Showing Pink

I suppose that it had been an easy enough mistake to make.

My friend Rosemary -- who knows that I am an avid collector of antique toys -- had mentioned that she had seen, somewhere, she couldn't remember where, something about an exhibition. One of the local galleries, she thought. And quite soon. Next week, was it? Something like that.

'That's OK,' I told her. 'I'll just Google it when I get home.'

I typed in 'toy exhibition'. Except that I didn't. For some reason I typed in 'toy exhibitionist'. And that is how it all started. Instead of a link to an upcoming exhibition of antique toys, I was presented with the promise of ladies exposing themselves, some -- but not all -- in association with a 'toy' of the bedroom variety.

For a moment or two I just stared at the screen in disbelief. How could the words 'toy exhibition' have produced these results? And then I realised what I had done. I was just about to correct my error when the name Bella2 jumped out from the screen. Bella2 had been my old nickname at university. Bella from Isabella, and 2 because there was already a Bella in the class when I arrived. The incumbent Bella became Bella1, and I became Bella2. But who was this other Bella2?

I clicked on the link and there she was: Bella2. Or at least there was her nom de screen. Below the name tag were five rather professional-looking photographs in a descending column.

The first photograph was of a woman in a blue slip. She was sitting in a chair, her legs crossed demurely. The chair appeared to be in a hotel room. The photograph had been cropped just above the woman's shoulders. Without seeing her face (there was a hint of her chin, but that was all), it was hard to tell her age. But I thought that she was probably in her mid-to-late-forties. About the same age as me perhaps.

In the second photograph, the woman was standing, steadying herself with one hand on the back of an adjacent chair while, with her other hand, she was removing a pair of pale blue lace-edged knickers.

In the third photograph the knickers had made their way all the way down to her ankles. The woman was now leaning forward, her ample breasts threatening to escape from the top of her slip, as she prepared to abandon her knickers altogether.

In the fourth photograph, her knickers were nowhere to be seen. I could imagine that she had 'kicked' them off and that they were now lying somewhere beyond the frame of the photograph. Perhaps at the feet of the photographer. Knickerless, the woman was now stepping out of her silky blue slip.

She was a well-padded woman; not fat, but certainly not skinny. In addition to her ample breasts, she had a slightly rounded tummy and the thighs of a woman approaching middle age without any undue concern about the need to maintain the figure of a teenage catwalk model.

In the fifth photograph, she was just standing there. Naked. And proud. Below her rounded tummy, at the intersection of her womanly thighs, there was a luxuriant patch of greying pubic hair.

Beneath the photographs, a number of posters had left their comments. The posters' spelling and grammar left something to be desired, but there was little doubt as to what they were trying to say. Bella2 was certainly a crowd pleaser. A number of the posters offered risqué suggestions as to what they might do with Bella2's breasts should they be offered the opportunity -- not that there was anything to suggest that they would be offered the opportunity.

I could understand what those viewing Bella2's breasts (and other attributes) might be getting out of her exhibitionist display, but what about Bella2 herself? What did she get out of it I wondered? Intrigued, I clicked on the next 'displayee', a woman going by the screen name of Milf4ya. Milf4ya was also proudly displaying her bare breasts. Compared to Bella2's breasts, Milf4ya's were quite small; but, yes, I have to admit that they were also rather attractive. Perky is a word that came to mind.

A few pages on, there was another photograph of Bella2. This time she was dressed in a low-cut top. She was leaning forward so that there was very little of the actual top showing, just a rather spectacular cleavage, a deep valley disappearing between her more-than-impressive fleshy globes. One of her 'fans' had posted a message saying that he wouldn't half fancy a titty-fuck. 'Oh, yes,' Bella2 had replied. 'That would be just perfect, Baxstreetboy.' I'm sure that she had absolutely no idea of whom Baxstreetboy was and absolutely no real intention of helping him to realise his fantasy. Still ....

Altogether, I must have spent about 20 minutes exploring the virtual home of Bella2 and her exhibitionist sisters, and then I went back to Google, corrected my original error, and discovered that the exhibition of antique toys was to be held at The Walker-Moss Gallery, and not for another couple of months. There would be plenty of time to get tickets after all.

Later that evening, as I luxuriated in a nice warm bath, I again found myself wondering what it was that Bella2 got out of displaying her body for all to see. Unless I had missed an important detail somewhere along the way, there didn't seem to be any financial gain to be had. It appeared to be just a matter of 'Here I am, boys.' (I assumed that the audience was primarily male.) 'What do you think?' I remember looking down at my own boobs and wondering how I would feel if I knew that there were lots of people who I didn't know -- and was never likely to know -- looking at them. And would Baxstreetboy look at a digital depiction of my breasts and feel moved to post that he fancied a titty-fuck? Or would he just move on quickly to contemplate Milf4ya's breasts?

After my bath, I wrapped myself in my thick towelling bathrobe and went downstairs to check my emails. I also thought that I would see if there was anything interesting on Newsnight. As it happened, there were no new emails. And Newsnight seemed to be back on 'the Scottish question', so I decided to take a quick peep at the latest online news headlines. I hadn't really meant to go back to the virtual home of Bella2 and Milf4ya but, for some reason, that's where I ended up -- although only for ten minutes or so.

The following day -- Wednesday -- I did something really silly. The weather forecast that morning had been for showers later in the day, and so I made sure that I took my brolly with me. But then, when I left the office to catch the bus home again, I forgot all about the brolly. Silly, I know. And, of course, no sooner had I got off the bus and set off for the five-minute walk from the bus stop, than the rain started to pour down. By the time I got home I was absolutely drenched. Even my bra was soaked.

I was just standing in the bathroom, surrounded by abandoned wet clothes, towelling myself dry and scolding myself for my stupidity, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And, just for a moment or two, I thought, Isabella Martin, for a girl who is well past 40, you don't look too bad.

The body in the mirror was definitely not the body of an 18-year-old, but it was OK. In fact, for a moment or two, I thought that it was better than OK. For a moment or two I thought that even Baxstreetboy might approve. After all, he didn't seem to have too much of a problem with Bella2's odd crinkle and wrinkle, or the extra few pounds distributed about her hips. In fact, in exchange for the virtual prospect of a titty-fuck between her voluptuous breasts, he seemed prepared to overlook several minor defects. Or maybe he really did prefer a woman with a bit of meat on her bones.

My cell phone was there and, almost without thinking, I picked it up and took a couple of photographs of myself in the mirror. They weren't great photographs. The flash bouncing back from the mirror sort of washed out half of the picture. I should have just trashed them there and then. But I didn't. Well, not immediately anyway. My friend Maria was supposed to be calling by at about six o'clock to drop off the baking dish that she had borrowed, and, according to my phone, it was already 5:53. I quickly gathered up my damp clothes and scurried though to the bedroom to find some dry ones. Maria arrived about ten minutes later.

'One baking dish -- returned with thanks,' Maria said. 'And since I'm always drinking your wine, I thought that I'd better bring some. Where are the glasses?'

'Oh, you shouldn't have done that,' I said.

'Too late,' Maria replied. 'I already have.'

I got a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard and Maria poured a very generous slosh of wine into each of them.

'Cheers.'

'Yes, cheers,' I echoed.

I'm always a little surprised that Maria and I are such good friends. As much as I try not to be, I'm really quite quiet and reserved; whereas Maria is anything but.

'How's Nigel?' I asked.

'He's up in Derby for some sort of conference. Not back until Friday night.'

'Oh, so you're on your own then?'

'Just for a couple of nights,' Maria said. 'Mind you, knowing Nigel, on at least one of those nights he'll probably end up with a skinful, calling me at midnight, and wanting phone sex.'

'Oh,' I said -- trying not to sound ... well ... shocked, I suppose.

'He says I should be flattered.'

'Umm ... well, yes ....'

Maria laughed. 'Bella, at nine o'clock I might be flattered; at midnight I prefer to be sleeping. Hopefully, this time he will make do with the pictures on his phone and I can get my beauty sleep. At my age I need it.'

She didn't. At the ripe old age of 47, Maria was still a seriously good-looking woman: a strong, interesting face, beautiful auburn hair, and the body of someone who could have passed for an athlete. But, to be honest, I was more intrigued by her reference to the pictures on Nigel's phone. I hoped that she was going to expand a little on that particular point. But she didn't.

I assumed that the pictures on Nigel's phone were of an erotic nature -- intended to help him 'take care of his away-from-home needs'. But pictures of whom? Maria? Or someone else? For some reason my mind returned to Bella2 and Milf4ya. I wondered if Nigel was familiar with Bella2 and Milf4ya.

Usually, if Maria calls in on her way home from work, she only stays for 15 or 20 minutes, half an hour at the most, before rushing off to organise supper for Nigel. But, with Nigel away, she seemed in no hurry to rush off anywhere. We finished our first glass of wine and Maria poured a second.

'Have you ever posed for photographs of a ... well, saucy nature?' I said, doing my best to make it sound like the most casual question ever.

Maria frowned. 'What? You mean like Page Three type thing?'

'Well, yeah, I suppose so,' I said.

Maria stared at her wine glass for a moment or two as if trying to remember. 'Umm ... no, not really. That Irish photographer that Sarah used to hang out with tried to get me to do some top shelf stuff once. He reckoned that I'd make a fortune. But he was a bit of a creep. I didn't fancy getting my tits out for him. I guess if it had been a different photographer .... Why do you ask?'

'Oh, I don't know.'

'Of course, back then, showing a bit of tit or a smudge of pubic hair was a big deal. These days, you just have to look on the Internet and you can get the full gynaecological works. And anyway, now that you don't have to send the film off to some nosey busybody to have it processed, everybody's making their own homemade porn.'

'Are they?' I said. 'I mean, yes, I suppose they are.'

'God, Nigel must have hundreds of pictures of me,' Maria said. And she laughed.

'So when you said that you hoped he'd make do with pictures on his phone ....'

Maria laughed again. 'Well, I didn't mean pictures of the family gathered around the table for Christmas dinner.'

I just nodded.

As I got ready for bed that night, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom and contemplated my body in various states of undress. There were definitely some bits that were probably better covered than revealed. But I'm pleased to say that there were bits that were not too bad, not too bad at all. Or maybe it was just that Maria and I had managed to drink the whole bottle of wine.

I turned off the main light and by the soft pink light from the bedside lamp I thought that I looked even better. In fact, I thought that I looked pretty damn hot. I certainly didn't think that Baxstreetboy would have found much to complain about.

I normally wear a nightdress to bed. But that night I didn't bother. I just slipped naked between the smooth white sheets. For a few minutes I just lay there, thinking things over in my mind. It was almost a surprise when I suddenly realised that I had one hand gently caressing one of my breasts and the other starting to explore my vulva. I must admit that I was beginning to find the whole idea of showing myself to strangers a bit of a turn on. I just hope that my orgasm that night didn't disturb the neighbours.

The next morning, I took another look at the self-in-the-mirror shots that I had taken. Alas, they hadn't got any better overnight. The flash bouncing back from the mirror was still turning everything to mush. I wondered for a moment or two whether I could rescue then with my picture management software. It was great for straightening up crooked photos and getting rid of red eyes. But asking it to make something sharp and classy from the flashy mush was probably a request too far. In the end I deleted both shots.

When I left for work that morning, a moving company lorry was pulling up outside the building next door. The first floor flat had been empty for several months and I guessed that someone was finally moving in. And when I got home again that night, the lorry had gone but there were lights on in the flat, so I figured that I must have been right.

I made myself some supper: a quick chicken and spinach lasagne. While the lasagne was cooking, I poured myself a glass of wine and then fired up my laptop to check my emails. There were seven new emails. All but one of the emails were newsletters of one sort or another. The only non-newsletter was confirmation of my tickets for the upcoming toy exhibition. The gallery even asked if I would like to attend the opening. Apparently, a couple of the Antiques Roadshow toys experts were going to be giving a talk. I'm not sure if this was my good luck or simply an indication that I was the only person who had shown any interest in the show. Regardless, I sent back a note saying: Yes please, I'd love to attend the opening.

There was nothing much on the TV that night -- well, nothing that I wanted to watch anyway -- and so when I had had my supper (and another glass of wine), and then tidied up a bit, I decided that I might head up to bed early and read for a bit.

Even before I got to my bedroom, I was aware of an unusual light. It was coming from a room in the flat next door. The previous owners, tenants, or whatever, had used the room as a sort of store room, but the new occupants seemed to have set it up as a bedroom. As I was taking all this in, a young man, probably in his late 20s, walked into the room. He looked as though he had just taken a shower or something. Apart from a towel around his waist, he was naked. And I must say that he was a very fine fit-looking fellow. I would not have been surprised to discover that he was a serious sportsman of some sort.

The man walked towards the window and I assumed that he was going to draw the curtains or pull down a blind or something. But he didn't. Instead he walked over to a small table and flipped open a laptop computer that was sitting on it. He adjusted the angle of the screen and, after a few moments of tapping and clicking, he seemed to find what he was looking for. From the angle, I couldn't see what was on the screen, but from the expression on his face and the fact that he was starting to massage his crotch, I suspect that he may have 'accidentally' stumbled across a Bella-type website.

I was just about to discreetly draw my own curtains when the young man removed the towel from around his waist and tossed it over his shoulder and onto the bed behind him. At that point, I probably should have looked away. But I didn't. And I couldn't very well go up to the window and draw the curtains because he probably would have seen me. And so I just stayed where I was, in the shadows, and I watched as he gazed on the screen of his laptop and stroked his handsomely-erect penis.

He probably spent a couple of minutes stroking his cock, and then he stopped and typed something on the keyboard. For a moment or two he paused and stared, intently, at the screen. And then he smiled and resumed stroking his cock. I cannot tell a lie: my fingers also went to work.

Eventually, after about ten minutes of stroking his cock, and tapping and clicking at the computer, my new neighbour reached a shuddering climax -- although not before he had hastily grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on the desk. For a moment or two, he just stood there, smiling at the computer screen, and nodding slightly. And then, with the bunched tissues clutched to his wilting penis, he turned and left the room. Immediately -- although with some slight reluctance -- I took the opportunity to finally draw my curtains.

On Fridays, I usually work from home. When I first started doing this, I tended to treat the day like any other: starting with a shower, then dressing and having a bite of breakfast, before settling down at my desk by about nine o'clock. But, gradually, the routine changed. These days I tend to just make a cup of tea and then hit the desk by about seven. Only when I have the bulk of my day's work out of the way do I stop for a shower and get myself dressed. Often this is not until around midday.

And so it was that, shortly after midday, and with the sun pouring in through the skylight, I found myself freshly showered and once again standing naked in front of the large mirror in the bathroom.

My phone was there and so I tried another photograph. It was a big improvement on the disasters of a couple of days earlier, and so I tried another. And another. In the end, I must have taken a dozen or so shots. And some of them looked pretty good. I also took a few more of me in my bra and knickers. They looked pretty good too.

I made a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee for lunch and then got back to my work. And then, soon after three o'clock, I had finished for the day and finished for the week. I transferred the photos from my phone to my laptop and set about tidying them up. By four o'clock I had cropped and chopped and colour-balanced and ended up with eight photos that I felt pretty happy with.

I thought that four in the afternoon was probably going to be a little early for the online crowd, but I tapped in Bella2's home-away-from-home address into my computer anyway. And I was not disappointed. Both Bella and Milf had added to their ... shall we say 'online collection'. As far as I could tell, there were no new comments from Baxstreetboy, but there were plenty of other admirers with things to say. BrightonShiner was full of admiration for Bella's bum ('Top class arse, Bella2'), and 6on9 wanted Milf4ya to 'show us yer wizzer Milf'.

For perhaps half an hour I flicked back and forth, comparing my own photos with those of Bella and Milf and several others. I though mine were at least as good. If not better. But what would BrightonShiner think? What would Baxstreetboy think? I knew that there was only one way to find out, but I was torn. On the one hand, the thought of posting one or two of my own pictures was surprisingly exciting. I was definitely getting a bit of a tingle in places where it feels nice to get a bit of a tingle. But on the other hand, it was also scary. In the end, I decided to go and make myself a cup of tea.