tagExhibitionist & VoyeurMeeting Carmen Ch. 02

Meeting Carmen Ch. 02

bygossog©

(The story so far: Three days ago, I rescued Carmen, a cute 20-year-old library staffer, from a potentially embarrassing situation between the stacks when her sweatpants slipped down. We had only been nodding acquaintances before, but this really broke the ice. She led me into an unused side room where we talked more. I found out that this outwardly shy girl had some kinky tendencies in the comfort of her own home. In the locked room, we eventually made out and had sex. (Almost got caught in the act, too.) We made plans to meet this weekend.)

*

At 7 in the morning on the Saturday before Memorial Day, it was already obvious this would be a beautiful day. I hadn't felt this sort of warmth in the air since last August. In about three hours Carmen would show up, and then we'd head over to Capital City to browse around the crafts fair. Then hopefully back to my place, and a longer session of sex without the danger of being walked in on. Owning my own townhouse had its advantages.

She arrived at 9:55, about five minutes early, so I was still upstairs when the doorbell rang. My townhouse had a strange up-and-down layout, so that more units could be packed into our complex; so at a landing halfway down the stairs, I could actually look down through a small window to see who was at the front door. Side view, from above, a little bit from behind.

What I saw as I turned the corner stopped me in my tracks.

Carmen was wearing sweatpants again, just like at the library; today's set was light gray and loose, hanging really low at her hips. Whatever undies she wore (usually a colorful thong) couldn't be more than an inch from poking out.

Instead of a matching sweatshirt or jacket, she had a white cotton top, like a thin T-shirt, with a scoop neck. I craned my own neck to get a better look. She's pretty well endowed, and the top showed a good amount of cleavage. Even better, it was obvious she wore no bra.

I bounded down the stairs and opened the door. She looked even better from the front. If she had dressed like this at the library, top clinging to her curves, nipples prominent under the light fabric, she'd be out of a job now.

"You look stunning," I said.

She smirked. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Yes, yes," I said, ushering her inside and shutting the door. "I don't think I've seen the gray sweats before."

She glanced down at them. "I can't really wear these ones to the library. They're so loose... all the bending and stretching I do at work, you'd have to follow me around all day, pulling them back up."

"I don't think I'd mind that," I said.

"Whatever we do today, besides the craft show, I'm not dressed for something formal," she said. "This is totally about comfort."

"Funny how you look just absolutely hot in your 'comfort' wear," I said.

On the drive to Capital City, about 30 miles, I wished I owned a convertible. The air was now balmy, almost tropical. The entire day was open, and I had a gorgeous girl, in a skimpy top no less, in the passenger seat.

We had to park a few blocks away from the craft fair. Several downtown streets were closed off so that dozens of artists, food sellers and entertainers could set up their booths. We heard a reggae band in the distance and could smell barbecued meat -- vendors getting ready for lunch.

It was obvious the warm weather had brought every hot girl in the state out of hiding, dressed in her most flattering, revealing summer wear. Most of them left their bras, long pants, and full-length anythings at home. Several times Carmen elbowed me in the ribs and whispered mock outrage at the "slutty things youngsters were wearing these days." (She was more modest than the others in one respect: she practically the only girl in long pants.)

Some examples of the women I saw in the first ten minutes:

A blonde coed in pink hotpants and matching clingy top, with no bra. She had the cheerleader look, and her tall, handsome boyfriend (star quarterback, maybe) completed the picture. She was just breathtaking. She wore a permanent "you're not in my league" simper, and I think she enjoyed men staring at her perfect breasts, nipples poking the pink top, as that made her all the more unattainable.

A woman of about 30 years, with long brown hair, pushing her infant in a stroller. Passing women cooed at the cute baby while their guys were more interested in the mother, dressed in a miniskirt and tube top.

Another woman wore a yellow bikini top sheer enough even when dry to show her areolae and nipples, and cutoff denims skimpier than any miniskirt. A good proportion of her firm buns were visible below the frayed, faded denim; and to further stir up men's imaginations, she left the top button of her cutoffs open. Certainly she wore nothing underneath, tolerating the rough denim against her bare skin. If I had been lucky enough to see her bend over far enough, I might have glimpsed bare pussy lips. But I never got the chance.

Another girl, even younger than Carmen, wore only a pink bikini, very tight, showing nipples and the "camel toe" of probably a shaved pussy. The material was so thin it might have been underwear rather than swimwear. Almost nothing was left to the imagination, and she looked very vulnerable. She was probably lucky to have her three girlfriends in the pack for protection.

Okay, one last example. A blonde girl, in a skirt with side slits all the way up, revealing a lot of the curve of her butt as she walked; and a tank top with very loose arm holes, providing a clear view of her braless breasts if she bent forward. Carmen gave me a dirty look for staring at this girl too long.

Among all this pulchritude Carmen, beautiful as she was, as revealing as her top was, didn't stand out that much. That was probably just as well. I could sense a little wariness in her posture at times; to go braless in public probably took a lot of nerve. Same for the loose sweatpants. Even though she had shown off to me and a few people her age, it had always been in private, in the basement or in a storage room. From what I could tell by her library attire, she preferred to be well-covered in public.

She still got her share of admiration from the guys, especially when bending forward for a closer look at the crafts for sale. This provided rewarding views from several angles. She asked me if I noticed any guys checking her out. I told her that this was happening all the time.

She was tempting fate with those loose sweatpants and they eventually did fall. The first time, I happened to be walking behind her; and her butt was coincidentally where my gaze was focused anyway. I caught the sweats quickly and pulled them up, so she ended up flashing for only a fraction of a second. Long enough to see that she wore no panties or thong at all.

"Good catch, Ken," she said.

"You're even braver than I thought," I said, lowering my voice. "Wearing nothing at all underneath?"

"That's why I wanted to go someplace we wouldn't see anyone I know."

"Still a lot of people."

"I know," she said, her eyes bright, like they were Tuesday when she was describing her erotic playacting of "Druuna" scenes. "I'm always thinking about it. Half afraid I'll expose myself and half hoping it'll happen."

"I'm 100% for the second option," I said, patting her butt.

"Careful!" she said.

I walked in back for a while, enjoying the view, and making sure her waistband didn't sink any lower. One time I thought it was too low and gently pulled it up, but she admonished me. I was not to touch her sweats unless they actually fell down.

OK, then. I looked forward to another flash of her bare butt.

When we reached the end of one block, she took me in her arms and gave me a big wet kiss. "This whole thing is such a turn-on," she said, still hugging me tight. "It's so dangerous. I'm really tempted to just run back to the car and make out in the back seat."

"I'm not the guy to dissuade you there." Just having her in my arms, her body against mine, her beautiful face so close to mine, was making my cock stir. She looked in my eyes and suddenly I didn't care about anything else at all, and we started making out right there at the street corner, people filing around us.

"I think we're making a scene," she said, swaying against me. "I-"

She let out a small shriek. "They're down, they fell!" She gripped me tight, as if I was saving her from drowning. It was the same panic response she'd shown in the library storage room, when we were almost caught. We stood there for a moment, her anxious and me unable to do much with her clinging to me.

I reached down, felt her bare bottom, and looked over her shoulder. It was true. Her movement must have wriggled her sweats loose. She was naked from the waist down.

"I'll let you go, just pick them up," I said.

"Are you kidding? I can't bend over like this! And I don't want people seeing in front either!"

"Okay, let go and I'll drop down." I guess she had a point: but the more we debated this the longer she would stay exposed. Already guys were pointing her way, nudging their friends and grinning.

I squatted down and took just the quickest moment to marvel at her lovely legs. Her pubic area I took a little longer to gaze at; her black bush and her slit that I swear looked already moist. I briefly thought that if I started licking her, she'd change her mind about getting her pants back on, never mind the crowds.

"Come on!" she cried, and I yanked her sweats up. It was like a curtain closing on an act I wanted to continue. I glanced around; we had a bit of an audience, even if they tried to avoid eye contact with me.

"We'd better scoot," I said, and took her hand. I didn't want the onlookers following us around all day. "You okay?" We walked briskly across to another aisle of booths, trying to lose ourselves in the crowd.

"I'll be okay. I just have never felt that petrified before," she said, her voice shaky. "I don't know why I didn't expect it to be like that. What I was thinking. Pretty stupid." She was folding her arms over her breasts, something she hadn't done all day. Not to keep warm, but to conceal what her shirt showed off.

"Should I take you home, and you can change clothes?"

"Yeah, we should probably head back," she said. "I wish I didn't have to worry about these sweatpants anymore."

"Can't you do the drawstring tighter?"

"I took it out," she said sheepishly. "Looser and more comfy that way."

"I'll keep a close watch," I said, placing my hand at her hip. Tempting as it was to slip my hand under her waistband and feel nothing but bare skin underneath.

We didn't head directly to the car. Enough interesting booths were around that we settled back into browsing. Framed watercolors, wooden toys, homemade salsas, all kinds of stuff. My attention was mainly on Carmen. After a while she was more at ease, no longer shivering, and had dropped her arms to her sides.

"It's so weird," she whispered to me as we admired a bronze statuary. "I was totally scared out of my wits back there, but it was also really hot. Especially when you waited to pull my sweats up and I knew you were looking at me. Every second that went by, where I knew everyone could see me, it was like more... I don't know. Part of me wanted you to take even more time."

"I think you're definitely a thrill-seeker."

"I've gotta be the most chicken thrill-seeker there is! Everytime I ride a roller-coaster, all the time I'm in line or even when we're going up the incline, I'm fighting off a panic attack. I think, no way will I ever do this again. But after the ride is done, I'm like, 'who's ready to ride it again?'"

"Would you let your pants drop again?"

"Not for a while. But yes, I'm already thinking about when will it happen again."

I could hardly believe my good luck. A gorgeous, enthusiastic girl like Carmen, and on top of that a budding exhibitionist. Right now my dick was in heaven and writing postcards.

I took a look around, scoping the crowd. It didn't seem like anyone who had seen her bottomless episode had followed us closely. She was getting the usual attention, but no more. Her accidental exposure wouldn't have any long-lasting consequences.

At the end of our aisle was a collection of bohemian clothing that caught Carmen's eye, and she tugged my arm. Running the booth was a younger guy, probably Carmen's age; he was obviously as attracted to her as she was to the clothes. To him, the two or three other women shopping might as well have blinked out of existence.

"Hi, can I help you find something?" the seller said. He was reasonably handsome, with the callow enthusiasm and brashness of a freshman rushing a frat.

"I don't know," Carmen said, scanning the selection. Racks lined the edges of the booth and a central divider right behind the seller. Skirts and tops were splashed with earth tones and some tie dyes. "What do you think I would look good in?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, you'd look good in anything. I don't know if our clothing would make much of a difference."

Carmen looked at me, almost laughing, and I said to him, "Aren't you one smooth-talking dude."

He faced me and put his palms up, conciliatory. "Didn't mean to be a jerk about it. You just have good taste in women."

So he was a little smarter than he looked. "That's cool," I said. "Thanks."

He turned to her. "As for what would look best... one of the darker skirts, I think. Goes well with your skin tone and hair color."

We introduced ourselves. His name was Stu. (I'm Ken.)

Carmen explored a bit and found a couple skirts that looked interesting. "You wanna get those?" I asked. She had left her purse at my house.

She thought this over for a minute, and I waited for an answer. Instead, she asked Stu, "Is there any place I can try these on?" in as guileless a manner as she could muster.

Of course there wasn't; these were 12-foot open-air booths, collapsible canopies on stilts. No fitting rooms. Stu furrowed his brow, obviously wanting to accommodate her. "The best place is probably on the other side of this rack," he said, pointing behind him. "In the back corner you're pretty much hidden in three directions by hanging clothes. If Ken stands guard, you might have enough privacy there."

We went around back. Stu was right -- hanging clothes mostly obstructed the view from anywhere outside the booth -- but not all the way to the ground. Instead, there was a gap of about two or three feet, like a dressing room with curtains that didn't hang down far enough. Anyone happening to look our direction would get a decent view of Carmen's legs, to at least mid-thigh. Certainly something that would pique a man's interest. If he was really perverted and dropped to the ground, peering up, that view would be really indecent.

She looked at the gap and seemed hesitant at first, but convinced herself it would be OK. I stood in front, quite close to her, forming the fourth wall.

"Let's do the long skirt first." She pushed her sweats down, stepped out of them and bent over quickly from the waist to grab them. Stooping down would have meant flashing her bare bottom to those outside. Even so, I was surprised at how erotic the situation was. She was bottomless, nearly naked, not far from a whole lot of people.

She shimmied into the skirt, back to some degree of decency. She checked herself out and frowned.

"You don't like it?" I said. I wasn't a fan either; the skirt was a dowdy, homely brown. But Stu was right: Carmen looked beautiful in anything.

"It's not that... I just would never wear it with this top. So I can't tell."

"I could get you another top," I said, but she waved me off. Instead, she pulled off her own top and handed it to me. This ensemble was more than fine with me. Large, shapely bare breasts go with just about anything.

"Cute", I said, giving one breast a light squeeze.

"Stop that!" she said, slapping my hand. "If you get me excited, we'll be in real trouble."

She turned around, checking herself out from several angles. "I wish there was a mirror here." I enjoyed the view as she dithered a bit more, and eventually decided against the skirt.

She didn't ask for her top back; instead, she took off the skirt and now stood there naked. The close quarters provided enough privacy that she felt well at ease, as far as I could tell. Still, the situation was very hot, and she was nearly irresistible. I folded my hands behind my back, which seemed to help.

I guess I stared at her too long; she put her hands on her hips and said, "Were you planning to give me the other skirt?" I guess I have a weakness for naked women showing some attitude, because she looked hotter than ever.

"Sorry," I said, and handed her the mini.

It slipped out of her fingers, and I wonder if that was deliberate. It landed at her feet. To pick it up, she didn't bend from the waist this time, but instead squatted down. She peeked outside, now well underneath the hanging clothes that served for walls, and froze there. For a second, maybe two, she stayed bent over, on her tiptoes, leaning forward, her breasts nearly touching her thighs, down toward the knees; and then she shot up straight, like a jack-in-the-box, holding the skirt.

"Whoops," she said, looking nervous, breathing heavily. "I think about 50 people saw me naked."

"Fifty-one," I joked. "And this one wants to take you home."

"I've never been so exposed," she said. "I'm hot already."

It showed. There seemed to be a slight flush in her face, and her nipples were hard. "Here, feel me," she whispered, and took my hand between her legs. "Feel how wet I am?"

"It feels awesome," I said, reaching out to caress her breast.

At this she froze, probably realizing she was close to getting into trouble. "We have to stop," she said, giggling. "You can wait. Be patient."

She put on the skirt, unfortunately hiding her lovely bush once again. But this skirt was nothing like the matronly knee-length brown one she had rejected. It was a black micro-mini, just long enough to cover her butt. About as long as my outstretched hand, little finger to thumb. I know because I checked.

"I think this violates some city ordinance," she joked. It wasn't the kind of skirt in which she could sit down. Or bend over. Or any number of reasonable-sounding activities. She turned around slowly, showing me a 360-degree view. It occurred to me that going topless with the skirt was a great idea. Showing off up top, while the skirt always threatened to reveal what was below. Some sort of balance.

"Find anything you like?" said Stu, from behind the rack of clothes. At least he didn't push them aside and poke his head through.

"Maybe," Carmen said.

"Why not show him?" I whispered.

Her eyes sparkled. She thought about this for a long time, and nodded. With one arm, she covered both breasts as well as she could and slowly backed around the corner toward Stu. I hopped around her to the front, to get a good view of both Carmen and his reaction.

She kept her back turned to him, peeking over her shoulder. "How do you think it looks?"

He looked stunned, but still brazenly looked her up and down, seeing her bare legs for the first time, and bare back, separated by a small band of material. As a bonus, he probably got a partial side view of her right breast, depending on the angle, as it was only covered in front by her fingertips.

"It looks fabulous," Stu said. "Do you plan to wear it just like that?"

Wise guy, huh.

"A lot of the parties I go to, I might not walk in like this, but it's usually not that long before I leave my top somewhere," she said, and I had an idea this was made up, but both Stu and I were eating it up.

"There is one problem," she said, frowning. "The material really itches." She pretended to scratch her bottom, in the process lifting the skirt to reveal the lower halves of her cheeks. "I don't know how long I could stand to keep it on." It was obvious to both Stu and I that she wore nothing underneath.

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