Exposing Oneself, a Sexual DisorderbySusanJillParker©
After years of flashing her shapely body to any and every man looking her way, after years of struggling to control the urge to flash and wrestling with guilt, when she couldn't, after years of private psychotherapy and group therapy, Susan thought she was cured of her sexual disorder of flashing. Nearly raped the last time she showed herself late at night on an empty subway train was the catalyst for her to get help. She swore that exposing herself would never happen again.
Driven by the urge to flash, always planning an appropriate time and plotting the perfect place to show her shapely body, she was consumed by an inherent horniness that was only satisfied by exposing herself and masturbating over the experience of flashing later. Not understanding why she needed and wanted to show herself, wishing she didn't feel so compelled to show her body to men, she spent years of her life flashing her panties and her bra, and showing her ass, her pussy, and/or her breasts to relatives, friends, co-workers, and random men on the street. Every man she's ever known has seen some part or all of her naked body. Too many men she didn't even know have seen too much of her body. Thanks to therapy, glad that she was finally saved from herself, her need to expose herself was behind her or was it?
A somewhat rare condition for women, typically men are the ones with this particular sexual disorder of exposing themselves. A psychological condition that manifests itself in them flashing their cocks to unsuspecting women for a sexual thrill and to masturbate over later, Susan loved flashing her body to unsuspecting men to masturbate over their shocked look of surprise later. Only, when men flash their cocks to women, they are hunted, until arrested. Conversely, when women flash their bodies to men, they are wanted and dated.
After not having the urge to flash herself for several years, her need to flash herself started again, when she went outside to take out the trash. An innocent and innocuous chore, something she's done many times before, had she known that something as simple as taking out the trash would cause her to lapse and flash again, she never would have walked outside to empty her trash bag in the barrel. If only she had stayed inside her townhouse, if only she had been wearing her jeans and sweatshirt, none of this would have happened. Yet, perhaps, fate had intervened and what happened to poor Susan was kismet, as her flashing abstinence ended that day.
A prelude to summer, it was a late spring day with temperatures nearly high enough to be summer. Just coming out of the shower, hoping to beat the trash pickup, she heard the trash truck in the distance making its way down her street. Grabbing her robe and slippers, she grabbed her bag of trash and headed for the trash barrel that she had put out last night. A household chore that should have taken only a minute turned into a flashing nightmare, after the neighbor's dog toppled her trash barrel again.
"Get out of there, Buster. Beat it," she chased away the neighbor's dog that had knocked the trash barrel over and littered garbage everywhere.
As she squatted down to pick up everything, with her knees unmindfully parted, she felt a cool breeze blow beneath her robe, one that elicited a familiar feeling, when she was flashing. Suddenly, she felt so open. She felt to naked. She felt so exposed. She felt so horny.
Even though the sudden breeze felt freeing and good, the urge to flash felt controlling and bad. The sensation of the gentle wind fanning across her pussy lips tickled her pubic hair, as if the gentle breeze was nature's natural lover. It was then that she realized her furry flower was exposed to anyone passing. Yet, with most people already having left for work, few passersby were out at this hour of the morning, unless they were walking their dogs.
Then, when one part of her robe slipped from her thigh, even though she was still fully covered, she had the urge to flash. Remembering how she had flashed the pizza delivery guy, the mail man, the UPS man, the Fedex man, the Jehovah Witnesses, political campaigners running for office, petitioners wanting her to sign their petitions, traveling salesmen, and anyone and everyone who came knocking at her door in this very robe, she suddenly had the need to flash herself again. Not having had that urge, since she finished her therapy several years ago, her need to flash returned full force and with a vengeance. She'd call her psychiatrist, Dr. Jones, as soon as she went in the house. Maybe all she needed to control her abnormal urge to expose herself again was just another session of group therapy.
Nonetheless, now more mindful of the inherent flashing opportunity of her robe, especially in the way she squatted down and was so exposed with her knees apart, flashing her pussy to anyone she saw looking would be so easy. With the excitement of flashing creeping in her conscious mind, all she had to do was to turn more one way or twist the other, while opening her knees wider, on the pretense of picking up trash. In the way she squatted down now, she'd make her flash appear accidental to anyone looking and when it came to seeing any part of her, because she was beautiful, there was always someone looking.
Yet, beauty aside, whenever any women is showing anything, there is always someone looking. Even though she was supposedly cured from showing her naked body to men, she wasn't free from the thoughts of showing her naked body to men. Yet, so long as she could control the urge to flash, she was okay.
Still being cured from flashing didn't stop her from thinking about flashing. If she had the urge and the need to show more of her body, which suddenly she did, all she had to do was to loosen the tie around her waist. Then, when she stood, her bathrobe tie would fall and with just a quick twist and a fast turn, her robe would open.
With her robe open, her C cup breasts would spill out, first one and then the other, before she realized that she was so exposed, closed her robe, and retied her bathrobe tie. Only, too late, she imagined thinking. With someone always watching her, someone would have already seen her tits and, perhaps, even her pussy. The familiar excitement of being so exposed made her want to masturbate.
The perfect opportunity to accidentally on purpose flash herself, she'd love to show her naked body to someone, anyone who was looking. Only, even though she thought about doing just that, loosening her tie, before standing, turning, and twisting to allow her robe to fall open, the thought to flash herself was nothing more than an urge, an urge that she now was able to control, thanks to her psychological therapy. Erasing the thoughts of flashing from her mind, now that she was successfully able to control her lewd behavior and lascivious impulses, she stood and moved to pick up the trash and garbage that the wind had neatly deposited in small piles along the bottom of the garage door.
A life altering blessing, she was glad she had therapy that allowed her to control her flashing urges. She was glad that her sexual disorder of flashing no longer controlled her life in the way it had for so many years. She was glad that she hadn't flashed anyone any part of her in a long time.
Just coming home from the senior center, the headlights from her elderly mother's car lit her up and Susan stood, just as her mother pressed the garage door button. As if playing an eerie song from the Devil's violin, the garage door slowly creaked and squeaked open. When Susan stood in concert with the door raising, as if the Devil's hand commanded her to flash, the hem of her robe tangled in the garage door flashing trim. Unable to free herself, her robe lifted in concert with the garage door opening.
Susan's robe lifting with the garage door replayed what happened to Spanky's Mom, the ultimate stage mother, in the Little Rascals, so long ago. Back then, when Spanky's Mom rushed on stage to save Spanky some embarrassment, when he fell over in his heavy knight's armor costume, the stage hand, thinking he was funny, lifted the heavy stage curtain. The curtain hooked the hem of Mom's dress and, lifting up with her dress, exposed her silk slip, silk panties, and garters holding her silk stockings to the audience. Now, Susan's bathrobe moved higher in the same way.
As if happening in slow motion, she first thought there was someone standing behind her lifting her robe. In the way how her bathrobe lifted, she actually thought that someone was sexually molesting her from behind. Only, as if it were eerie music that announced the opening of a stage curtain before presenting a reluctant stripper onstage, there was no one there, but the mechanical sound of the garage door opening.
"Hey, what the fuck," she said turning to swat at her imaginary sexual molester.
Then, realizing it was the garage door lifting her robe, she panicked. Quickly struggling to set herself free, she couldn't. As if she was meant to flash, some supernatural force had worked against her therapy to expose herself without her approval and against her will.
Oh, the inhumanity of it all. Why her? Why now? Why not? Show them some skin, Susan, she heard a whisper from her own sub-conscious urging her to flash her naked body.
"Oh, my God."
As horrified, as she was excited, she knew someone would be seeing something of her this morning. With so little time to react, as if a contestant on some perverse Japanese game show, willing to tear the material, she turned and tugged at her robe to free herself, but to no avail. An unwilling victim, she couldn't believe the garage door was stripping her naked.
"No, fuck, no. This can't be happening to me."
Within an instant, with her shapely thighs already exposed and her robe climbing higher, pulling harder this time, she tugged again and again.
"God give me the strength to free myself."
Then, when her round ass and her blonde, trimmed pussy were revealed for anyone looking to see, she pulled even harder, as hard as she could, but without success.
"No! No! No!"
Unable to free herself, finally, with the garage door completely raised and her robe not only lifted but also opened wide, while bunched beneath her arms, her public display of total nudity was a sad, sick joke.
"Mom! Close the garage door! Mom!"
Unable to move freely, as if being constrained by her own bathrobe in some cruel flashing joke, and looking much like a scarecrow on a pole, her breasts were now exposed, too.
Better than anything she had planned in one of her accidental, yet purposeful flashing scenarios, never could she have imagined using a garage door to accidentally flash her on purpose. In all the years she had flashed men, always making it appear accidental, with men walking away scratching their heads, while wondering if she had flashed them on purpose or by accident, never could she have designed such a perfect flashing accident. As if a deer caught in her mother's headlights, with her arms raised at shoulder level, while helplessly standing there so tightly tangled and so totally exposed, with her bathrobe covering only her arms, her shoulders, and her upper back, she was virtually naked.
"Mom! Push the button! Mom! Close the garage door," she yelled at her mother through the car windshield, while struggling to pull her bathrobe free. "Mom!"
Unable to even move her arms down low enough to cover herself from anyone looking, and to hide her breasts with her forearms and her pussy with her hands, her modesty was at the mercy of the garage door. In all of her flashes, flashes that only lasted a few seconds, never had she been so exposed for such a long time. Never had she been unable to control her flashes, as she was now. Helpless to pull the plug on her flash, as she had done so many times before, she was a puppet on a string and commanded by the will of fate.
Not noticing him the first time she looked and yelled at her mother through the windshield, when she looked to her mother again, she saw her mother's on and off again boyfriend, her next door neighbor, 67-year-old Mr. Simms, the neighborhood pervert. Always staring at her, leering at her, as if undressing her with his eyes, he no longer had to imagine what she looked like naked. With her bathrobe bunched up behind her, he had a good look of her pussy and tits now. Willing to flash Mr. Simms her naked ass, instead of her pussy and tits, she tried turning the other way but, unable to move enough rotate, Mr. Richardson, her neighbor on the other side of her was standing there with his dog anyway. With gapping mouth open, both Mr. Simms and Mr. Richardson stared at her tits, her ass, and her pussy. Then, just as her mother finally pushed the button to close the garage door, the three trash men appeared to applaud and whistle their appreciation for the free striptease show.
Unlike all the other times she flashed her body to unsuspecting men in controlled flashes, unable to exert control over this flash, humiliated, she was totally embarrassed this time. A good thing to feel a normal reaction to being so exposed, when showing a part of her that someone was not supposed to see, the emotion she felt, despite the sexual urges to flash that she had previously, helped her to believe that she was cured from her sexual disorder of flashing. Gathering up her robe and wrapping the material around her, she ran in her townhouse with her face a bright red. Yet, once upstairs in her bedroom, making a slow burn, the familiar excitement from what had just happened and from being so exposed to five appreciative men, made her want to masturbate with the thoughts of all she showed and all that they saw.
Reliving the experience in her mind, a sexual nightmare that had turned into a sexual fantasy, she recalled her mother laughing and Mr. Simms gawking. When she tried turning away from Mr. Simms, she saw Mr. Richardson standing there staring at her naked body, as his dog peed all over his leg and shoe. Then, she remembered the three trash men, her age and younger showing their obvious delight with all that they had seen of her. Already so sexually aroused, she opened her nightstand drawer, reached for her vibrator, and opened her bathrobe, just as her mother knocked on her locked bedroom door.
"Susan, are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm fine, Mom. My bathrobe got caught up in the garage door, as I was picking up all the trash that Buster got into, when he knocked over our barrel," she said knowing her mother knew nothing about her sexual disorder, her need to flash her naked body to men, and the sexual excitement that she was feeling now.
"Mr. Simms wanted me to tell you that he didn't see anything. The gentleman that he is," she said, "he wanted me to tell you that he averted his eyes."
Averted his eyes, my ass, thought Susan. If he was staring any harder and any longer, his eyes would have fallen out of his head. If only she was Medusa, she would have turned him to stone for looking so long and so hard. She waited for her mother to go downstairs, before she reclined back to pleasure herself, while thinking of all the five men saw of her naked body. Her neighbors Mr. Simms and Mr. Richardson, along with the three trash men saw her naked ass, her C cup breasts, and her blonde, trimmed pussy. Already wet from the thoughts of being so exposed, as soon as she touched herself with her finger and rubbed her bean, before inserting her vibrator, as soon as she fingered, pulled, and twisted her nipples, the sexual excitement of what just happened consumed her, as if she never had therapy.
Having promised herself to call her psychiatrist, she left a message on her voice mail for her to return her call. She'd talk to her psychiatrist later, after she masturbated and, since she's already been so nakedly exposed, after she had one last trip to the mall to expose herself again. Justifying her reason to flash with her need to flash at the mall, after having so much psychological therapy and now that she's already flashed her naked body to five unsuspecting men, albeit accidentally, she told herself that she needed to see if there was any difference in her desire to flash men. Masturbating over all that she already showed men of her naked body this morning, she masturbated thinking of all the things that she could do to show men her body at the mall. Excited by just the thoughts of flashing her panty, her bra, her ass, her pussy, and her tits, she was on the verge of...
"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! I can't believe this. I going to cum. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"
When a wave of warm heat consumed her body, she exploded her flashing lust in the best orgasm she's had in a long time. Not having an orgasm like that, since she stopped exposing herself, she wondered if her psychotherapy had interfered with her ability to pleasure herself. Now, that she was finally free of the guilt of flashing herself, maybe now that she was older, smarter, and wiser, she could flash without fear her psychological baggage would cause emotional repercussions of guilt and shame. Promising herself to be more mindful of who she flashes and when she flashes, the last thing she wanted was to be raped by some man who didn't know the rules of playing the game of exhibitionism and voyeurism.
With her body tingling from cumming so hard and for so long, after taking a few long minutes to rest in the afterglow of her masturbation session that culminated in a powerful orgasm, actually having fallen asleep, she got up showered and dressed. A few years, since she last flashed anyone, she was suddenly filled with flashing ideas and the anticipation of flashing excited her now as it had never excited her before. So excited in the shower, while thinking about flashing her body to unsuspecting men, she masturbated again, this time with the shower massager pulsating on high.
Wanting to look hot but not slutty, she pulled from the closet her old flashing outfit from a few years back, a short skirt, the shortest skirt she owned, and a low cut blouse that falls open wide with the slightest forward lean. She wore her oh so sheer, nearly invisible bikini panties, along with her matching and supportive bra. For anyone looking, when she was flashing, her ass crack and pubic hair were clearly visible through her panty and her areolas and nipples appeared as if she wasn't even wearing a bra. The perfect outfit for a stripper or for a flasher, with her lingerie screaming, look at me, she was free to show her nearly naked body without anyone suspecting that she was purposely flashing them. The life of an exhibitionist, as well as a voyeur, doesn't get any better than this.
When she backed her car out of the garage, she saw Mr. Simms peeking out his blinds and when she turned to the right, Mr. Richardson was there again with his dog. Neither one waved, they never wave; they just stare. If only they'd follow her to the mall, her ever present admiring audience, she'd show them all that they're hoping to see. Yet, after having already seen her naked, she'd think that was enough of her for them. No doubt, after the free show she gave them, she imagined them masturbating their lust for her in a tissue. In the excited state she was in, she'd suck their cocks, if only they made the first move. Yet, lookers and not doers, just as she was just an exhibitionist and not a whore, they were just voyeurs and not rapists.
Excited to flash and unable to wait, on the way to the mall, she pulled alongside truckers and slowed to match their speed. With her driver and passenger windows down, in one glance the truckers, could easily see her areolas and nipples through her see through bra and her cleavage down her blouse. In the way that she had hiked up her short skirt nearly to her waist and fingering herself, while they watched, they could clearly see her pussy through her sheer panty.