exposed body juxtaposed against their size and youth. He said their glances at my body had been frequent and not well hidden to an onlooker.
Whether he felt he needed to repossess me, or whether he was genuinely turned on by the encounter is of no account. He entered me and we made love slowly and deliberately, guessing in whispers about the desires of our two young friends from Holland.
I felt delicious.
That's all.
By:
Samirah31
Age:
31-35
,
Female
